CHAPTER 18
“CASSY, WHERE’S THIS JENKINS guy?” Kirk glared at her, his fists balled. He was frustrated and tired, but most of all, he was a sore loser. The meeting with Meskhenet was a bust, and now he found himself back in Cassy’s office.
“Jenkins? Why? Do you think—”
“Is he here? I need to talk to him.”
“He’s running some errands and won’t be back until late, but I’ll give you his home address and phone number.” She checked her computer records, wrote down the information, and handed it to him. “Just for the record, Detective, he’s clean.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” He took the note and turned to leave.
“What got you all grumpy? You hit a dead end with the woman?”
He rolled his eyes. “You could say that. We have nothing but a witness who seems to be invisible. The other one has an airtight alibi.” Kirk ran his hand over his smooth head and cursed. “And all I have is a fuzzy picture with no fingerprints or any witnesses.”
“Didn’t you shoot your last witness?” Cassy’s voice had a glint of steel in it. She shot a tight look at Kirk then broke into a cheerful I’m just joking smile.
He could tell she meant to sting his ego. “Fine. I’ll be taking my depressing mood elsewhere.” He knew she was being flirtatious, but he didn’t care. This whole thing stunk to high heaven. He knew it and they knew it, but someone was covering it up.
“Glad I could help.” Cassy giggled, which irritated him even further. He marched out of her office, not bothering to respond when she yelled, “Next time, a thank-you would be nice!”
He opened the Mustang door and dropped into the seat.
Geoff was staring at his laptop, like always. Didn’t even look up.
“In case you’re interested, we got an address.” Kirk pounded the dash. “It better lead us somewhere worthwhile, or I might just shoot someone. This is our last real lead, so you might want to cross your fingers. If it’s a dead end, it’ll shut us down.”
Geoff typed the address into his laptop. “We’re about ten minutes from this location. Do you want to go tonight or in the morning?”
Kirk looked at his watch. Almost ten. “Let’s pay him a little visit. I won’t be able to sleep, if we don’t. Besides, he’s sure to be home at this hour.”
As they pulled onto the busy street, Kirk had an uneasy feeling someone was watching them. He looked at the headlights in the rearview mirror. The car was almost on top of the Mustang’s rear bumper. From the classic dark Ford sedan, he knew it had to be his friends from down at the station—or worse, the feds.
“We have company.” He spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, as if the occupants of the other car might hear him.
Geoff started to turn around, but Kirk backhanded his chest. “Don’t look, you numbskull. Just keep an eye on the car in your side mirror.”
“Sorry, man,” Geoff muttered as he rubbed his chest. “I’m a little new to this detective thing.”
Kirk switched lanes to see if the tailing car would follow, and it did. He sighed and parked in front of a doughnut shop. “Hey, you want a coffee or something?”
“Yeah. I’ll take a bottled water and a plain bagel, no cream cheese.”
Kirk rolled his eyes and got out of the car. He walked into the shop muttering, “Only sissies drink bottled water.” At the counter, he peeked through the window to see if the boys in blue were following.
Just as he suspected, they had pulled in a few cars down and turned off their headlights. After getting a twenty-ounce black coffee and a coconut-covered doughnut he asked the man behind the counter where the back door was.
“Right there.” The clerk pointed to a door down the hall just beyond the bathrooms.
Kirk grabbed his items, tossed the man a twenty-dollar bill, and ambled out the back door. Making his way to the rear of the building and circling around, he came up behind the Crown Victoria. He set the coffee and doughnut down on a nearby newsstand.
Ducking down, he pulled out his forty-five, crawled beneath the driver’s side window, and took a deep breath. The next instant, he jumped up, smashed the glass of the driver’s window and pointed the gun at the stunned man’s temple.
The man jerked back as glass hit him in the face, showered across his body, and landed in the lap of his passenger. “Hey! What—?” He reached into his jacket to draw his weapon but stopped short when Kirk shoved his pistol against his head.
“Easy, pal,” Kirk said. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret. I’ve got an itchy trigger finger, so move nice and easy. Place your guns on the dashboard, and no funny business, or I might slip and make a mess of your faces.” He motioned to the man sitting in the passenger seat, his belly hanging over the seat belt.
The two men slowly took out their handguns and placed them on the dash. The man in the driver’s seat was thinner than his partner, but not by much. He grimaced, his lips disappearing into a thin line. His face was flushed. Kirk knew he was furious as well as embarrassed that a washed out cop got the drop on them.
“Now, hand them over nice and easy-like.”
As soon as he had their side arms, he brushed aside glass and leaned into the window. “So, what are you boys doing tailing me?”
“We’re FBI. If you know what’s good for you—”
“What’s good for me is you two to stay off my bumper, unless you want it shoved down your throats.”
“You’d better watch yourself, Detective,” the guy in the passenger seat said. “And drop this case or—”
“Or what?” Kirk demanded. “What, pray tell, do you think you’re going to do to me? Run to your daddy and tattle on me?”
He pulled a knife from his pocket and slashed the front tire. It deflated with a loud hissing sound. The two feds yelled, but were quieted with a wave of Kirk’s gun.
“You two sit tight, and I’ll be on my way. Next time, I won’t be so nice.” He grinned, showing them all of his teeth. The driver managed to turn an even brighter shade of red. Kirk laughed in his face, daring him with his eyes to try something.
Walking back to the newsstand, he grabbed his coffee and doughnut and returned to his car.
“You okay?” Geoff asked.
“Yup,” Kirk sipped his coffee. “Had some business to tend to.”
“Where’s my water and bagel?”
Kirk hit his forehead with his palm. “Right, water—uh, want a doughnut?”
* * *
MARIA WAS WORRIED. NEITHER she nor anyone else had heard from Mark in days. She tried to be cheerful at the office, but it was hard when her anxiety level increased exponentially with each day he didn’t show up at the office or call her or Hank or Bert—or someone she knew.
She’d tried calling his cell phone several times, but every time, she got his voice mail.
Watching but not seeing the game show on television, she sipped a cup of herbal tea and tried to believe he was okay. But, where was he? Why hadn’t he called her back?
The more she thought about his disappearance, the sicker she felt inside. Christmas without his family had been hard for him, but he seemed to cheer up with her there. They’d had a wonderful time. At least that’s how she thought the weekend went. But maybe his loss had finally gotten to him. And he’d… She didn’t dare think about what he might have done to himself.
Picking up her cell phone, she dialed his number again and listened as it rang—and rang.
* * *
MARK SAT IN FRONT of the warm fire staring at the flames. Solomon’s office was a comfortable place, much like his own living room. The firelight flickered on the dark bookcases and reflected off Isis’s black hair. The four had talked into the early morning hours, the others filling Mark in on his past as well as the wonders of WJA.
Solomon was a wonderful host. He made them any drink they could dream up. Beautiful Isis talked in smooth, soothing tones that would have lulled him to sleep, if she hadn’t been so interesting. Big B could wake the dead with his laugh and his energetic presence. Mark found himself bonding to the big guy as if they were long lost brothers. But as he sipped his iced coconut mocha and looked around at his new friends, he still wasn’t sure yet what to think of it all.
The orientation had taken just over two hours. It included a new driver’s license and ID that couldn’t be traced, plus a fingerprint laser transference, which was, amazingly enough, painless. The new credit card was what he liked the most and what he was to use for any and all transactions. It was untraceable. The money came directly from the WJA, not through any bank, and routed through hundreds of cities to throw off the scent, if needed.
His credit card bills and student loans had been paid off with a simple phone call. Everything that made him Mark Appleton was placed into a vault in the lower security room. His name stayed the same, but any past records, including his Social Security number, were erased. On paper, he no longer existed. No birth certificate, no traceable fingerprints, no identity. Everything old was replaced with the new, which indicated he worked for Global Advisor as a consultant.
He thought about how he was going to break the news to Hank that he’d found another job. It would be hard, but he knew Hank would understand. Then he thought about Maria. They had grown close, but he had to commit himself full-time to the project. Would she would accept a friend who could never tell her where he was or what he was doing? Mark took another sip of the coconut mocha and smiled. He could change who he was to a point, but he’d always love his mochas.
He didn’t return to his apartment until late and crashed onto his bed fully dressed. For the first time since his K and Samantha’s deaths, he slept undisturbed.
When he awoke, he rolled onto his back, wondering if the morning would bring more amazing experiences or something from a horror novel. Opening his eyes, he gazed at the ceiling, trying to get his brain to wake up. A beep from his cell phone brought him into reality. He pushed the past few days from his mind.
Rolling out of his bed, he shuffled into the living room and picked up his phone.
“Hey, Mark, just wondering if you want to do anything tonight. I’ll call you later.” Maria.
He hit the next button.
“Mark, just wondering where you are—”
She sounded more urgent with each message. One was from Hank, who was wondering if he was going to come into work this week. He said with the New Year coming up, that he could take the next week off as well, if he needed it.
He dialed his office, hoping Maria would answer. When he heard her sweet voice, his heart jumped into his throat.
“S-E-D, how can I help you?”
“Hey, kiddo.”
“Mark! Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick!”
“I’m so sorry I didn’t call. I had to go to a long meeting and got tied up.”
“It’s been three days, Mark. I thought you might have gone off and done something stupid. You were in a funky mood the other night.”
“I just had some business to deal with. But it’s taken care of now. I need to talk to you about some things. Do you want to go out to dinner tonight?”
“I have to work a little late to get ready for the weekend. If you’ll pick me up at eight, I’ll be ready.”
“Okay, eight it is. Hey, can you get Hank on the line? I need to talk to him, too.”
She transferred him to Hank, who seemed pleased to hear his voice. “Hey, bud. You okay?”
“Yeah, I just wanted to see if you could break away for lunch. I’d like to talk to you.” He tried not to sound nervous. He loved working at SED, but his life was now headed in a totally different direction.
“Yeah. I’ll meet you at Hugo’s at eleven.”
He pushed the end button. Hank was not only his boss, he was a good friend. It was going to be hard to quit. He hoped Hank would understand.
He jumped into the shower. It was past ten. He would need to leave soon to get to the deli on time. After the shower, he pulled on his favorite pair of blue jeans, then he grabbed his wallet. It felt lighter than normal. He flipped it open and remembered the switch.
Everything personal had been replaced with identification only WJA could track. He pulled out the credit card they’d given him. He flipped it over and stared at the strip on the back. It looked just like any other card, but this one had no limit—or so they said.
He smiled. It was like winning the lottery, but without the exposure. He wondered if it really was unlimited. Maybe he’d test the limit later today.
* * *
THE STREET WAS LINED with cars and a few trashcans rolling in the road. Kirk drove slowly as Geoff read house numbers. The houses were jammed close together. Almost all of them were two-stories tall with no yards or privacy. Tall and skinny, like living on top of each other.
“Next one, I think.” Geoff checked the number on an old, black mailbox. “On the left.”
The house was stucco, with concrete steps leading up to the front door, which was painted blue and needed another coat. The dirt yard featured a small doghouse with the name Fluffy stenciled over the opening. The few patches of grass left indicated the yard had once been green and lush—probably before Fluffy arrived.
Kirk touched the butt of his gun as he stepped from the Mustang. He had that feeling again, which was never a good sign. He waited for Geoff to get out of the car and follow him up the sidewalk to the cracked, peeling, blue door. Through the half-drawn curtains, he could see a man in a lounge chair reading a newspaper by lamplight. He knocked and tensed when he heard movement.
The deadbolt clicked and a chain rattled as the door cracked open. A middle-aged man peered out. “Yeah?” he barked. “What do you want?”A quiver hovered beneath his gruffness.
Kirk held up his badge. “Detective Weston, and this is my partner.” He pointed over his shoulder to Geoff. “We just want to ask you a few questions Mr. Jenkins.”
Jenkins sighed and opened the door. He waved them inside, a frown on his face. He indicated the sofa. “Have a seat. Want somethin’ to drink?”
“No, I’m okay. My partner would like a glass of water, if you’ve got one.” He smirked at Geoff, who rolled his eyes.
“Sure, I’ll be right back.”
Kirk looked around. The house was decorated with photos of family and simple trinkets that might be found in an old spinster’s house. He could see by the photos on the mantle above a white, brick fireplace that Jenkins was married—or at least had been at one time. The morning paper lay open on the coffee table next to a book on criminology.
“Here you go.” Jenkins handed Geoff a glass of ice water.
“Thanks.” Geoff smiled and took a sip.
“So, what can I do for you, Detective?” Jenkins sat down in his recliner and peered at them through his thick glasses.
“We’re trying to get some information on a case you and Cassy Meyers worked on a year or so ago.”
“Oh?” Jenkins raised a single eyebrow and settled back in his chair. He folded his hands on his lap.
“The prison, David’s Island. I was on that case. I had some new evidence come to my attention recently that made me curious. I was told you delivered the file to the FBI?”
“Yeah, I probably did. Meyers and I work on many cases together. I’m the spokesperson to the FBI. That was a weird case, as far as I remember it.” He took off his glasses and started chewing on the earpiece. “I’m not sure, but I think the lead person on that case was a Jacob… uh… yeah, Jacobson.”
“Captain Jacobson?” Kirk remembered the tall captain, who so passionately encouraged them to investigate the case his way.
“Yeah, that’s the one. I delivered it to him, and I went over everything we found in detail.”
Kirk rubbed his chin. That didn’t make any sense. Jacobson seemed to know it wasn’t an accident from the very beginning.
“Why are you still interested in that case? It’s been closed for a while now, hasn’t it?”
“It’s been reopened. We’re just following the evidence. So far, it leads back to Jacobson.”
“Well if there’s anything you need, just let me know.”
Jenkins was a little too helpful for Kirk’s liking. “Thanks. We’ll get out of your hair.” Geoff thanked Jenkins for the water and his help as Kirk got up and headed out the front door.
The moment they got in the car, Kirk asked, “Well, what do you think?”
Geoff scratched his head. “He seemed on the up-and-up, but it is a little fishy that this Captain Jacobson would have anything to do with covering up anything.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I have a feeling our friend Jenkins is lying to us, that he knows something. Now I have to figure out how to interview Jacobson. The last time I saw him, he kicked me off the case.”
Geoff looked out the window. “Why am I not surprised?’
“You.” Kirk pointed at Geoff.
“Me?”
“Yeah, you can get an interview for that magazine of yours. You could say you’re doing a story on the case.”
Geoff nodded. “I guess I could do it.”
“There you go.”
“No worries. I’ll get a story out of this yet.”
Kirk laughed. “You deserve it, man. After this is all over, you’ll probably have more story than you bargained for.”
* * *
JENKINS WATCHED THE DETECTIVE’S car drive away. He put on his glasses and went into the kitchen, where he picked up the phone. He dialed.
The call was answered in two rings. “I told you never to call me at home.”
Jenkins tried to calm his shaking voice. “I know, but I just got interviewed by Detective Weston.”
The man on the other end went silent.
“I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know. He wanted to know who was in charge of the investigation. I told him Jacobson.”
“Good. Now, you stay out of this, or you can kiss your pretty little wife goodbye.” The gruff voice gargled and coughed as if he had a bad cold. Jenkins was glad his contact was on the other end of the phone, not standing in his kitchen.
“I won’t say anything. I was just a delivery guy.”
“I’ll take care of Weston. You make that file disappear on your end, you hear? I don’t want anyone else poking their nose into this.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Hanging up the phone, Jenkins hiked the stairs to the bedroom. His wife was asleep with the lamp on the nightstand still on. He leaned over, kissed her on the cheek, and stopped to look at her as she slept before he clicked off the lamp.
Grabbing his car keys, he hurried downstairs and out the back door. He needed to get that file from Meyers’ office. His old Ford Escort smoked and sputtered when he started it. It didn’t like the cold weather any more than he did. He opened his glove box and pulled out his service revolver, checking it to make sure it was loaded. He set it on the seat next to him and pulled into the vacant street.
The parking lot was dark and empty, which gave him a creepy feeling of being watched. The back door was locked and had a sign reading Under Video Surveillance. He knew where the camera was and pulled his hood over his head as he made his way across the icy asphalt.
He unlocked the back door and went down the hall toward Cassy’s office. Her door was locked, but he had a key and was in without any trouble. Muttering, he flipped through her file cabinet. “Not here.”
He took off his glasses and looked around the dark office littered with pictures and papers. There, on the desk.
He recognized it right away. The file was open, sitting out on the desk like a mocking, staring judge, looking at him with sharp, knowing eyes. He unzipped his coat and slid the folder inside, then zipped his coat over it and shut the file drawer.
In the hallway, he turned to lock the office and hurry down the hall to the back entrance, where he pulled his hood over his head and relocked the outer door. He held the file tight against his side, under his coat, and hurried across the frozen parking lot. He drove back toward his house wondering why he’d done what he’d done. He never thought he’d be mixed up in something like this, but he needed the money. However, he was beginning to think it wasn’t worth the stress, no matter how far in debt they were. He could have saved and paid it all off. But the easy way out had looked so good. Now it was turning on him, like a snake lusting for his blood as well as repayment. He took a breath and told himself to stop worrying. It would all be over soon.
His car was still cold when he parked it in the alley behind their little house. The stupid heater would only work when it felt like it. He sat in the dark, shivering, trying to think. Should he get rid of the file? Or keep it? He might need it, just in case things got bad.
Walking up the stairs to his bedroom, he ducked into the closet and opened a small safe that sat on the floor in the back under a box of Christmas wrapping paper. He placed the file inside, closed the safe, undressed and quietly got into bed, being careful not to disturb his wife.
He stared at the ceiling, trying not to think about everything that had happened. Nevertheless, his mind would not let him rest. He could feel dark eyes staring at him, waiting…waiting for his soul.