Chapter 6
T om Barker came around so quickly, he sloshed freshly brewed coffee over the back of his hand. “He did what?”
The rookie officer who’d had the misfortune of delivering the message gestured toward a nearby desk where one of the lines on the phone was blinking. “The TSA guy is still on the phone if you want to hear it for yourself. I’ll just go…” He took a few steps backward, then turned and quickly retreated.
Tom went over to the desk, shook the hot spill off his hand, picked up the receiver, and pressed the blinking button on the panel. “This is Lieutenant Barker.”
The man identified himself by name and explained that he was the TSA’s supervising agent of the morning shift. For the next several minutes he talked, giving an account of an incident at the New Orleans airport involving John Bowie. Tom listened without comment because his teeth were clenched too tightly to speak. The agent wound down by saying, “To Agent Gorman, he seemed legit at first. But after the crack he made as he was escorting the woman out, Gorman became concerned and reported it to me.
“I spoke with the airport police officer who’d watched his car while he was inside the terminal. Bowie had showed him his ID and explained that he was trying to intercept a material witness who was hotfooting it despite a subpoena. I thought I should call and get your verification.”
Tom wished he had John Bowie in a chokehold. He wished he had Bowie on a rack. He was about to assure the TSA agent that his detective would be harshly dealt with for misrepresenting their department.
But in an instant of lucidity, he realized he shouldn’t react out of anger. He needed to think this through, give himself time to plan how best to work Bowie’s shenanigan to his advantage.
Rather than expressing his outrage, he chuckled. “I tell John all the time, ‘That mouth of yours is going to be your undoing.’ He’s a smart aleck, but what can I say? He’s an asset to my division.” Tom tasted bile when he said that.
“Agent Gorman will be relieved to hear it. She said Mr. Bowie was polite but had an… an edge. He was also sporting a black eye.”
Tom forced another light laugh. “He had a run-in with his closet door. Maybe one margarita too many. We’ve all been there.”
There was a smile behind the agent’s voice. “A time or two. I’m sorry to have bothered you, Lieutenant.”
“No, no. I’m the one to apologize for troubling you and your agent. Thank you for telling me. I’ll speak to John, warn him against crossing a line. Sometimes even the best officers do. You’re a supervisor, you know what I mean.”
The agent agreed on that point. Tom was about to say goodbye when he had another sudden thought. “Did the woman he apprehended go along quietly? Ms. uh…? Oh, gosh, her name has slipped me.”
“Beth Collins.”
“Right, right, Beth Collins. John had told me he was afraid she would get skittish when it came down to testifying in court. Going against an abusive ex-boyfriend. Something like that.”
“That was another thing that struck Agent Gorman. She said Ms. Collins didn’t look like someone the police would be chasing down.”
“She’s a witness, not a suspect. At least not yet.”
They said their goodbyes. Tom went into his private office and sat down at his desk. Using the office phone, he punched in an extension. It rang twice, then, “Hey, boss.”
“Get in here.”
“Sure, soon as I finish up—”
“Now.” Tom hung up.
Less than a minute later, Frank Gray came into the office and pulled the door closed. One of Tom’s most loyal facilitators, Gray could be relied on to do what he was told and to keep his mouth shut about it.
Without being invited to sit down, he wedged himself into the chair facing Tom’s desk. “What’s up?”
“Bowie.”
“No surprise there. Heard y’all had quite a showdown this morning. Hate I missed it. What was it about?”
“Same ol’.”
“The Mellin thing?” Frank ran his palm over a greasy comb-over that did nothing to conceal his shiny, pink bowling ball of a head. He had jug ears that were equally pink. “The boy is stubborn, I’ll give him that.”
“ The boy deserves to be horsewhipped.” Tom related what had happened at the New Orleans airport.
“A woman, huh?” Frank guffawed as he smacked his chewing gum. He was never without a wad of it in his mouth, which he never closed while chomping. “Maybe he’s just trying to get laid.”
“He doesn’t have any trouble getting laid, and this isn’t funny, Frank. I want to know what he’s up to.”
“Who was the gal?”
“Her name is Beth Collins.”
“Who’s she?”
“That’s the first thing I want you to find out. The TSA agent said she was booked on a flight to New York. Whoever she is, she’s important to Bowie, or he wouldn’t have jerked her out of the security line and made off with her.”
“Okay. So? She and Bowie had a ring-a-ding. He wasn’t done with her yet. It’s kinda romantic. Like a movie. Outsmarting security, racing down the concourse. Will he make it? Can he stop her? Big tongue swap at the end.”
He leered again and, even though Tom was used to that gaping grin, it still turned his stomach. Unfortunately it was part and parcel with Frank Gray, and he needed this enforcer.
“Bowie may well be in rut,” Tom said, “but he’s not a romantic. And there’s something else that’s worrisome. A woman’s been calling here for him, and only him. The first time was the day before yesterday, twice this morning.”
Gray stopped grinning. “That shoots my theory all to hell. A new bedmate would call his cell phone.”
Tom nodded. “Bowie played dumb when I mentioned the calls, but if they’re traced back to this Collins woman, I want to know what her connection is to him and why he went to extremes to keep her from leaving.” Tom flapped his hand in the direction of the door. “Get on it.”
“Right now?”
“Drop everything.”
Gray worked his considerable bulk out of the chair. “If it does turn out to be something unromantic, how far do you want me to take things?”
“Bowie’s been a pain in my ass for too long. Far too long.” Tom gave him a look that didn’t require explanation.
Gray popped his chewing gum and flashed another misshapen smile. “I’ve been itching for some fun.”
“Don’t expect too much.”
John unlocked his back door and pushed it open, then stood aside and motioned Beth across the threshold into his kitchen. He didn’t like mess, he kept a clean house, but for the first time since he’d moved in, he was embarrassed by his rental, quaintly misnamed a “bungalow.”
It was at the end of a shadowy, potholed cul-de-sac, where similarly run-down dwellings were tucked between moss-laden live oaks, shaggy cypresses, and unidentified brambles. It was the perfect setting for a depressing Tennessee Williams drama in which every character was miserable and nothing went right.
As Beth was taking in the unattractive kitchen, Mutt wandered in from the living room. “Who’s this?” she asked.
“He answers to Mutt. His gene pool is murky, but he’s harmless.”
Proving him right, Mutt padded over and sniffed her hand, then gave it a lick. She didn’t jerk her hand back as John would have expected of her. Instead she addressed Mutt by name and introduced herself.
When she bent down to rub his bony head, her slender black slacks that hugged and delineated her shapely bottom were pulled even tighter across the curves, causing John to tell himself for the thousandth time what a bad idea it was to have brought her here. Because when she’d begun explaining the geometry of a blood moon, using phrases like “specific alignment” and being “perfectly positioned,” his mind had drifted away from the relationship between heavenly bodies and had instead entertained the thought of a relationship with her body. Which was also heavenly.
Made uncomfortable by his prurient thoughts, he said crossly, “Come on, Mutt. Out you go.”
Mutt seemed reluctant to leave her stroking hand, and who could blame him? But he ambled over to the door John was holding open. Before going outside, the dog looked up at him with a Did I miss something? expression.
He wanted to tell Mutt that there was a logical explanation for this notably attractive stranger being in their kitchen. Which was that, while still parked in front of the fast food restaurant, Beth and he had agreed that they needed someplace to talk in more depth about the relationship between the Mellin case and a blood moon.
“I checked out of my hotel,” she’d told him. “Where do you suggest we go to compare notes?”
His spontaneous reply had been, “My place.” She’d been about to shake her head no, when he jumped in ahead of her. “Look. You’re safe from me, all right? I’m not going to hit on you. But the subject matter we’ll be discussing is likely to get intense, and it would be easier to concentrate without the distractions of a public place like in the bar yesterday.” Having said that, he’d been reminded to ask her how she’d known about that dive.
“I grew up in Thibodaux,” she said. “When I was in high school, that bar was widely known to have relaxed rules about selling alcohol to minors so long as they didn’t drink it on the premises.”
“Encouraging kids to drink and drive.”
“Which is why it was shut down for a while. It’s changed hands since then, but I didn’t know how seedy it had become until I walked in yesterday. By then it was too late for a change of venue.”
“I can’t help but wonder, why the subterfuge? Why didn’t you just come to the station and ask for me?”
“Because you were the detractor. I didn’t want to rattle anyone until I’d had a chance to talk to you first.”
“Well, they are rattled.”
“Already?”
“Yes. Word is out that a woman keeps calling the department, asking for me and only me, and won’t leave her name.”
“Oh.”
“Right. We have to assume we’re on borrowed time before someone discovers you’re from Crisis Point . When they learn that, they’ll presume, correctly, why you want to talk to me. So, until we know the extent and outcome of this conversation, and I determine how disruptive it might be to my life—”
“To mine as well.”
“—it would be better if we’re not seen together looking like collaborators.”
Even though she’d been sitting in the passenger seat of his car, she’d propped her hand on her hip. “Then maybe you should have thought twice about creating that scene at the airport.”
“Maybe I should have, but I didn’t want you to get on that plane, forcing me to follow you to New York.”
He could tell she’d been surprised by that. “Would you have done that?”
“After yesterday’s parting? No. I was glad to see the last of you. But as of nine-thirty this morning, yes. I would’ve gone to New York if necessary to continue this.”
“What happened at nine-thirty?”
“A confrontation with the jerk who shut me down when I tried to extend the Mellin investigation.”
“The boss who’s looking for an excuse to fire you?”
“That’s the one. Lieutenant Tom Barker.”
“Why did he do that? I mean, why did he shut down the investigation?”
“He had a promotion pending. Solving the Mellin case would put him on the fast track toward getting it. Solving the case swiftly would make it a shoo-in.”
She’d lowered her hand from her hip. “He used the Mellin case to gain a promotion?”
“That’s the kind of person he is, and he relishes being boss. Believe me, Tom Barker wouldn’t welcome an examination of how he conducted that investigation. He wants the Mellin case to remain solved. So you were right to exercise caution. This morning the set-to we had began with him warning me against giving any interviews about the Crisis Point episode or the case itself.”
“That sounds like a giveaway as to how nervous he is.”
“I thought so. Which is why I came after you and caused a scene.”
Her gaze had shifted to an airliner that was taking off from the runway across the busy boulevard. She’d glanced at the dashboard clock. “I think that must be my flight.” Turning back to him, she’d said, “We could go back to the bar.”
“Oh, like we’d go unnoticed there.” He paused, then said, “Listen, by the time we drive around looking for a place, we could be at mine. No one will bother us there, or even see us there, because nobody but my best friend knows where I live. After we talk, I’ll drive you anywhere you want to go. Okay? Daylight’s burning.”
She was still hesitant, but she had agreed.
And now here they were in his kitchen, which was so narrow there was barely enough room for one person, much less for two who’d somehow come to be standing face-to-face in the confining space.
She looked at a loss.
He looked at her.
Neither moved until Mutt scratched on the back door.
John stepped aside and pointed. “Living room is through there.” She turned and made her way in that direction.
He went to the back door and let Mutt in. He snatched his reward kibble from John’s fingers, then headed straight for the living room in a frisky trot that John had never seen him exercise before.
“He must’ve noticed her ass, too,” he muttered as he took two bottles of water from the fridge and kneed the contrary door shut.
In the living room, Mutt was lying on the floor at Beth’s feet where she was seated in the easy chair. He wondered what she’d think if she knew that one of the grungy guys from the bar had been sitting there last night. Still looking ill at ease, she thanked John for the bottle of water he handed down to her.
He went over to the sofa, detached the holster from his belt at the small of his back, and set it on the coffee table. She must not have noticed him wearing it before now, because he caught her looking at the pistol with misgiving. However, she didn’t remark on it, so he didn’t acknowledge it, either.
He pulled his tie from beneath his collar, unbuttoned his cuffs, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Made more comfortable, he settled back against the sofa cushions. “Before we start, I want to ask you a question, but don’t get your back up, all right?”
“Ask.”
“You seem convinced that another woman will go missing on the night of the blood moon come Thursday. Are you psychic? Do you read tarot cards? You’re a fortune teller?”
“My back is up.”
“Okay then, tell me what qualifies you to make a prediction like that?”
“Fair enough.” She took a deep breath. “For seven years, I’ve worked on Crisis Point , which, as you know, is a program that documents criminal cases.”
“I’m a faithful fan of Law & Order . But to become a detective, I had to earn a degree and then go to the police academy.”
She frowned over his sarcasm. “Do you want to hear this or not?”
“You have the floor.”
She took another deep breath, which he really wished she would stop doing. Each time she did, he couldn’t help but notice the rise and fall of those more than just “nice,” actually oh-so-sweet breasts. They challenged his effort to stay focused.
She was saying, “I was hired by the network to work on Crisis Point . My first position was that of gofer. Within a year, I was promoted to fact checker. Everyone involved in the production process relies on fact checkers. The title defines the job.”
“You made sure everything was correct.”
“Yes. It could be something as minor as the spelling of someone’s name, or a major discrepancy that required further investigation. I wasn’t the only one, of course. At any given time, several are working on a project.”
“You were the best, though. Right? You advanced.”
“Well—”
“Come on now. No false modesty. Who is Mr. Max Longren and just what all do you do for him?”