by E B Corbin
“You have a king-size bed.”
“No, no, absolutely not!” She started to slide out of the booth.
“Relax. I’m kidding.” He grabbed her hand to slow her exit. “I’ll sleep on the floor in the living room.”
Roxanne knew she would feel safer with Callahan in the apartment; she only wished she would feel more at ease. Not wanting to argue further in the restaurant, she followed him out the door in silence.
When they reached her condo, Callahan told her to wait while he checked it out. Standing in the hall with its god-awful green plaid carpet, Roxanne felt useless. Dammit, she could take care of herself. Ten years of kick boxing and tai chi training meant something—even if she’d never used the moves outside of class. And she was a decent marksman; her father took her to lessons from the time she was fourteen, against her mother’s wishes. True, she didn’t have a gun at present, but so what? She still knew how to handle one.
No way would she allow some “special agent” to take charge of her life! Without waiting for Callahan’s approval, she marched into the condo, half-expecting to come face to face with a catastrophe. No trouble ensued— all remained the same as they’d left it.
Callahan growled at her when he came out of the bedroom. “I told you to wait.”
“I didn’t feel like it.” She shrugged.
“Don’t you ever listen?”
“It depends. I thought you were being overbearing, and I saw no reason to comply.”
“You’re talking like a lawyer.”
“I am a lawyer.”
“And I’m trained in keeping people safe.”
“I’m trained to keep myself safe.”
“Jesus Christ! Do you always have to get the last word in?”
“I try.”
He stared at her for a second, then sighed. “Shut the door.”
Roxanne made sure all the locks were in place. When she finished, she found Callahan in the kitchen, dropping a pod into the coffee machine. “Want some?”
“No, I need to pack a few clothes. As soon as I get the word on my partnership, I want to be ready to go back to Oilville and finish things up.”
“How long’s it gonna take?”
“To finish things up?”
“To find out if you got the partnership.”
“The partner’s meetings start tomorrow. So I might hear soon. Or I might not find out until the end of the week.” She peered at him and twisted her mouth into a sour pucker. “I can’t say exactly when.”
“Don’t you have any cases coming up?”
“The Tax Court only holds sessions in Pittsburgh for one or two days every couple of months. The next session isn’t scheduled until January. I have two cases in this session. One of them’s ready, and the other is on hold right now until the client gets us more backup. My guess is he doesn’t have it, and we’ll be trying to settle before the court session. If all goes well I can get this business about Roxy’s inheritance out of the way before things heat up at work.”
“Is that what Roxy’s death means to you? Something to get out of the way?”
“Shit, I didn’t mean to sound crass. I feel bad I never knew her.”
“I knew her a little. She was… unique, that’s for sure. Gramps can tell you more about her.”
“What do you mean, unique?”
“Probably not the best description,” Callahan said. “Self-sufficient might be a better word.”
“I’d like to learn more. Maybe I can meet your grandfather sometime?”
“Just say when. He’s dying to meet you.”
Roxanne raised one eyebrow.
“Okay, bad choice of words under the circumstances. He’s eager to meet you. Better?”
Roxanne realized she needed to learn more about the woman who left her everything. Since she wouldn’t get much out of her mother, as soon as she could take the time, she’d chat up Chester Callahan.
CHAPTER NINE
At two o’clock in the morning, the small hospital slept. The busy back and forth of doctors and nurses, the visitors, the food service and cleaning crews vanished, leaving only a few nurses circulating through the three floors of the modest building. Other than the beeps from the monitors and unobtrusive noises at the nurse’s station, the hospital settled down to the quiet of darkness. The head nurse on the second floor, a fiftyish woman with gray hair tucked in a bun, looked over charts at her desk. She made notes on times to administer medications.
Two men, one tall, one short, stood in the stairwell outside the entrance to the second floor. The larger of the two opened the door a crack for a split second.
“She’s still there,” he whispered to the shorter man.
“This isn’t such a great idea.” Sweat dripped down the shorter man’s forehead. “We could get to him when he leaves the hospital. He’ll be laid up for a while once he gets home.”
“Ya don’t know that. Besides we need to find the money now. I’m not going to fuck around with that Irish bastard.”
“I’m just sayin’—”
“Ya ain’t sayin’ shit. We’ll be outta here in five minutes—once that nurse moves along. Now put on your mask.”
“I feel silly.”
“You’ll feel sillier if the cameras catch our faces.”
With their ski masks in place, the bigger man opened the door again checking the hall. “C’mon, she’s headin’ down the hall away from us.”
As the nurse turned the corner without looking in their direction, the two men entered the corridor easing the door shut. Checking room numbers as they hustled along the silent hallway, the big man stopped at Room 214. “We’re gonna find out what we need to know, whatever it takes. Understood?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
They slipped into the room to the sound of soft snores. Bruises and scabbed over scratches marred Ralph Patterson’s face. A cast covered his right arm from the elbow down. A plastic tube from a bag on a pole led to a bandaged port on the back of his hand. Regular, steady beeps came from a machine monitoring his heart rate and blood pressure.
The big man stopped at the closest side of the bed while the smaller one moved around to stand on the other side, next to the beeping monitor. Without looking at his partner, the big man reached down giving the sleeping man’s shoulder a firm shake. “Patterson, wake up.”
The lawyer’s eyes cracked open. “Wha…?”
The smaller man clamped his hand over Patterson’s mouth. “Tell us where the money is, and you won’t get hurt.”
As Patterson’s eyes opened wide, the big man added, “Don’t scream. You understand me?”
When the man in the bed managed a half-nod, the smaller man withdrew his hand cautiously.
“Where’s the money?”
“What money? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The big man grabbed a pillow from the chair next to the bed pressing it over Patterson’s face. He held it tightly in place for a few seconds while Patterson struggled and the monitor beeped faster.
“Ease up,” the smaller man said. “The machine’s goin’ crazy!”
The big man pulled the pillow away, allowing Patterson to gasp for air. “I’m not gonna fuck with you. Tell us where the cash is, or I’ll do it again.”
“Please… I don’t know where any money is. I have some in savings. I can get that for you.”
“Not your money, dumbshit. You know what we’re talkin’ about. Last chance—where is it?”
“Wait, wait! I don’t have cash just lying around. If you tell me how much you want, I’ll find it for you.”
The big man shoved the pillow down over the injured man’s face and leaned on it, increasing the pressure. The man in the bed struggled for a few seconds, then his body went slack as the alarm on the monitor began to blare a loud, long screech.
“That’s enough!” The shorter man had to raise his voice to be heard over the wailing machine “Stop it now!”
“Pull the damn plug,” the b
ig man whispered pointing to the wall.
The short man pushed IV lines out of his way to reach the wall plug. Welcome silence fell in the room once he yanked the cord out of the wall.
The big man pressed on the pillow a couple of seconds longer, then threw it back on the chair. Patterson’s vacant eyes stared at the ceiling seeing nothing.
In panic mode, the smaller man checked the pulse in Patterson’s neck. “Jesus Christ, ya killed him!”
“I didn’t do it that long. Are ya sure?”
“Machines don’t lie. His heart probably gave out. I told ya this was a bad idea.”
“OK, OK, calm down. He wasn’t gonna tell us where the money is anyway. He’s an old guy. They’ll just figure his heart couldn’t take the strain from the accident.”
“Someone might have heard all that racket. Let’s get outta here. Quick!” The shorter man sped to the door, grabbing the handle before he stopped, motioning to his partner. “C’mon!”
The two men rushed to the stairway, not daring to take the time to look behind them.
A female voice shouted, “Hey, hold up there!” as the stairway door closed.
As one, they stripped off the ski masks while they flew down the stairs. They left the building the same way they came in—strolling casually through the emergency room. No one even glanced up.
They were in their truck, several blocks away, before a nurse found Ralph Patterson and sounded a code, waking the whole hospital.
CHAPTER TEN
A good night’s sleep in her own bed left Roxanne refreshed and ready to tackle whatever came next. If she experienced a dash of guilt about Callahan spending the night on her living room floor, she dismissed it.
She had a decision to make: report in at the office to spend the day waiting for word from the partners or drive to Oilville assuming Ralph Patterson felt up to talking. She jumped in the shower, hoping the hot water would help clear her mind. When she came out, wrapped in a towel, Callahan stood at the bedroom door, grinning at her. Whatever she had decided in the shower completely left her brain.
She clutched the towel. “What the hell?”
“Sorry, I wondered if you wanted breakfast.”
“Coffee will do.”
“Good. I’m not always big on breakfast myself. What’s our plan for today?”
“My plan is to check in at the office. If they don’t need me, I’m going to Oilville. See if I can talk to Ralph Patterson.” Even as the words left her mouth, Roxanne realized there had never been any doubt in her mind she was going to Oilville.
“I slept just fine, thank you for asking.” Callahan leaned against the door jamb and crossed his arms.
Roxanne’s guilt returned. “Jesus, I’m sorry. I’m acting like a jerk. Did you get any sleep at all?”
“I’ve slept in worse places.”
“We used to have a bed in the guest room, but Richard brought it with him when we moved in together. I guess he took it when he left. If he took the towels too, let me know.”
When Callahan turned to leave, she had to call “Shut the door!” to regain a modicum of privacy.
Roxanne dried her hair, then dressed in jeans, brown leather boots, and a heavy sweater that brought out the blue in her eyes. She spent extra time with her hair and make-up, wanting to look casual yet impressive for her meeting with Patterson. She told herself it had nothing at all to do with Callahan.
Satisfied she looked her best, she called Lauren to see if her friend had any word on when the partnership vote would be held.
Lauren answered breathless. “I’m just on my way to the front desk to make sure everything is ready for when the partners arrive,” she told Roxanne. “I’m exhausted already. This is worse than a day in court.”
They chatted about Lauren’s duties and made plans to get together next week once the tension had passed. Honestly, Roxanne’s thoughts were too scattered to pay attention to her friend’s ramblings until Lauren said, “We’ll celebrate your new position.”
“Maybe.”
“Don’t be silly; you have it locked.”
Roxanne wished she felt as positive. “I’d better check in with Anne to let her know I won’t be in today.”
“I’ll do it for you,” Lauren offered. “I have to contact the office anyway.”
“If you’re sure you don’t mind. Sounds like you’re rather busy.”
“It’s no problem. I’m just complaining to hear myself bitch.”
Since she didn’t feel like talking to Anne or Eric today, Roxanne agreed to Lauren’s offer, hoping it wasn’t a mistake. Eric had more or less taken over the Lincoln case, and he was welcome to it. She felt no sympathy for whiny stockholders who complained the IRS picked on them. Besides, they were Duane’s clients, not hers. She’d disliked them from the first day they met. Both owners flaunted Mercedes, yachts, and homes in the Bahamas, while claiming they were too poor to pay their taxes.
Fine by her, if Eric had the paperwork all ready to go. Nothing remained on her desk that couldn’t wait for a couple of days.
She packed a duffel with additional winter clothing, including a pair of North Face boots in velvety waterproof suede, fur-lined at the top, with rubber grip soles. She’d never worn the boots before but congratulated herself on remembering them, sure they’d come in handy in snow-covered Oilville. She stuffed in enough underwear for several days, her toothbrush and make-up, then dumped the heavy bag by the door before she grabbed her morning coffee.
Callahan sat on the same kitchen stool where she found him the night before, his laptop open in front of him, a cup with nothing but dregs on his left.
“Do you want some more coffee?” Roxanne asked, trying to be a better host.
“Yeah,” he answered, not taking his eyes off the screen.
“What’s so interesting?”
This time he didn’t slam the top shut when she approached. “A report on the license plate. Killen Walsh rented the truck at Greater Pittsburgh Airport on Sunday.”
She peered over his shoulder at the email leaning against him to get a closer look at the picture. “Hmm, not one of the guys I saw in here yesterday. Do you know who he is?”
“The ID is fake… a good enough fake to pass until I had my people track it down. The real Killen Walsh was at work in a bank in Dublin when they contacted him. He claims to know nothing about the passport used at JFK on Saturday.”
“A fake passport? Right up your alley, isn’t it?” Roxanne realized she stood too close and backed up quickly.
“Except it’s an Irish passport. Makes it a little more complicated.” Callahan frowned at the screen, then at Roxanne. “Ireland was one of the first countries to use a machine-readable card attached to the passport between the front cover and first page. E-Passports have a biometric chip in them with all the same info as the passport itself, along with some other security features. It makes them hard to forge. The Department of Foreign Affairs in Dublin will not be happy to hear we found a fake.”
“Sounds like this fake Walsh guy must have some skills.”
“Or some heavy-duty contacts and a shitload of money.”
Disappointment permeated Roxanne’s voice. “This doesn’t help us find out who those two men were or what they were looking for.”
Callahan added, “Or what they were doing with the phony Killen Walsh.”
“I don’t recall Richard having any dealings with Irish connections.” Roxanne gazed out the kitchen window where the sun fought to get through the overcast. “It doesn’t mean much though. I don’t know a lot about Richard’s dealings period.”
“Doesn’t have to be Richard. In fact, it’s probably not. Your Aunt Roxy and Chester both have contacts in Ireland. Gramps served as the ambassador in the eighties.”
“Really? Your grandfather, an ambassador? That’s impressive! Why didn’t you mention it before?”
“He doesn’t like to talk about it,” Callahan told her. “Besides, I don’t think of him as an ambassador. He
’s just Gramps to me.”
“What about Roxy? You said she had Irish connections too.”
“Hers go back a ways like Chester’s. They were both in Ireland in the seventies and eighties. That’s where they got to know each other so well.”
“What was Roxy doing in Ireland?”
“Don’t know. You’ll have to ask Gramps.”
Roxanne nodded, adding a meeting with Callahan’s grandfather to the to-do list in her head. “First, I have to talk to Patterson.”
“About that, two guys from the Philadelphia office are on their way here to check into this passport thing. I have to stick around to meet them. That means we can’t go back to Oilville today.”
“Well, maybe you can’t go back. I’m all packed and ready to go.”
“I wish you would stay until I can go with you.”
“I’ve already notified the office I won’t be in today. I have a slow schedule this week though I could get jammed up next week. Besides, I told you before, I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“I think you do.”
“I think you need to get a grip.” Roxanne had no intention of changing her plans. “You’re all wound up in this fake passport shit and need to do your job. I’m sure whatever this Irish guy is doing here, it has nothing to do with me.”
Callahan sighed. “I’m not as sure as you seem to be.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m going.” She touched his arm lightly as she passed. “You can stay here tonight if it gets too late. You can even sleep in the bed!”
“Great,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Try to be careful. I won’t be around to get you out of trouble.”
“I’ll be at the hospital with people all around me. What can happen there?” She grabbed her heavy parka, threw the peacoat over her arm in case it warmed up, while Callahan sat at the counter watching her with concern.
◆◆◆
The morning remained cold and gray. At least no more snow fell, making her drive easier than expected. Even with a few wrong turns, she arrived at Roxy’s house before ten. The entrance to her aunt’s garage fronted an alley running behind the fancy Victorians. All the houses on the street had garages facing the alley. Roxanne guessed the garages were afterthoughts. Originally built in the 1800s, few houses had enough space to put a driveway in the front or off to the side. Parking on the street was not feasible— snow plows could come through at any time. Roxanne drove around the block to the alley entrance where she pulled the Ridgeline into the garage.
