by K. J. Emrick
Spinning on his polished bootheel, he stalks off into the group of firefighters and police officers, slapping a few of them on the back, laughing at some joke he must have made, and basically forgetting that either I or Christian were even here.
“That man,” I say, my voice full of venom, “needs an enema in the worst possible way.”
“Be nice, Sid,” he tells me, although there’s not a lot of conviction in his voice. “That’s my boss. I may not like him either but he’s the guy who can kick me out the door anytime he wants.”
My snort must have echoed, because Webb looks back over his shoulder, his eyes hard as steel.
“He’s not going to fire you,” I tell Chris. “Not someone as good as you.”
“Maybe not, but he could assign me to desk duty for the rest of my career, or until I give up and quit. Let’s not poke that particular bear. He’s ordered me to go to the hospital and,” he pauses to rub at his injured arm, “I think maybe he’s right.”
“You think he’s right? What about me? I told you to do the same thing!”
“Okay, okay fine. You’re both right. Whatever. I’m going to the hospital. Just be happy with that.” He looks around to make sure we’re alone over in this corner of the fire scene, behind the yellow tape that’s keeping all the neighbors away. “However, I don’t trust Huckle Bryerson enough to take over this case. He’s one of Webb’s favorites. I’ll give him my notes, sure, but I doubt he’ll do anything useful with them. You’re going to have to keep going on this while I’m in the hospital.”
“Me? You’re going to trust me to do this without you?”
“Sure. I said we would do this together, and I meant it. Do me proud, okay?”
“You know it.” I want to hug him again but honestly, he’s hurting. I can see it.
“I’m fine,” he says when he sees the concern on my face. “I’ll go, I’ll get checked out, I’ll come back. Don’t worry.”
“Uh-huh. Sure. You big tough man. You no feel pain.”
My imitation of man-speak got a smile from him at least, but I can tell he’s hiding his pain. That amazing dark skin of his was looking a little pale. I don’t care how tough he is. Being at ground zero when a house blows up in your face has got to hurt.
“I’ve got a few things I can try,” I promise him. “Like talking to Barlow again. He might have forgotten to mention how crazy his ex-wife is.”
“You think?”
Both of us turn back to look at the remains of the house owned by Barlow’s ex-wife.
If I hadn’t been worried for Katarina’s life before, I certainly was now.
First things first. I needed a shower. And breakfast.
Which meant going back to my apartment, rather than going right to Barlow so I could interrogate him with questions about where his ex-wife might be keeping herself these days. Say what you will about the rocketing divorce rates in this country, I don’t know hardly anyone who gets divorced and doesn’t keep tabs on their ex.
I didn’t know if Katarina was in more danger now than she had been before, but it certainly felt that way to me. That house blowing up really added to the urgency of finding her. But I needed to get something to eat if I was going to be able to focus on what to do next. Besides. I had a genie waiting for me at home. Maybe he couldn’t give me answers he didn’t know, but he had literally been alive for hundreds and hundreds of years. He must have gathered some advice that would come in handy in all that time.
For a wonder, my parking space is open. Mrs. Anderson must be off doing errands for the day or something. I settle Roxy into it, nestling her in all nice and comfy where she belongs. I might not be staying for very long but for as long as I was here, I had reclaimed my territory. Score one for me and Roxy.
When I get up to my floor and inside my apartment, I find Harry with his apron on again. Bless his magical heart. I can smell the eggs and bacon and my stomach’s growling already.
“Keep this up, Harry, and I’ll have to start paying you a salary.”
“That would not be proper, my lady.” He purses his lips as he stirs the eggs and adds in diced onion and green pepper. “I am your genie, and you are my master. For me, serving you is payment enough.”
“Well, we’ll have to figure something out because I can’t really cook to save my life.” Sneakers kicked off, I drop my satchel, gun and all, into one of the kitchen chairs. “I’ve got a lot to tell you about. This morning didn’t really go too well.”
He turns to me now, and his deep brown eyes nearly pop. “What happened to you? You must come and sit down at once and let me look at your injuries.”
“I’m fine, Harry. Just a little banged up. I got hurt worse than this when my squad took fire in Kabul. Seriously, I’m fine.” He looks dubious, but goes back to finishing the fluffy scrambled eggs. “Tell you what, I’m going to grab a quick shower and then come back for this amazing breakfast you’re making. I’ve got some questions before I head out again I’m hoping you can help me with.”
He bows deeply, never once taking his hand off the stirring spoon. “Anything I can do to help is my pleasure.”
“Except poof me back to the house where Katarina is being held?”
His expression falls flat. “I’m sorry, Sidney Stone… three wishes was the most I could give you… surely you remember the rules? A few caveats, a few quid pro—”
“Yeah, I heard it all. I was just kidding, Harry. Anyway, I’ll be right back.”
Giving me a nod, he pushes the food around to help it cook evenly, but I can tell he’s troubled by my question. I was only sort of kidding, to tell the truth, because another wish from Harry could solve this whole thing. I guess that would make it too easy, though. I mean, what good would it do me just to make a wish every time a client was in trouble? What sort of Private Investigator would I turn out to be then? No skills, no drive, just a three wish limit and if your case was any harder than that, oh well. Nothing I could do for you.
Harry was going to be a good partner for my P.I. business, but I was never going to let him just do all the work for me. That’s not the kind of person I am, and I think he knows it. I think that might be one of the many reasons why he got sent to me, and not someone else.
With my clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor, I step into the hot spray from the shower. The drumming pressure works out the knots in my back and shoulders. Dirt and a little bit of blood go washing away down the drain. I’m careful when I clean around the abrasions on my face, but they still sting. I’m thinking the whole time I’m lathering suds around my skin. There must be something we missed. Andrea had to be somewhere, in that house with a backyard and a swing set.
Wait. Why a swing set? Did she have kids? People didn’t have swing sets if they didn’t have kids. Barlow didn’t mention kids…
Okay. All right, now we were onto something. If she had a kid from a previous marriage, from before she was with Barlow… that would make it a lot easier to track her down.
I toweled off quick on my way to my bedroom, pulling out fresh clothes from drawers that I left open and messy. Now that I had my brain back on track, I was in a hurry to get Harry’s take on it and get myself to Barlow so I could ask him if any of my hunches were right.
Jeans and a long-sleeved scoop neck. Not my usual sort of thing. In fact I can’t remember the last time I wore this top. I wasn’t looking to be fashionable, just dressed, so mission accomplished.
Breakfast is on the table when I come back out. It’s more like lunch at this point but either way, I’m starving. Plus, Harry’s cooking is amazing. This might be just a simple meal, especially compared to his Kofta, but somehow, it’s exactly what I need right now. He’s already sitting in the same seat that has somehow become his over the last few days, chowing down on a plateful of yellow eggs. I notice he didn’t touch the bacon. Maybe he was trying to watch his weight.
I don’t have that problem. What I eat, I generally burn off. My plate has the eggs and the bacon and t
riangles of toast as well, and I’ve eaten two of the bacon strips before I even sit down.
“How do you always know?” I ask him around another bite. “You’ve got food ready and waiting for me when I walk through the door. How do you do that?”
He beams with pride. “Simple, my lady. My bond with you lets me know when you are near. It is like a compass bearing that allows me to point…” He lifts an arm, slowly rotating it over, until his finger is pointing right in my direction. “…to you.”
Well. That was good to know, I guess. The toast was gone now, and half the glass of orange juice Harry had given me, too. The clock on the microwave told me it was getting close to noon. The day was half spent. It was time to get back to my case.
In quick detail, I tell him all about my hunch that Barlow’s ex-wife was the kidnapper, about going to the police to find an address, how Chris got the warrant, and then how the house exploded. “No one was there. Not Andrea Michaelson and not Katarina, either. It was Andrea’s house though. Her last known address.”
“Ah.” He nods his head along with each new detail. “I see your dilemma.”
“Exactly. Andrea wasn’t keeping Katarina in that house, but she had it rigged to blow up. She was expecting someone to find that house and come looking for her. Does she hate the police that much? Going after them seems like a really stupid play.”
“Hmm. Do you think she could be certain the police would be the ones to open that door?”
That question makes me think. I hadn’t looked at it that way. Why lay a trap for the police? If you kill cops all that does is make you a target. Every police officer in the state would come after you for hurting one of their own. It made no sense. The house was obviously a death trap. The explosion wasn’t meant to keep anyone from finding Katarina because she wasn’t even there… no, its only purpose was to kill whoever came through that door…
Not, necessarily, the police.
I drink the rest of my juice and put the glass in the middle of my empty plate. “I knew you were more than just a pretty face, Harry. You’re one smart genie, aren’t you?”
He looks very pleased with my compliment. “I was very well educated for my time, and I’ve learned a thing or two over the years. After all, I live to serve. One can only serve after first learning how to lead.”
Interesting philosophy. Definitely some truth to it, and it kind of reminds me of what they taught us back in the Marines. I knew he’d have a new perspective to show me. Even without magic.
“Thanks, Harry. I’ve got to go again. This whole thing is coming to a head pretty quickly and I need to get more information from Barlow. If he can answer a few more questions I really think we’ll be able to find Katarina.”
With a little sigh, he drops his hands into his lap. “Which means I must be left here alone, again.”
“Afraid so. Look, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you as soon as I can. Somehow. Right now I really need to go.”
“Is Christian helping you?”
Now why would he ask me about Chris? That was from way out of the blue. I mean, if he was a normal guy, I’d assume he was jealous that I was spending time with someone else, but Harry’s not a normal guy. It’s not like we’re in a relationship, either. “Chris is in the hospital and he’s probably going to be there for a while. He got hurt really bad when that door blew off the house.”
I’d seen explosions in my time in the service. I’d seen a few people caught in blasts that tore them up real bad. But that was the Middle East. This is Detroit, damn it. I was supposed to have left all that behind when I left the military. Anyone who could do that intentionally to another human being was deeply disturbed, and dangerous.
I certainly wouldn’t mind having Christian with me when I found Andrea Michaelson, that’s for sure. But, since I wasn’t going to be able to do this with him, and since there wasn’t anyone else in my life that I trusted like I trusted him…
“I’ll be fine,” I tell Harry. “I’m a big girl. I can handle things by myself.”
“Of that,” he says with a smile, “I have no doubt. However, might I suggest an alternative…?”
When he explained his idea to me, I had to wonder why I hadn’t thought of it myself.
Chapter Thirteen
It was the middle of the day, and I wasn’t going to find Barlow at his apartment. He was at work. I could call him up and ask to meet him somewhere for lunch, but I think catching him off guard is going to make it a lot easier to find the answers I’m looking for. Besides. Thanks to Harry, I’ve already eaten.
Private investigator pro tip: Learn all you can about your clients. Preferably, you do that before you accept their money and take their case. However, if your heartstrings get plucked by the story of a missing woman who really needs your help, and that makes you dive in feet first before you learn about your client, then do your research ASAP. I almost got tangled up with an organized crime boss once, and if I hadn’t done my research to find out who was trying to hire me, that could have been bad for me both professionally, and personally.
I looked up Barlow Michaelson that first day he hired me, at the same time I was scrolling through Katarina’s Facebook. He might be into some shady deals financially, but he’s essentially an above-board kind of guy. No surprises that I could find. He’s worked at the same financial institution for eighteen years now, doing his investment banker thing, and by all reports he’s on the slow track to becoming a partner. Another ten years, maybe.
He did tell me that his life was boring. I’m betting this business with Katarina is the most exciting thing that ever happened to him.
The main offices for C and R Trust and Fiduciary—Barlow’s employer—are in Detroit’s Financial District, on the thirty-fourth floor of the Penobscot Building. This is just about as downtown as you can get, with crowded streets and people rushing everywhere and horns blaring in traffic that’s moving at a literal snail’s pace. This is what the world thinks of when they think of Detroit. I tend to avoid this part of town when I can help it. Big crowds make me antsy.
It takes me a little time to find a place to park Roxy. The EZ Park across from the UPS store, just around the corner, had a couple of spots still open. At ten dollars to have someone sit and watch your car for an hour or two, I’m not surprised. If I had the time, I’d do what everyone else in the city does and just drive around until a spot opens up on the street. Since I don’t have that kind of time, I use my debit card to give the attendant his blood money.
I could have taken the bus, too, but there was a reason I wanted Roxy with me today.
One of the elevators in the Penobscot Building takes me right up to the thirty-fourth floor, and behind the door to C and R’s offices a very helpful secretary greets me with a smile as she finishes up a call on her headset. I see her notice the bruise on the side of my face, but since she’s here to make everyone feel welcome, she doesn’t say anything about it.
Once I tell her I’m here to see Barlow, she holds up a finger with one hand and pushes a few buttons on her computer with the other. Then she’s talking into her headset again, telling Mister Michaelson that there’s a woman here to see him by the name of Sidney Stone. I can tell by the look on her face and the way her eyes dart over to me that Barlow is less than happy to know I’m here at his place of business.
The secretary taps a finger to the side of her headset, and then turns to me. “Mister Michaelson would like you to wait here. He says he’ll be right—”
Before she can finish the sentence, a door slams off to the side and Barlow is coming around, making a beeline in my direction. His face is flushed. Everyone he passes is looking at him, but he won’t look back. Obviously, he didn’t want this matter brought up in front of his peers.
Tough.
“Hi, Barlow,” I say with a smile. My voice is just a little bit louder than it needs to be. “I just had a few more questions. Is now a bad time? Hey, nice suit.”
Without answering me he puts hi
s hand on the small of my back and half guides me, half pushes me back out the door and into the hallway. I don’t mind. Here, or in his office, my questions were going to be the same.
“I told you,” he grumbles once the door closes behind us, “that you weren’t working on this case any longer. I fired you. I am extremely busy today reformatting fifteen columns in a thirty-page financial projection because a CEO I’ve never met before decided he wanted to expand into Tennessee instead of Alabama. Now, I’ve already found another detective willing to take the case for me and he seems very competent. Plus, he promised not to involve the police.”
“Oh yeah? You replaced me that quick? That just kind of hurts my feelings, Barlow.”
“Well, that’s too bad. It’s the way it is.”
“Just out of professional curiosity, who’d you get to take my place?”
Looking up and down the hall to make sure no one is out here listening, he sighs. “His name is Jasper Hanson. Now will you please go away?”
“Oh, I know Jasper. He’s got those flashy ads on television, right? Yeah. He’s really bad at this work. He does mostly cheating-wife cases and half the time he gets his proof by cheating with the woman himself. Not really the kind of guy you want in your corner.”
“I don’t care, as long as he keeps it quiet.” He actually stands up straighter now, like he’s trying to intimidate me. “Now. I do not want you here. We’re done.”
Instead of leaving, I lean my shoulder up against the wall, and fold my arms. “You replaced me pretty quick. You know, women can get upset being replaced like that. Kind of like how your ex-wife got upset that you brought Katarina into your life to replace her.”
“What does… I did no such… that’s not what…” Barlow’s shoulders slump as he stutters his way through what he’s trying to say. “I did no such thing. Me and Andrea were done long before I ever met Katarina online. It has nothing to do with Andrea. Nothing at all.”
“Oh no? Look at my face, Barlow. You see all these scratches? This bruise? That’s from a house exploding this morning. A good friend of mine almost died there. He’s in the hospital as we speak.”
