by G. K. Parks
“No,” she pleaded, and the only thing reflected in her eyes was fear. “You can’t. Please, just forget this ever happened.” I hedged, trying to determine if she was in fear for her life or in fear of getting caught. It seemed to me like she was afraid of someone. “Please,” she whispered, “you’ve done enough by getting him to leave.”
“Okay,” I shrugged, “but if you need anything, think about calling the cops. My friend’s husband is a detective, so if you change your mind, I can put you in contact with someone who can help,” I offered.
“I won’t. But thanks.” She took a deep breath, managing to put a smile on her face. “I’ll see you Friday?”
“I’m looking forward to it.” Before I could say anything else, she picked up the phone, signifying it was my turn to leave. Once I crossed the street, I dialed Mark. “I don’t know where you are, but we need eyes on Jason Oster immediately. Paul and I paid Rachel a visit, and she’s spooked. She’s calling Oster now.”
“I’m on it, but in the future, I’d prefer more advanced notice than this,” Mark said, disconnecting.
I opened my car door, refusing to focus on Paul who was ducked down in the passenger’s seat. At least he was smart enough to hide. I snickered. And Rachel was too flustered to ask what I was doing at her studio, so on the bright side, I didn’t have to sign up for any additional classes.
“You said we weren’t supposed to spook her,” Paul declared, sitting up straight once we were a few blocks away. “She seemed pretty damned scared to me.”
“No judgment, but did you hit her?” If the answer was yes, there’d be quite a bit of judgment and some hitting on my part.
“What?” His jaw dropped.
“Does she have any reason to be afraid of you? Did you smack her around or get too aggressive or forceful when the two of you were together.”
“No way. I’d never do anything like that.”
“No bondage or domination shit?” I queried, already considering the more likely reasons for Rachel to be frightened.
“No. What kind of person do you think I am?”
“Then why is she so afraid of you?” I mused, speaking aloud to myself. Paul shrugged, and I considered my next destination. My gut said Rachel would go to Jason. Mark should be covering the hotel, so I’d keep watch on our secondary location, Jason’s apartment. “She seemed more afraid that you found her than anything else, but I think she was worried that you knew who she really was.”
“I called her Lexie,” Paul blurted out. “And I didn’t say a word about anything I wasn’t supposed to.” When I remained silent, he mulled over the facts. Maybe he wasn’t completely inept at playing sleuth. “Do you think she knows Alvin’s dead?”
“She probably does by now. The police might have needed her to identify the body. And even if that wasn’t the case, Jason may have told her.”
“Unless Jason killed Alvin,” Paul suggested, swallowing audibly. “Maybe he’s gonna kill her next.”
“Stop.” I parked my car a block from Oster’s apartment. “Even if he did, it seems unlikely that Rachel would be one of his targets. If anything, she’s his accomplice.”
“Figure it out, Ms. Parker.” The authoritarian tone that drove me crazy was back in his voice, and I wanted to slap him. “I’m paying you to clear my name and find out what happened to my friend.”
“No shit. Really?” My sarcasm hit with a vengeance. “Because I thought you were paying me to chauffeur you around and try to hook you up with a few one night stands.” Something about Rachel’s words resonated in my psyche.
“Insubordinate and abrasive,” he muttered under his breath.
“We’re not at PDN. And because of you, my parting from that company was less than amicable, so shut your mouth.” My words made something ping in the recesses of my mind. “Did Alvin ever tell you why he and Rachel split?”
Paul shook his head, obviously fighting off the whiplash of my barbs mixed in with my questions. “He said they couldn’t see eye to eye. She freaked out on him because of work, but he thought if she would just give him another chance, they could get past it.”
“She told me that some guys showed up at the house when they were still married. It sounded like she was convinced Alvin was dealing drugs.” Paul met my eyes, and I realized we both had the same idea. “Holy shit.” I rubbed my face. “She thinks you’re working with them.”
“Who are they?”
“I’m not positive, but I’d assume Wheeler and his cronies. Do you think Alvin ever mentioned you to her?”
“Doubtful, they split around the time the two of us began working together.”
“What about Jason? Maybe he said something to her about you and Alvin. If she was still interested in her ex-husband, she might have wanted updates on him and his job and his friends.” Perhaps she wanted to find out what Alvin was really involved in, and that’s why she went home with Paul, to get to know him, see where he lived, do some snooping for drugs or weapons or whatever. Although, going so far as to sleep with someone just to snoop was beyond unsettling.
Paul shrugged. “Could be.”
“Tell me how you picked her up at the bar.” The night they met wasn’t sitting well.
“I was boasting about the hotel job,” Paul admitted quietly. “Plus, I only started going to that bar with Jason.” He paused. “What if he was setting me up the whole time? Like casing my house and sending Rachel to poison me?”
“Doesn’t fit.” Paul’s running dialogue was interfering with my thinking, and I did my best to tune him out. “What exactly happened that night you took Rachel home with you?”
“I’m not gonna kiss and tell.”
“Someone wants you dead, so just spill.”
He focused on something outside the window. “We had quite a few drinks at the bar. Then we went back to my place, and she said she could go for a couple more. The next thing I know, I’m waking up on the floor next to my bed. The sheets are tangled everywhere. A lamp’s broken, and she’s telling me how amazing last night was.” He snorted. “Wish I could remember it.”
“Wow. You fell for the oldest trick in the book. It’s amazing your wallet wasn’t stolen too.”
Thirty
It was late that afternoon when Mark double-parked next to my car. He rolled down his window, and I did the same. Casting a glance at the apartment building, he leaned in and nodded at Paul, who was eating a pastrami sandwich.
“Is she still inside?” Mark asked.
“As far as I can tell.” I squinted, knowing we had a lot to discuss. “Thanks for keeping tabs on Oster. Where is he now?”
“Detective Jacobs brought him in for questioning. A couple of unis will keep eyes on him, so I figured I’d stop by and see what you’ve learned.”
“Quite a bit. Did you know there’s a great deli on this street?” I passed a bag through the two sets of rolled down windows, and he opened it. “Philly cheese steak and a bag of chips.”
“Thanks.” He glanced pointedly at Paul. “And you’re letting your client tag along for an actual reason?”
“He might have just gotten us the break we needed.” While I continued to keep an eye on Jason’s apartment building, Mark ate and I filled him in on everything that transpired today. “Hodge’s death is obviously related to Wheeler and Costan’s deal, whatever plan they had. My guess is with the way Paul likes to brag and the things Jason’s overheard, somehow word got out that Paul was privy to sensitive information. That’s probably how he became a target. It might also explain why Rachel was inside his apartment three weeks ago. She wasn’t looking for nooky. She wanted something else. Maybe evidence of the types of people Alvin worked with or what they were involved in.”
“But she freaked the fuck out when Paul approached today.” Mark crunched on a chip thoughtfully. I let him listen to the recording, but aside from her panic, there wasn’t anything useful to gain from it. “Someone’s been to see her before and to make a threat. There’s no other rea
son for her behavior.”
“So why doesn’t she go to the police?”
“She’s scared. Maybe whoever it was said they would kill her if she did,” Mark reasoned. “She must think Paul’s working with them.” He narrowed his eyes, working his way through a theory. “Could they have threatened her before any of this happened? Perhaps someone stopped by and told her to find out how much Hodge and his associates knew of the deal, but since she wasn’t on speaking terms with the ex, she sought out his associate.” Mark jerked his chin at Paul.
“And she didn’t uncover anything because Paul doesn’t possess that kind of information which might be why they decided to kill Hodge, Costan, and intended to kill Paul. So there wouldn’t be any loose ends remaining.” It was a decent explanation. “But how would Wheeler even know about Rachel? Do you think Jason gave her up?”
“Employee forms. Health insurance. Hodge probably had her on his policy before the divorce, so her information must be stored somewhere. Even if the hotel’s co-owner didn’t have direct access, Jason would, and he is her fuck buddy.” He raised his eyebrows, indicating I should take this opportunity to connect the dots.
“And we already suspect Jason’s working for Wheeler, but this still doesn’t get us the proof we need.”
“But it makes a whole hell of a lot of sense. Do you think we could convince her to cooperate?”
“I don’t know. She ran to Jason first thing. She could easily be involved. All those warm, fuzzy feelings about Alvin could be faked.”
Mark lowered his voice, so Paul couldn’t hear, even though he seemed more interested in his own bag of chips than the conversation. “I spoke to Jacobs before they picked up Oster. They like him for this. They’re hoping to throw some suspicions and evidence at him and get him to turn on Wheeler.”
“Did you tell Jacobs about the camera and the additional surveillance?”
“It’s their case,” Mark pointed out. “I came really close to telling Agent Walton about it too, but,” his gaze went back to Paul, “I didn’t like where our conversation went the last time we spoke.” I gave him a look. “I’ll tell you about it when we’re in private. In the meantime, what’s your plan to convince Rachel to speak to the authorities?”
“I don’t have one. I’ll monitor her movements and hope something surfaces.”
“Look, if I can swing another unit to keep watch on her, will you call it quits on the stakeout? We have more important things to discuss, and the police can do this much without our help.”
“Are you sure? You tend to harp on their incompetence, even though you and Lt. Moretti seem pretty close, and regardless of what you may insist, I know you like O’Connell and Thompson.”
“Yeah, fine. Whatever.” He picked up his phone. “They’re competent. Happy?”
“Not really.”
After a few more phone calls were placed, an unmarked police cruiser was sent to keep tabs on Jason Oster’s apartment. Mark didn’t mention Rachel Romanski or the fact that she was Alvin Hodge’s ex-wife. The way he figured it, he couldn’t completely do their jobs for them. But when they arrived, he told the detail to keep a tail on the woman inside. They agreed, forgetting that Mark was a federal agent and had no real power over them or their operation. Who knows? Maybe Lt. Moretti told them to follow his orders.
Giving the apartment one final look, I turned the key in the ignition and took a convoluted route back to the motel. Paul remained quiet for most of the ride, and I realized he hadn’t said much since the Rachel encounter.
“Penny for your thoughts,” I said, drawing him out of his funk. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“Nothing.” He inhaled deeply. “Do you really think she just used me to find out what Alvin was up to?” It was rhetorical, so I kept quiet. “Maybe the whole reason he’s dead is because of my big mouth.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Not much. I talked about the conference. Y’know, how it was full of international tycoons and diplomats and how incredibly tight security would be. That it was my job to keep everyone safe and devise the best plans and drills.”
“Wasn’t that my job?”
“I don’t have a copyright on it. Feel free to use the same line to get laid. Or almost laid, I guess.”
I laughed. “Sorry, but I don’t need to use pathetic pick-up lines, so that’s all yours.”
“I hate to think my embellishment is the cause of this,” he admitted. “How the hell was I supposed to know that there were people looking for information on the conference and Alvin?”
“Word of advice, when you’re in the security biz, you don’t talk about your job. And if you do, you downplay it as boring and tedious. Glorified pencil pusher works well.”
He arched an eyebrow. I knew damn well he liked to brag and hoped to receive some fringe benefits for his badass act. But that’s not how things worked in the real world. Cops did it too. It was one thing to shoot the shit with your buddies, and it was another when you were sharing stories with everyone you met at a bar. That was a common rookie mistake, and even more seasoned officers could tell tales about how frequently fantastic stories of chasing perps, shooting killers, and arresting dangerous criminals worked to woo badge bunnies at the local watering holes. It was also the easiest way to tell the real heroes from the jokes. People in my line of work didn’t relish in these things. Instead, we buried them, sometimes underneath a lot of alcohol or other times deep in our psyches so they’d surface as terrifying nightmares. Yep, that was the real world, and Paul Eastman was one of the phonies.
After walking him up to the room and checking inside for anything amiss, I waited for Mark to meet us. He showed up, performed the same check I just did, and flipped on the television to the news in case there was any information on our case. “Alex and I will pick up dinner. What do you want?” Mark asked.
“I don’t care,” Paul replied, enthralled by the latest sports scores.
“Okay, pizza it is. We’ll be back in an hour or two. Can you stay put in the meantime?” Mark was desperate to talk, and Paul waved us away. “We’ll take your car since it was outside Rachel’s earlier. It never hurts to be on the safe side.”
“What’s going on?” I asked as we returned to the parking lot.
“A lot.”
I wasn’t in the mood to stay in the car any longer than necessary, especially after our earlier surveillance, so I drove to my apartment while Mark collected his thoughts. He wasn’t much of a talker, but the lack of chitchat was indicative of something brewing. After entering my apartment, I flipped the lock, made some coffee, and took a seat on the couch.
“Since I’ve been running from the precinct to FBI HQ, I think I’ve made some enemies. Walton doesn’t believe this investigation is any of my business,” Mark began. “He’s right, I suppose, but still, it’s bad business when you want to pin additional charges on someone in the hopes of getting them to turn over evidence on a much bigger fish.”
“We do that all the time.”
“Only when the charges are real. I asked him about Eastman’s involvement with Costan and Wheeler to see if they had any real proof that he was involved. Walton practically admitted to fabricating all that shit against Eastman, just so he wouldn’t get released on bail and get out of a jail cell, even if it was just at the local precinct.”
Even though Agent Walton had limited jurisdiction, he’d been in the game long enough to have local friends. They trusted him, and simply by claiming to have irrefutable, damning evidence against Paul, the charges were being filed, at least until I stuck my nose into it.
“What about Jacobs? Is he using this for his own personal gains too?” Since I basically accused him of it, it’d be nice to know if an apology was in order.
“He isn’t, but I think he’s still hoping for a major bust. Hell, you’re on this, which at the precinct translates into a major crime with major fallout.” There was no point in denying it. That was kind of my M.O. “But h
e was willing to cut Eastman loose at your insistence.”
“Well, everything they had against him was circumstantial, and he almost died in that holding cell.”
“Walton doesn’t know what really happened inside that hotel room. There was a surveillance team set up. They were monitoring the hotel security feed and their own security feed, and it was a large enough team that a few infiltrated the hotel staff and guests. However, he said they didn’t use that room. I checked the registry. 709 had a bogus name assigned to it, but he said they didn’t have a room.” Mark filled two mugs, brought me one, and slumped onto the couch. “Unless they fucked up, and he’s lying to cover his ass.” We remained silent, drinking coffee.
“Frank Costan was killed in that trashed hotel room.”
“I didn’t say that.” Even though he didn’t say it, we both knew it was true. One of the reports I read indicated that CSU found blood on the carpet, walls, and throughout the bathroom. Someone died there, and Costan made sense.
“According to Oster, it was registered to Walton, but I checked. And it wasn’t.”
“So it was registered to a fictitious party which may or may not be a codename the FBI team used.”
“That detail is actually a little fuzzy.” I narrowed my eyes, waiting for further elaboration. “Walton insists the party responsible for Costan’s murder works in the hotel and altered the guest registry to make it look like a government cover-up.”
“That’s a nice story with a happy ending for everyone, except good ol’ Frank,” I replied bitterly. “It also means that Walton should have a name and maybe proof. Shit, he should have spotted the killer. Maybe he has a photo or surveillance footage of the man in question. Like Jacobs and I discussed this morning, Alvin Hodge’s killer was on the premises Monday. He used the caterer’s stolen I.D. Why won’t Walton just turn over what he knows?” I was frustrated.
“Until I hear otherwise, I’m doing my best to take Walton at face value.”
“But that explains why you’re helping Jacobs out instead.” I leaned back, closing my eyes briefly and feeling overwhelmed and exhausted. “Jacobs didn’t want to pursue Hodge’s killer because he thought it’d be more beneficial to his career if he waited to build a stronger case against whoever was pulling the strings, which in this instance is former Senator Wheeler.”
