by Jana DeLeon
“Or the game’s almost over.”
“Yeah, I didn’t want to say that one.”
“I’m not foolish, Jackson,” she said quietly. “I may be young and lack investigative experience on criminal matters, but I’m no stranger to evil.”
He studied her for several seconds, and she could tell he was debating whether or not to say whatever was on his mind. Talking must have won out because he finally said, “I reviewed your file. I hope you don’t mind.”
She’d known he would. He needed to know enough about her before he could trust the information she provided him. There was plenty of general crazy in New Orleans, and there was no future in wasting time on the outrageous theories they came up with. Still, it always bothered her on some level that people had access to such intimate details about her life. Basically, that they knew as much as she did. It made her feel as if she were sitting at the table in her underwear, all her scars laid bare for observation. And speculation.
His expression shifted from expectant to contrite. “You do mind. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No. It’s all right. You’re not the first and you’ll never be the last. Besides, you wouldn’t be much of a detective if you took me at face value and didn’t check up on me.”
“True. But it’s got to be hard…the most private things about your life being so public.”
“There was a media circus at first. Corrine taking custody of me made it a bigger deal than it would have normally been, but it was worth it. If not for Corrine, I wouldn’t have a normal life. She knew exactly what I needed and had the resources to provide it. Without her, I’m not sure I’d even be here.”
“Oh, you’d be here. You’re a fighter. That much is obvious. But you might not be as pleasant.”
She smiled. “You think I’m pleasant? That might be a first.”
He grinned. “I’m around cops and criminals all day long. The bar isn’t all that high.”
“You really know how to flatter a girl.”
He sobered and looked down at his coffee, then back up at her. “Have you ever thought about looking into things…for yourself, I mean?”
Shaye considered his question before answering. Not because she didn’t know the answer, but because she wasn’t sure it was something she was ready to share with anyone else.
But if not now, when?
She’d been keeping it all in, talking openly only to Eleonore, and it got harder every day to keep the wall around her erect. Maybe it was time to let her guard down. Time to start trusting that the world contained more good people in it than her mother and her psychiatrist.
“I think about it every day,” she said. “Unanswered questions are the reason I wanted to be a PI.”
“But?”
“But I’m not sure I’m ready for the answers.”
He nodded. “Well, when you are, and if you want some help, I’m available.”
The sincerity in his words was so clear, and a warm feeling passed over Shaye. Aside from family, medical personnel, and a few choice others, she’d never felt that people really wanted to help her. Instead, she felt they’d wanted to gawk at her like those people who slowed to look at car accidents. Jackson was different from anyone she’d met before. He looked at her like a real person, an individual. Everyone else saw the girl with the missing past, the poor abused victim, Corrine Archer’s daughter, or Pierce Archer’s granddaughter. It was a good feeling to be seen as only Shaye, but also one she wasn’t quite comfortable with.
“Thank you,” she said.
He must have sensed her discomfort because he changed the subject. “But first, we solve the mystery of David Grange.”
Guilt nagged at Shaye and she couldn’t help launching one more protest, no matter how feeble. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much I appreciate your help, but promise me you won’t do anything to jeopardize your job. I wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt.”
“I promise I’ll be very sneaky, but I want to do this. I was there the night Emma killed David. I saw what it did to her. I want answers for her as much as you do, and more importantly, I want this sick bastard behind bars so that he can never do this to anyone else.”
“Then I guess we better get to work.”
Chapter Sixteen
It took Jackson less than a minute to locate the law office where Stephen Moore worked and only double that time to flash his badge at the dour receptionist and get a pass through even though she’d made it clear that Mr. Moore talked only to people with scheduled appointments. The walk down the hallway to Moore’s office took less than ten seconds, but he was sure Mrs. Dour had called to warn him, because Moore was already standing behind his desk, looking a bit anxious, when Jackson stepped inside.
As Jackson approached the desk, Moore moved to the side and extended his hand. “Stephen Moore. Mary said you’re with the police?”
“Yes.” Jackson flashed his badge, but didn’t give Moore long enough to zero in on his name. If he could get out of here without Moore knowing who he was, that was probably for the best. He’d done some background checking before he’d driven to the law office. He knew Moore specialized in corporate law, which meant he spent his days making a lot of money getting corporations off for crappy things that corporations tended to do. Moore had the money, the family backing, and the business connections needed to cause problems for him if he weren’t careful.
Moore motioned to the chair in front of his desk and took a seat behind it, clearly uncomfortable with Jackson’s silence. Jackson took a seat and studied Moore for a couple more seconds before speaking. “Do you know Emma Frederick?”
“I, uh, yes. I knew her in high school, that is.”
“But you don’t know her now?”
“We haven’t been in touch for some years.”
Jackson nodded, glancing around the room. He pointed to a framed photo of Moore and Emma displayed on a credenza. There were other pictures of Moore and older people, probably his parents, but no other pictures of women. And based on the photo, Moore had definitely changed his appearance. The man sitting in front of him barely resembled the younger version in the photos.
“You haven’t seen her in years, but you still keep a picture of her?” Jackson asked.
“She was a wonderful girl, and we had some good times. I prefer to surround myself with positive items rather than impersonal vases and such.”
“Sure. I bet the new girlfriend doesn’t feel as positive about those pictures though, right?”
Moore’s ears reddened. “I’m not seeing anyone seriously right now. How can I help you, Detective?”
Got a bit of a rise out of him with that one.
Stephen Moore wasn’t the harmless innocent that he tried to portray. There was a temper in there. “Ms. Frederick is having a bit of trouble,” Jackson said.
“I’m sorry to hear that, but I don’t practice criminal law.”
“She doesn’t need a lawyer. She needs the man who’s stalking her to stop.”
Moore’s eyes widened. “I…I don’t understand. Why are you talking to me?”
Jackson held in a smirk. A person with no guilty feelings would have launched into sympathy or a rant about violence and society. Moore had gone straight to “why me?” “I understand you visited Ms. Frederick at the hospital yesterday.”
“No. I mean, I did see her at the hospital yesterday, but I went there to visit someone else.”
“Who?”
“A former client.”
“Do you always bring flowers to former clients who are in the hospital?”
“If I liked them, I do.”
“Uh-huh. So you just happened to go see this client at the same time that Ms. Frederick was coming on to her shift?”
“I guess so. I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”
Jackson smiled. “Nothing, really. We’re just talking to everyone who’s seen Ms. Frederick recently to see if they have any idea who might be haras
sing her.”
Moore’s eyes narrowed for a split second, then his expression went completely blank. He knew Jackson was fishing and he wasn’t taking the bait. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that,” Moore said. “Until today, I haven’t seen Emma since the day she moved to Dallas. I wasn’t even aware she’d moved back to New Orleans until I saw the news story about the situation with her husband.”
“But you didn’t get in touch with her then.”
“No. I thought about it, but I ultimately decided that it would be intrusive and she needed time with those closest to her.”
“That was considerate of you.” Jackson rose from his chair. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Moore. If you can think of anything that could help Ms. Frederick, please give us a call.”
Jackson could feel Moore’s eyes on him as he exited the office, but the lawyer never uttered a word. Jackson supposed he could have asked Moore where he was the night before when someone placed the mice beside Emma’s car, but he knew the answer would be “in bed.” That’s what any intelligent person would say, whether or not it was the truth. A lawyer, criminal or no, would know that with certainty.
The money, connections, and lawyer thing made Moore a difficult nut to crack. To get information on the man would require skill, cleverness, and some possible sneakiness. Jackson was capable of all three, and would gladly incorporate them to get what he needed. He pushed open the door to the law office and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Jackson may not have gotten much out of Moore, but he suspected Shaye’s intuition was right about one thing: the man’s interest in Emma Frederick hadn’t gone away.
###
Shaye knocked on the barracks door and waited. The drive had seemed twice as long as it actually was. Even worse, all that time to think had yielded no revelations, so all she accomplished was a sore lower back and the discovery that her SUV rattled a bit at high speeds, and she needed to take it in for service. Her anxiety level seemed to have crept up with every mile. If she didn’t find out something useful, then it would be an entire day wasted, and something told her she didn’t have much time left before the stalker made his final move.
The door opened and a guy who’d clearly been asleep looked out at her. “Yeah?” he said.
“I’m looking for Paul Schaffer,” she said. “Is he here?”
The young man shook his head. “Paul shipped out today.”
Shaye didn’t even bother to try to hide her disappointment. “I don’t suppose there’s any way I could contact him.”
“Not until he’s at base camp,” the young man said. “Sorry.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Another soldier yanked open the door and stared out at Shaye. “Paul leave you high and dry? The last thing that dude needs is a kid or something.”
Shaye felt a blush creep up her neck, and she pulled her identification from her wallet. “I just want to see if he can give me some information on someone he served with.”
The second soldier leaned over to see the ID while the first one turned around and shuffled off. “PI? That’s cool. Who’s the guy you’re asking about?”
“David Grange. Do you know him?”
“Nah. But if you’re looking for Paul, you’ll probably find him at the bar.”
Her pulse quickened. “He’s not deployed?”
“He was supposed to be, but he got this tooth that went so bad his eye was swollen shut. He had surgery yesterday so he couldn’t ship today.”
“And you think he’s at the bar, why?”
“Thing hurt like hell but the docs aren’t big on handing out painkillers. I listened to him moan and complain half the night. I figure he went straight for a bottle of whiskey as soon as the doors opened. Freedom Bar. Just down the street from the base.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem.” He winked at her and shut the door. Shaye headed back to her SUV and drove out of the base.
The Freedom Bar was easy to find and didn’t appear to have many patrons. She suspected that drastically changed as night approached. Lucky for her, Paul should be easy to find. The bar had the windows covered with thick shades, and she blinked a couple times to focus in the dim light. A soldier occupied a single table at the back of the bar. The right side of his face was puffy and his right eye was swollen.
She walked up to his table. “Is that dentist recommended?”
He looked up at her, clutching a glass of whiskey in his right hand and a handful of peanuts in his left. “Depends on who’s asking. You the dentist police?”
“You’re Paul Schaffer, right?” She pulled out her identification and his eyes widened. “Mind if I take a seat?”
“Go ahead,” he said, but he didn’t sound sure at all. “What’s this about?”
“I’m trying to get some background information for a client.”
“On me?”
“No. On David Grange.”
Paul’s expression darkened and he shook his head. “I don’t have anything to say about David Grange.”
“Why not?”
“Because can’t no good come of it.”
Shaye studied him a bit as he picked at a napkin, shredding the end of it. He was definitely worried. Time to find out about what.
“Good or not,” Shaye said, “that’s the job I’m here to do.”
Paul lifted his eyes to hers. “What’s he done?”
Shaye was momentarily taken aback. “You don’t know?”
He shook his head.
“Last month, David’s wife killed him.”
Paul’s eyes widened and there was no mistaking his expression. His shock was real. But there was something else Shaye saw in the look he gave her. Something that didn’t quite make sense.
Relief.
“Wow,” he said. “Is she going to prison or something?”
“No. It was self-defense.”
He didn’t seem remotely surprised at that revelation.
“I’m surprised no one told you,” Shaye said.
Paul shrugged. “David wasn’t exactly the friendly sort. When he finished his last tour and left, I doubt he asked for anyone’s phone number. I’m certain no one asked for his.”
Shaye frowned. “See, that confuses me. Because my understanding is that you helped David get his job in New Orleans.”
“Whoever told you that lied. I haven’t had anything to do with David since we left Iraq. I damned sure wouldn’t vouch for him. Who said I did?”
Shaye had no idea what was going on, but this meeting wasn’t going anything at all like she’d figured it would. Paul seemed to be negating everything Ron said, but why would Ron lie? What could possibly be in it for him?
“Ron Duhon,” she said, watching Paul closely to gauge his reaction.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was thinking. Paul scowled and his face flushed red. He slammed his glass down on the table and the bartender looked over at them. “Sorry, man,” Paul said and the man went back to wiping down the bar.
“I take it you don’t like Ron either?” she asked.
“Ron…David…same person.”
Shaye froze. That wasn’t possible. Sure, they looked a lot alike, but David Grange was dead and Ron Duhon was very much alive. “I don’t understand.”
“Look, we were all in the same unit in Iraq. Most of us had served together before, but David was new. Ron and I are from the same town and our moms are best friends, but I never liked him. He was always an outsider in high school, the weirdo, you know? And that didn’t change any here. But for whatever reason, he latched onto David and the two of them got tight.”
“They didn’t seem like the type to become friends?”
“No one seemed like the type to be friends with Ron. But after shit happened, well, we all realized David was just as screwed up as Ron. Hell, maybe Ron could see it in him ’cause he’s just as messed up.”
“What happened?”
Paul glanced over at the bartender and shook his head. “I do
n’t want to talk about it. Don’t matter now. David’s dead and Ron’s done with his time in. As far as I’m concerned, that makes both of them dead. I gotta tell you, I’m not the least bit unhappy about it.”
Paul’s jaw was set in a hard line. Whatever he knew, he wasn’t about to part with it. Not simply because she asked. But maybe, if he knew why she was asking, his conscience wouldn’t let him keep the secret.
“I told you David’s wife killed him,” she said. “He came back from Iraq different than before. Abusive to Emma. She cut ties with him, but he didn’t take the hint from her or the legal system. He started stalking her. The day she killed him, he broke into her house. The police have no doubt he was there to kill her.”
“Why are you telling me this? What difference does it make why he hit on his wife? The dude’s dead and gone and good riddance.”
“He’s dead but not exactly gone.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Someone is stalking Emma, and leaving her keepsakes from her dead husband.”
Paul sat up straight. “And you think it’s me? I haven’t been off base for the last month except to come to this bar, the gas station, and the grocery store. Ask anyone.”
“I never said it was you. But it was someone who knew David well. Otherwise, why go after Emma?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. Look, I’m sorry for his wife, but I don’t want anything to do with this.”
“Too late. Ron Duhon dropped you right in the middle of it. Any idea why?”
“Because he’s a psycho? Because he’s the one stalking that woman and he’s covering his own ass?”
Shaye studied Paul as he talked, but she couldn’t see any indication that he was lying. All she saw was anger, indignation, and fear. It was the fear that worried her.
“Look,” she said. “Tell me what you know, and as long as you’re being straight with me, I promise I’ll go away and never come back.”
