She crossed her arms in front of her, building body armor. “And you?”
I flipped through the various stories I’d used in the past to cover an uncomfortable situation. I didn’t know if she knew Brayton or not but I wasn’t going to get her involved in this if at all possible. Not when there was an illegitimate Hanover baby out there somewhere.
The last thing I needed right now was to get into another pissing match with Bernadette. I’d have plenty of opportunities for that in the future.
“I know one of the detectives.” I waved at Attersley. He waved back, frowning at seeing me still in the police station and talking to someone far out of my social strata. He tilted his head to one side and watched us dance.
Bernadette crossed her arms. “I know you know some cop here. It was in your file.”
I resisted the urge to snap her neck like the scrawny chicken she reminded me of. The last thing I needed was for Hank to overhear the word “file” and wonder what that was all about.
Her lower lip jutted out in a halfhearted pout. “What I want to know is why you are here, now.” She gestured at the animated figures dashing in and out of offices. A missing baby set off all the bells and whistles and Attersley’s people took their job seriously. “I understand your profession involves dealing with the police but I didn’t expect to find you hanging out here.”
I caught the disapproval in her voice mixed with curiosity. She’d likely gotten all of her knowledge about private investigation from bad crime novels and reruns of Magnum PI and I didn’t fit into any of them.
Especially the cute mustache.
“I’m between cases right now.” I figured the less she knew about my arrangement with her husband the better—I’d let him deal with the situation if and when it came up. “There’s an AMBER Alert out for a missing child. I wanted to get a full description so I could pass the information on to my street sources. Any port in a storm and so forth.” It was a half lie, one I could be comfortable with.
“Oh my.” She glanced at the scrambling officers. “A missing child. That’s awful.” Bernadette turned her attention back to me. “Is it a random snatching or parental custody issue?”
I looked at her, startled by the logical question. Maybe there was more to this woman than seen at first glance. “Ah, we’re not sure yet. At the least, a kidnapping.”
“It wasn’t a carjacking, was it?” She let out a plaintive sigh. “I work with one group who keeps reminding the public to not leave babies in the car, even for a few minutes while they rush into a store.”
“No, no car here.” I wasn’t sure what to say or not to say, not knowing what or how much information had been released to the public. I didn’t need Hank roaring down my neck for putting something out that hadn’t been approved by The Powers That Be.
Bernadette shook her head. “Such a pity. I hope they find the little boy or girl. Awful business, especially where babies are involved.”
She turned to go and I felt my heart begin beating again.
Bernadette suddenly stopped and spun on one tall stiletto heel to face me again. “We should have lunch sometime. I’ll call you and we can chat about things away from the men. I’d like to hear about your mother.” Her lips drew together into a tight line before moving again. “I’m sure it was quite traumatic when you lost her.”
Suddenly I was ten years old again and curled up in Ruth’s lap, crying and cursing with words I didn’t even understand yet.
“Yeah. Have your people call my people and we’ll do lunch,” I croaked out.
She gave me a practiced smile. “We’ll have a little girl time together since you’re spending so much time with my son.” The last two words came out almost as a curse, her lips curling around the syllables.
“Sure.” I lifted a hand to give a halfhearted wave but she’d already disappeared down the hallway and into the stairwell, her blond locks bouncing around her shoulders.
A cool breeze wafted through courtesy of a well-placed fan by an open window at the far end of the hallway and I drew in a deep breath, both gathering myself and enjoying the reprieve from the funky station house smell.
The wind also carried another scent, a variation of one I’d recently become familiar with.
I closed my eyes. This was part of the reason I could never become a cop. I couldn’t handle this part of the job.
I opened them to look down the hall, zeroing in on a frail-looking couple being guided along the corridor by a pair of uniformed policemen.
The Callendars.
The older woman was this side of retirement, her gray hair pulled back into a tight bun. A white shawl hung on her narrow shoulders, draped over a black blouse and matching slacks.
Her husband had a handful of follicles left and had chosen to do a comb-over to try to keep some sense of having hair. He wore an oil-stained black T-shirt and jeans. His hands sat on her shoulders—calloused and leathered. Mr. Callendar was a man who worked with his hands and worked hard for a living.
They stopped outside one of the interrogation rooms. The uniforms muttered something and walked away, leaving the grieving parents alone to sit on a wooden bench and wait for the detectives to show up and brief them.
I moved over to the open window and looked out, tuning in to the bereaved couple. It didn’t take much to zone in on the emotional whispers and lock out the grumblings and mutterings from the nearby cops. I felt my ears twitch as my natural radar zeroed in on the grieving parents.
“I can’t believe this,” Mrs. Callendar said between sobs. “Who would do this to her, right after she had the baby? Who?”
Her husband tightened his grip on her shoulders. “That bastard.” His fingers trembled where they rested. “That bastard,” he repeated.
She reached up and touched his hand. “Right now we have to focus on Liam. We need to find Liam.”
“We’ll find the bastard and make him pay,” Mr. Callendar rumbled. The hardness in his words startled me. There was a lot of bite behind this bark. “We’ll find him and the baby and do what’s right.” He shot an angry look at a uniformed cop. “We’ll do right by her.”
The distraught woman shook her head. “I wish she had stayed with Ian. He was such a nice boy...” Her sentence trailed off into a new outburst of tears.
Her husband shook his head. “You know it wouldn’t have worked out, Julia. They grew up together but they weren’t meant to be together no matter how much we all wanted it to work.” He let out a snort. “I wish she had told us who Liam’s father was. We’d have a place to start.”
“You don’t think it was Ian?” Julia Callendar pulled a tissue from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes.
Mr. Callendar shrugged. “She said it wasn’t him and I believe her. I don’t know how I’m going to tell him.” He sighed. “I’ll call his dad on the construction site. Maybe that’s the best way to go about this.”
“Until they bring him in for questioning.” His wife sniffled. “You know the police will want every detail, every ex.”
“We’ll give it to them. And let Harrison clear his own name,” Mr. Callendar replied. “It was supposed to be a nice breakup, an amicable deal.” He shook his head. “I’ll kill the bastard.” He swiped at a wayward tear making its way down his cheek. “I’m more worried about Liam. He’s so young, so little—” He buried his face in his wife’s shoulder.
The two wobbled back and forth, leaning on each other for support.
I couldn’t watch anymore. I turned away, giving them their privacy.
I also had another lead in Molly’s murder.
Attersley appeared at my side, startling me. “Who was that?”
“Who?” I blinked, trying to regain my focus. It was always hard to switch back to the present after using my Felis senses.
“The fancy lady bending yo
ur ear.” He stabbed a thumb at the stairwell where Bernadette Hanover had gone. “Thought for a second you were about to jump out the window, you looked so terrified.”
“Michael Hanover’s wife.” I tried to sound nonchalant. “Bran’s mum.”
Epic fail.
The pudgy detective let out a low whistle. “I think you’d be better off single than dealing with that barracuda.”
I tilted my head and smiled. “You don’t think I can handle her?”
“Sweetie.” He gave me a sad smile. “My mother-in-law hates my guts. No man would ever be good enough for her daughter and in your case no woman would ever be good enough for her son. There’s nothing you could do, outside of maybe saving the world, that would bring her over to your side.”
“Thanks for the pep talk.”
“No problem.” He grinned. “Why are you still here?”
I jerked a thumb at the elevator. “Waiting for my ride.” I couldn’t help looking back at the Callendars.
He followed my glance toward the mourning parents and shook his head. “Don’t screw with them, Reb. They’re good folks who not only lost their daughter but now they’re worried about having to bury a grandson.”
I paused, weighing my options. I could, in all good faith, walk over and offer my services to help find Liam.
Hank seemed to be reading my mind. “Don’t even think about it. You’re mixed up in this enough as it is, you take those two on as clients and I’ll have the higher-ups demanding I put you in a cage for interfering with an investigation.” His hand landed on my arm—a light touch, more grandfatherly than official cop. “Let us do what we do best. Here.” He shoved a page into my hand. “You want to help out go hit the streets and spread the word about the baby.”
I looked at the information sheet. The color photo showed Liam in all of his glory, his eyes barely open under the red fuzz covering his tiny head. It was a generic hospital photograph taken not long after his birth.
“Go save their world.” Hank nodded at the Callendars.
The elevator doors slid open. I stepped inside, leaving him behind.
“I’ll go get my cape,” I replied as the steel shutters closed.
The new cell phone Bran had bought me had all the bells and whistles, including the ability to take photographs. I pressed the paper against the elevator wall and took the shot, making sure to keep the tiny baby face in focus.
It took a few seconds to send the photograph and a few more to dial the number myself.
The elevator doors opened as the connection came through.
“Rebecca. What a surprise.” Jess wasn’t lying, the shock evident in her words. “What’s this picture?”
“I need a favor.” It was like gargling bleach.
“Really.” The curiosity overrode the lack of etiquette. “A favor. From me.”
“You owe me after all the things I’ve done, all the help I’ve given you and the family.” I took a deep breath, feeling the nervous flutters in my stomach threaten to break free. “I need you to call a hunt.” I spoke quickly, afraid what would happen if I sat and thought about the words. “The picture is of Liam Callendar. He was stolen from a hotel room within the last few hours. Punk took the diaper bag and all the supplies but you know how fast babies go through stuff. People would notice a guy being awkward with a baby, unsure how to handle him. I need our people to be on the lookout for someone acting suspicious.”
“What happened to the mother?” I heard tapping on the line—Jess texting to the Pride. The electronic alert was going out even as we spoke. She wasn’t waiting for my reasons.
“Murdered. Shot in the back of the head.” The image of Molly Callendar’s shattered skull popped into my mind’s eye, twisting my stomach into knots.
“And this is a human baby.”
“Yes.”
“Why are we helping you find him? The police have their own informants and systems for this. AMBER Alert and so forth. Children go missing every day and it breaks my heart but what’s so special about this one?”
I drew a deep breath. “He’s Bran’s half brother.”
The silence hung between us for a few seconds.
“I see. Consider it done,” Jess replied in a calm, measured voice. “I’ll be in touch as soon as we have something.” The line went dead. I’d been expecting an interrogation or at least a reprimand for asking for Felis help in a purely human matter.
I wasn’t sure what the price was going to be for asking Jess for this favor but I was willing to pay it.
The lobby was full of hustle and bustle, the usual perp walk of innocent criminals going in and out. But things were different with the news that a baby was missing, an added urgency infecting everyone. People walked faster, phones answered quicker.
Even the hookers looked concerned, one stopping to drag a bright red neon fingernail across the bottom of the brand-new poster of Liam stuck on the bulletin board. She shook her head and mumbled something to the man beside her, who thumped the floor with his walking stick.
It took a lot to piss off a pimp.
The cell phone vibrated against my hip.
I hesitated, not recognizing the number. At least it wasn’t Bran—I wasn’t sure I was up to dealing with him right now.
I hit the button and put it up to my ear. If I was lucky it was a sighting of Liam by one of the family.
“Rebecca.” I froze, recognizing Michael Hanover’s voice.
So much for luck.
“I’m here.” I didn’t want to speak his name aloud. It was sort of like the Bloody Mary urban myth.
“Where are you?”
“About to step out of Division 14 after having a rousing game of canasta with the police.”
Police and civilians flowed around me as I headed for the front doors. I fought against the tide until I got outside.
“We need to talk.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” I trotted down the front steps, free of the constraints of the police station. “Just tell me—did you try to set me up for Molly’s death because I love your son? Because if you say yes I’m about to bring down the shit storm of all shit storms on your head.”
“You can’t talk to me like that.”
I sat down on the concrete steps. “I can and I am. You’re in a ton of trouble and I wouldn’t count on Brayton going down on a murder charge to keep your name out of all this.”
“I need you to come to my office. We need to talk about this and I don’t like doing it over the phone.”
“I’m on my way.” I cut the connection before he could respond.
The cell phone buzzed again before I could even think about putting it away.
WHERE R U?
Bran.
My fingers paused over the tiny keyboard. I had to tell Bran but I had no idea how to even start to approach the subject. Honey, I love you but I might have accidentally participated in the murder and cover-up of your father’s secret lover and the kidnapping of your half brother.
Didn’t roll off the tongue.
STILL WORKING. BE HOME SOON.
WHERE ARE U?
DOWNTOWN AT MTNG. GOT 2 GO. LUV YOU.
I wondered if there was a special confession rite for lying through text messages.
Chapter Five
It took me a few minutes to flag down a cab and direct him to the Hanover Investments complex, after which I sat back and searched for Ian Hamilton, using the cell phone’s built-in web browser.
I could get used to this sort of investigating.
A plethora of Ian Hamiltons popped up in the results page, thinned slightly by adding “construction” to the search criteria. It was a page long but it was a start.
As we stopped in front of the tall glass needles I saved the details and t
ossed the driver a twenty before heading for the front doors.
The security officers watched as I approached the desk for the second time, my messenger bag flapping against my hip. I signed in again and flashed my license to the same senior officer I’d seen on my first visit.
“I’m here to see Michael Hanover this time.”
“Fifteenth floor.” The supervisor checked his clipboard. “I don’t have you on his list of appointments today.” He eyed me over the clear plastic. “We need to call upstairs. Are you expected?” The tone in his voice told me he was used to turfing surprise visitors.
“No but he’ll see me.” I looked at his clipboard. “You may want to call a few of those and tell them he’ll be running late.”
* * *
Michael Hanover had his own floor and private receptionist, both of which looked extensively reworked to look expensive. The young blonde woman smiled at me while offering Godiva chocolates and freshly brewed coffee or tea as I waited.
Interns rushed back and forth while I lounged on the black leather couch, stretched out and chomping on square after square of mouthwatering dark chocolate. I played with the wrappers, wishing I knew enough origami to turn them into tiny cranes or unicorns. I settled for a large foil ball.
It was after five in the afternoon, the usual quitting time for most of the world, but the floor showed no signs of clearing out. Instead it seemed to get even busier with more frantic interns dashing in and out of rooms with wild silent gestures to each other and nervous, sweaty faces.
“Rebecca.” Michael waved me over, standing in the doorway of his office. He sounded like he was about to order pizza.
Family Pride (Blood of the Pride) Page 8
