Nowhere to Hide

by Terry Odell

  He was rewarded with a full-fledged smile this time, one that revealed a hint of a dimple and some light in her eyes.

  “Your parents have mine beat. I’m the youngest of four. The only girl.” Following her gaze to the entertainment center, he glimpsed a family photograph. He crossed the room, picking up the picture and comparing the carefree youngster with the troubled young woman sitting behind him.

  “There’s a lot of love here,” he said.

  “Yeah, we’re close.” Her voice was guarded.

  He replaced the picture and noticed a half-empty Scotch bottle. “Aberlour. Not bad, but I prefer Irish myself.” He turned to her and smiled. “Looks like you’ve had a rough day. Do you want some?”

  After a beat, that defiance crept back into her tone. “No, thanks. And if you don’t mind, if this isn’t an official visit, I don’t think I can help you much.” She stood, but straighter than she had when he’d seen her walking down the path.

  “Of course. It’s late.” He walked toward the door, aware she was right behind him. He turned. She smelled of smoke, of pine cleanser, and he wanted to kiss her.

  Until he remembered Schaeffer asking if Colleen was pretty.

  “Good night, Ms. McDonald.”

  He heard her soft exhale as he opened the door and let himself out. Then cursed when he caught a glimpse of a cruiser in his rearview mirror as he left the subdivision.

  Damn. Had to be Clarke.

  *****

  Colleen watched Harrigan walk away. Her knees shook, and she couldn’t begin to understand the way her insides had wobbled there, just for a second. She must be exhausted. For a moment, she’d thought he wanted to kiss her. Why on earth would he do that? It didn’t matter. What mattered was if he had, she’d have let him. Hell, she’d have kissed him back.

  She closed the door, double-checked the deadbolt and hurried to the bathroom for the hottest shower she could stand, as if the needle-sharp spray could wash away her confusion. If anything, the shower made her feel even more tingly and unsettled. She toweled off, pulled on her sleep shirt and crawled into bed, trying to relax. She took some deep, slow breaths. Dark-rimmed blue eyes swam in her thoughts. Gentle eyes. She drifted into sleep.

  All too soon, she was in the big Bradford house again, with its vast expanses of marble, trying to calm the couple. Husband. Blue silk shirt, unbuttoned halfway. A baseball bat. Wife, very blonde, black eye starting to form, with a kitchen knife.

  Gunshots. Blood. Pain. Screaming. The screaming woke her and she realized it was her own. Panting, drenched in sweat, she sat up in bed and turned on the light. She felt tears on her cheeks and willed them away. McDonalds didn’t cry. Her brothers had drilled that into her well enough.

  Knowing sleep was out of the question, she stumbled out to the kitchen and heated some water for herbal tea. She sat on the couch wrapped in the blanket from her bed, feet tucked under her. Harrigan’s white handkerchief, now streaked with soot, sat on the coffee table. Without thinking, she picked it up and ran it though her fingers. That strange tingling started again.

  Forget about Harrigan. Detectives. Cops in general. Think about the mysterious Jeffrey. Find him and get them all out of your life.

  Where was Jeffrey? Odds were, right where he was supposed to be. But the cop in her wouldn’t accept it on blind faith. She thought of the times in Pine Hills when Randy had let her partner on his detective investigations.

  Get as many facts as you can, kid. Then figure out which ones are useful.

  Start at the beginning. Megan, her college roommate, had steered her to this apartment. Megan’s grandmother knew Doris. Maybe the grandmother knew Jeffrey too. Colleen sent Megan an e-mail. At the very least, Megan could contact her grandmother.

  Colleen thought Randy had used her as a sounding board more than anything else, but sometimes saying it out loud turned on those overhead light bulbs. She felt like an idiot talking to herself at four in the morning, so she opened a new spreadsheet. She headed columns with names. One for Jeffrey, one for Doris, one for the stepdaughter, whatever her name was. On a whim, she added Megan’s grandmother. Then she typed in what little she knew.

  When she finished, she had bits and pieces of disjointed information that still made no sense. She laughed out loud and started highlighting. It still didn’t say much, but it was a lot prettier. And as an added bonus, she was drowsy. With luck, she might get a couple hours of sleep before the roller coasters woke her. Not bothering with the bedroom, she curled up on the living room couch and sank into sleep, this time undisturbed.

  Either she’d slept through the coasters or the wind had shifted, because even with the windows open, it was nine-fifteen before she woke. She felt rested, more than she had in weeks.

  She stretched and the stiffness through her shoulders and thighs reminded her of yesterday’s workout. Healed or not, her left leg hadn’t regained full strength yet. A short run ought to loosen things up. She readied the coffee maker, pulled on running shorts, sports bra and a light tee. The morning air was cool, but nothing like November mornings in Oregon. She secured her hair in a ponytail, grabbed her keys and headed out.

  She reached the intersection at Wallace Road in under fifteen minutes. The crossing guard for the elementary school was pulling off her neon orange gloves and walking toward a small motor scooter. Colleen dipped her head to the guard and jogged in place as she waited for the light to change. Across the street, through the Y’s glass walls, people worked out on the cardio machines, and she wondered why anyone would want to run on a treadmill when the weather was so glorious outside. The light turned green and she pressed forward. She’d go as far as the shopping center and turn around.

  When a black BMW across the road caught her eye, she realized she’d totally forgotten about Doris’ visitor from yesterday. Colleen twisted her head to get a better look at the driver, but the car was already moving, and the window tinting prevented a clear view.

  Relax. This was a major street, this neighborhood must be overrun with Beemers, and black was a common enough color. Nevertheless, she crossed to the other side of the street and jogged for home.

  Chapter Six

  Graham yawned as he walked down the corridor to Schaeffer’s office. He’d spent a restless night, alternating between thinking about a troubled redhead and trying to decide why Clarke—if it was Clarke—had shown up at Doris Walters’. He found Schaeffer at his desk.

  “Morning,” Graham said.

  Schaeffer grunted. “You have anything?”

  Somewhere around two a.m., Graham had decided to keep his mouth shut about Clarke. Maybe Schaeffer was setting him up, seeing how he dealt with things on his own, or if he’d come crying to Daddy when things didn’t go his way. It had made sense then. Now he kept watching Schaeffer, trying to read him. If the case had gone to CID, Schaeffer would have told him. Wouldn’t he?

  Graham stifled another yawn. “Nothing positive at the hospitals or morgue. The aunt swears she said the guy’s in Alabama, not Alaska. But there was a fire at the Walters’ house last night. According to the reports, it was an accident. The woman had some friends playing cards that afternoon, someone dumped an ashtray in the wastebasket, and eventually it caught fire.”

  “Any reason to think otherwise?”

  Graham shook his head. “I’d say the woman is running at about eighty-five percent. The tenant agrees. Says she’s lucid most of the time, but makes occasional detours into la-la land.”

  “You still think this is a case? Or are you looking for excuses to see that tenant?” Schaeffer’s grin said he was teasing, but Graham still bristled.

  “I do think it’s a case. I can’t explain it, but something’s not right. If the man was in touch with the old lady—and she insists he was—I don’t see why he wouldn’t have called his kid. Pain in the neck or not, it doesn’t feel right that he wouldn’t try to make personal contact.”

  “Not if she’s always asking for money.” Schaeffer leaned back in his chair
and chewed on his pen. “By the way. We’ve had a couple of personnel changes. If you’re interested, I can start you in the cross training program now. Ninety days. Unless you’d rather wait until January.” Schaeffer lifted his eyebrows.

  Graham tried to keep his heart inside his ribcage. He struggled to remain professional. Had Schaeffer made the same offer to Clarke? “I’d be grateful for the chance. Thank you, sir.”

  Schaeffer gave a quiet laugh. “Let’s see if you’re still thanking me after you spend days doing boring legwork with me breathing down your neck and checking all your paperwork. You might want to stick with Patrol duties. Grab your laptop. For now you’ll have to work at one of the communal desks. I’ll see about finding an empty cubicle.”

  In the workroom, two detectives were engrossed in their own laptop screens. Graham offered a good morning, got a nod from one, a raised eyebrow from the other, but neither objected to his presence as he plugged in his laptop.

  He’d do this one right, by the book. Ninety days to prove himself. He might have made some mistakes in his career, but nobody was perfect. He’d do a good job and he’d get the transfer. So what if Schaeffer thought this was a non-case and was throwing him a bone? At least he was willing to give him a chance. So what if it meant competing with Clarke? So what if Clarke smelled like a rose and Graham carried the stink of Proctor, his lousy training partner? Clarke was more like Proctor than Proctor had been, and eventually someone would notice. For now this was Graham’s chance to show what he could do.

  Maybe he could ask Colleen to pump Doris. Involve a civilian? By the book? Hell. He’d barely started his investigation and he was already outside the goddamn library.

  He had to agree with Doris that Kimberly Simon was a pain in the neck, but so far, Kimberly seemed to be alone in thinking there was something wrong. And what was her relationship with Jeffrey? If they were as close as she claimed, why hadn’t Jeffrey been in touch? Or maybe it was like Doris had said, and all she wanted was money and Jeffrey was ducking her. He reached for a legal pad from the desk drawer and wrote Kimberly’s name at the top of the page.

  He dug through his notebook for her number and dialed the phone. He’d barely announced himself before she flew into him.

  “Did you find him? What does that woman know? Did he give her permission to live there?”

  “Slow down, Mrs. Simon. I’ll answer your questions, but one at a time. No, I haven’t found him and the tenant doesn’t seem to know anything.”

  “You’d better double check on that. Maybe she and Doris are in cahoots. The old bat would do anything to stay out of a home.”

  He flipped a page and wrote Doris’ name at the top before continuing. “I will. Now I have a couple of questions for you.” He flipped to Kimberly’s page and took a breath. “Your mother married Jeffrey Walters when you were twelve, right? And divorced him eight years later.”

  “That’s right.” After an extra beat, Kimberly continued. “But Daddy and I are close. He adopted me after one year, you know. And he honestly cares about Billy, even though there’s no blood connection.”

  He moved on. “Have you heard anything more from your father? Mrs. Walters said she would tell him to call you.”

  “I had an e-mail last night, but it seemed fishy.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “It was businesslike, short and it seemed, I don’t know, off, somehow. He usually includes something for Billy. A joke, something he’d call ‘guy stuff’ or maybe a link to a website Billy might enjoy. He hasn’t been doing that lately.”

  Graham started taking notes. “How long would you say these ‘off’ e-mails have been coming?”

  “I can’t say. I mean, I didn’t pay much attention at first. I don’t save them, so I can’t be sure, but I think at least for the last month.”

  She’d calmed down and he relaxed. He moved down his mental list of questions, writing down her answers. “What can you tell me about his business? Any partners, associates, assistants? A secretary?”

  “Daddy is pretty much a loner. He works out of his home office because he spends so much time on the road. I think he used a private temp service from time to time when he needed clerical help, but I can’t tell you which one. He’s had some setbacks lately, and Doris had invested big time in some of his deals. I think that’s why he let her live in the apartment rent-free.”

  “Okay, so do you have any knowledge of what he’s working on now? Doris said he’s in Alabama.”

  “That’s what his e-mails have said, but he never says much while he’s working on a deal.”

  “Do you know what he was working on before the Alabama trip?”

  “No. But before that, I think his last project was something local, near the space coast. He was pretty sure it was going to be a big one. Make up for his losses.”

  “Mrs. Simon, I have to ask you this.” He paused. “Do you know of anyone who might want your father out of the picture for a while?” He wished he’d been able to interview her face to face, to watch her eyes.

  “Daddy? I can’t imagine why. I mean, yeah, some people don’t like land developers, but the truth is, Daddy is pretty damn ethical. He follows the rules and tries to leave things natural where he can.”

  Right. Leave a few trees or a pond while you build your golf course and condos and destroy habitat.

  He moved on. “Do you have a picture of your father? Something you could fax?”

  “I don’t have a fax machine, but I’ve got a picture of Daddy. I could scan it and e-mail it.”

  “Even better. Thanks.” That should save him trying to wheedle one out of Doris. He gave her his e-mail address. “I’ll watch for it. And please let me know if you hear from him. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Wait!” Kimberly said. “Granger. No. Gravely. Stuart Gravely. That’s the name of someone Daddy worked with on the local deal. I think I met him at a cocktail party when Daddy was looking for backers. I don’t know anything more than his name. Does that help?”

  “It can’t hurt. Thank you, Mrs. Simon. You’ve been helpful.”

  “Let me know what you find, Deputy Harrigan.”

  When he hung up, he felt a surge of excitement. With Kimberly’s worries about her father and the name of a business associate, he had enough to do a little more digging. He smiled as he turned to his computer.

  He discovered a Gravely Enterprises in the phone book at a downtown address and went to report to Schaeffer.

  Twenty minutes later Schaeffer slid back the passenger seat in Graham’s cruiser. “You take the lead. You’ll do fine.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate the chance, even if you don’t think there’s much of a case here.” Graham pulled out from the station and pointed the cruiser down Highway 50.

  “We don’t have enough for a warrant,” Schaeffer said. “How are you going to play it?”

  “I’ll keep it low key, say I’m gathering background information. Find out if they were working together and if so, how much personal contact, when he saw him last, that kind of stuff. Nothing to indicate we think there might be a problem.”

  “Do we think there’s a problem?” Schaeffer asked.

  “Not officially. But my gut’s starting to wonder.”

  “That’s probably the third donut you scarfed before we left.”

  “It was two. You know we can’t be seen eating them in public, so when someone brings in Krispy Kremes, you have to grab them quick.”

  “Proctor teach you that?”

  Graham gritted his teeth. Even long-retired, his training partner kept coming back to haunt him. Not for the first time, Graham wondered if he caught so many less-than-plum assignments because of incidents he’d thought well behind him. He forced a calmness to his voice. “I managed to figure that one out on my own.” He made his way through the maze of downtown one-way streets and pulled into the parking garage underneath the high-rise building.

  They crossed the marble-floored lobby to the elevator and Graham
let Schaeffer precede him.

  “Twenty-three,” Graham said and Schaeffer pressed the button. As the car ascended, Graham thought Schaeffer might have been right about the donuts. He took a few deep breaths as he fixed his gaze on the lighted numbers appearing on the display above the door. He couldn’t screw up this chance to score some points with Schaeffer.

  With a ding, the doors opened on the twenty-third floor, and this time Schaeffer held back. “Go for it,” he said. “It’s not much different from what you do on Patrol interviews.”

  “Got it.” Hell, for all Graham knew, Jeffrey Walters would be in conference with Gravely and he’d look like an idiot for thinking this was some big missing persons case. At least with the picture Kimberly had sent, he knew what Jeffrey looked like, or had looked like a few years ago. Short-cropped gray hair, receding hairline, and a neatly trimmed beard gave the man a grandfatherly appearance. From the way he looked at Billy instead of the camera, Grandpa Jeffrey definitely cared about the child.

  Graham and Schaeffer’s footsteps echoed on the tiled corridor. The walls were paneled at the bottom half in deep, rich wood, with a neutral textured wallpaper above. Framed photographs of Orlando when it was mostly orange groves hung between office doors along the walls. “Twenty-three sixteen,” Schaeffer said. “Gravely Enterprises.” He waited.

  Pleased his hands were dry, Graham turned the knob.

  Inside the office, a young woman set down a magazine. Her sleek blonde hair curved around her jawbones and Graham thought she’d gone a little heavy on the eye makeup. Her blue eyes widened as she took in the two men. She slid the magazine into a drawer and gave them a tentative smile. “Can I help you?”

  “I hope so. I’m Deputy Harrigan and this is Deputy Schaeffer. We’d like to see Mr. Gravely.”

  “Is there a problem?” Her gaze shifted from him to Schaeffer and back again.

  “No,” Graham said. “Mr. Gravely’s name came up in an investigation, and we have some routine questions.”