by David Archer
“Yeah, probably,” I said, “but even if she gets me a waiver for the education requirement, I still have to pass the application exam. That means I need to at least read through the material, right?”
Dex shrugged. “Ask Alfie,” he said. “He got his license about a year ago, so he could probably tell you what to study most.”
“What? Alfie is a PI?”
“Yeah, he got his license so he could join the professional private eye guild, whatever it’s called. It lets him make contact with lots of other private eyes, people who need his computer services from time to time. He’d know what you need to study, anyway.”
A waitress came by and took our orders, and we continued to chat about Alfie and licensing and such for a bit, and thankfully the subject of our relationship didn’t come up again. I thought Dex’s suggestion about talking to Alfie was a good one, so after a few minutes, I took out my phone and gave him a call.
“Turn me on, baby,” he said.
“Do you have a different line for every time you answer?” I asked with a chuckle.
“Pretty much, yeah,” Alfie said. “What can I do for you, Princess?”
“Dex was just telling me that you have your private eye license. I’m thinking of trying to get mine, and I was wondering if you could give me any pointers on the exam.”
“I can give you the book,” he said. “I still got it here, but I’ve memorized it so I don’t need it. Why do you want the PI license?”
“It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while, but it would come in handy when I wander into cases like this. If I can borrow the book, I’d appreciate it. A friend of mine says she can get me a waiver on having to take the courses, but I’d still have to take the exam.”
“How about if I just simplify your life even more?” Alfie asked. “Since I’m all by myself, I had to set up an agency and get all the insurance and bonds and everything. On the other hand, that allows me to hire other investigators, including trainees. If I put you on as an employee—make that an intern, because I ain’t going to pay you—you can get a conditional license that lets you work as a private investigator for six months, and you don’t have to take the exam first. You could get the license Monday morning, over in Ada. Then if you get the waiver, you can get your pro license anytime during that six months.”
He explained a little bit more about what he had in mind, which was basically that he might want to call on me for some legwork now and then in exchange for using his agency to help me get a temporary license of my own. I agreed with only minimal hesitation, and told him that Dex and I would be by after we finished eating.
The waitress brought our food, we chitchatted a bit more as we ate, and then we headed for Alfie’s place. He had all the paperwork ready when we got there, printed out of his computers I’m sure, and most of it was already filled in with my information. All I had to do was initial several spots and sign a couple more, and I was officially an unpaid employee of Centronic Investigations, Inc.
Alfie then signed a letter confirming my employment and gave it to me, along with a shiny silver badge with “Private Investigator” emblazoned on it in blue enamel. “Take the letter to the CLEET office over in Ada, give them a hundred and fifty dollars—it might have gone up, I’m not sure—and they’ll give you your conditional license. It’s good for a hundred and eighty days, and then you can go take the exam before it expires to get your regular license. The badge is just for show, but even cops will pay more attention to you with it, especially when you get your license card and put them together in a case.”
“And all you want is to be able to call me for a favor now and then? Really?”
“Yep,” Alfie said. “Occasionally, I need somebody to go and check out something for me. Dex has done it a few times, but I figured this could be beneficial for both of us. And in return, I will only bill you half rate from now on for any computer work you need me to do. That sound fair?”
I grinned. “It sounds a lot more than fair,” I said, “it sounds like an absolutely fantastic deal for me.” I narrowed my eye and looked at him suspiciously. “Of course, when a deal sounds that good, I usually end up regretting it.”
“Not this time,” Dex said. “It’s Alfie; he’s a man of his word, I can tell you that.”
“Listen to him,” Alfie said, “he knows what he’s talking about. Now, about that thing you asked me to check into. The first thing I did was hack into St. Mary’s computer systems, because I wanted to see how hard it was to do. Just so you know, it took me all of four minutes, and I wasn’t even really putting any effort into it. Once I got in, I went through the server’s access logs and didn’t find any sign of anyone coming in through the back door at all. That, however, was enough to make me suspicious, since just about every server gets unauthorized entry attempts all the time, mostly from bots that are trying to spam the server. You know, like when you get comments that have links to weight loss products in them? Since I didn’t find any record of unauthorized attempts, that tells me somebody had already cleaned them up, so I backed up and went through the server revision logs. Turns out somebody cleared hack attempts at least four times in the last two weeks, using the built-in system that just takes them all out at the same time. Unfortunately, that system isn’t sophisticated enough to record the IP address of whoever did it, but it tells me that someone has been digging into those files.”
“Okay,” I said. “Can you tell whether they got into my personal files?”
“Well, since a lot of your files were accessed between one a.m. and three a.m., I’m going with yes. Somebody definitely did, and probably copied an awful lot of information out of them. It doesn’t help us identify the perpetrator, but it definitely says he’s after you. The only question is why.”
“I’ll be sure to ask him that question,” I said with a scowl, “once I have him facedown on the ground with my gun at his head.”
Alfie looked at Dex. “Whatever you do,” he said, “do not piss this woman off. I don’t have that many friends, I can’t afford to lose you.”
I took the letter and we left, thanking Alfie once again on the way out the door. I spent the rest of the day with Dex, and then patted myself on the back for thinking of Critter before I’d left home, because I did spend the night at his place.
And on Monday morning, after lounging around the house all day Sunday and gradually getting back into the good graces of my cat, I called the office to say I wouldn’t be in and drove over to Ada to get my conditional Private Investigator’s license.
The woman at the counter looked at the letter from Alfie and handed me some forms to fill out, then asked for my driver’s license and a hundred and eighty dollars—Alfie had been right, the fee had gone up. I handed it all over and filled out the paperwork, and fifteen minutes later she handed me a neatly printed card that said I was “licensed to conduct investigations in accordance with law.”
I’ll confess that I had been worried that something would go wrong, that they’d reject the letter on the basis of my being only an unpaid intern, but the lady actually managed to smile at me as she took my photo for the license. It actually looked a lot like a driver’s license, with a bar code on the back that could be scanned by police to verify its authenticity. I smiled back as I accepted it and thanked her.
“No problem, honey,” she said. “Just be careful out there.”
By the time I got home that afternoon, I was blown away by the fact that I was actually a licensed private eye. I even stopped by a gun store that sold police supplies and bought a badge case with a clear window for the license card. Woo-hoo! I was a per-feshinal, as my dad used to say.
I couldn’t wait to show Dex, so I was sitting in the parking lot at the Ford dealership when he got off work, right beside his Mustang. He spotted me as soon as he came out of the shop and grinned as I held up my flashy new ID case.
“I’ve got some questions for you, mister,” I said, and then I cracked up laughing. Dex took t
he case and looked it over, then handed it back with a smile.
“That’s awesome,” he said. “And the best reason I can think of for a celebration dinner. You up for it?”
“You bet,” I said, and we got into his car to go to Cracker Barrel. We had a great time, but then I went home, which pleased Critter.
“Hey, Mom,” I said when I called home that night. “Are you and Dad sitting down?”
TEN
“Wait, you’re going now?” Dex asked me the next morning when I called.
“Well, my flight is this afternoon,” I said. “But I need to ask a favor, if I can.”
I could tell Dex was hesitant. “What kind of favor?” he asked.
“Well, it’s Critter,” I said. “I can’t leave her at home alone for too long, her food would dry out and her water would need to be changed, and I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Would you take her to your place and take care of her for me?”
“Wait, you want me to babysit your cat? Are you serious?”
“Oh, come on, Dex, she likes you. I think you’re the only person she likes around here, and I don’t want to board her at a kennel. Please?”
Dex is a tough guy, but I’ve learned how to say “please” in just the right tones to make him feel like a jerk if he doesn’t give in. It took two more tries, but he finally agreed with a sigh.
“Wait a minute,” he said at the last moment. “Does she go outside to do her business, or do I have to deal with cleaning a litter box?”
“Have you ever seen a litter box at my place?” I asked. “Critter is potty-trained, she uses the toilet. I taught her that right after I got her. She gets up on the seat and goes, so you just need to flush now and then when you notice.”
I think he whimpered, but he agreed. I took Critter to his place during his lunch break, gave Dex a quick kiss for being such a great guy, and then headed for the airport. I had a flight to Tucson booked for two o’clock, and got there with plenty of time to get through security.
There weren’t any nonstop flights, so I arrived at Tucson at just after six-thirty. I made my way to the car rental counter and picked up the new Camaro I’d reserved online, then headed off to find the Holiday Inn Express, but I’ll confess to a stop at a cafe on the way. I figured I’d go ahead and get dinner out of the way before I got into my room, so I wouldn’t have to bother coming back out later.
If you’re ever in Tucson, make a point of trying a place called “Hope’s Kitchen.” It’s just off I-10 on 18th Street. Trust me, the food is wonderful and the place just makes you feel welcome, even when you look like me. Even the other patrons were all friendly to me, and for a brief moment I considered whether I might just want to move to such a friendly city.
You won’t, Abby said. That would mean leaving Dex.
Shut up, I shot back at her memory. Dex isn’t holding me there, I could move if I wanted to and never even give him another thought.
I think she snickered, but I tuned her out. Yes, I know it isn’t really her, just let it go, all right?
The hotel was nice, though it seemed a bit run down on the outside. I didn’t really care that much, because I wasn’t planning to stay very long in any case. I had called ahead and made an appointment for the following morning to speak with Allen Kennedy, who ran the Safe Harbor abuse shelter. That was the one where Amber Miller had worked as a counselor, and I wanted to know all I could about the calls she had received. Mr. Kennedy had said he would be glad to talk to me about it, since it still haunted him that they had never caught the person who killed all of those women.
I killed the evening watching a couple of movies on the hotel’s pay-per-view system, then showered and got a good night’s sleep. I don’t know why, but I always sleep better when I’m not at home, and the bed in the hotel room was one of the most comfy I’d ever seen. I actually took off the sheet to see the label on the mattress; it was called “Ever Rest,” and I planned to buy myself one as soon as I got home.
I rose when the sun came in through the window, then went downstairs to where the continental breakfast awaited me. It was a little better than you find in most hotels, because they had more than just waffles and coffee; I had a waffle, but I also ate two big helpings of scrambled eggs and a couple of biscuits smothered in sausage gravy. By the time I was done, the staff was already trying to clean up and tear down, so I refilled my coffee cup and went back to my room to get my coat and purse.
I got into the car and used my nav app to direct me to the shelter. That was probably smart, because there was a lot of construction going on in the city, and I almost certainly would have gotten lost if I’d tried to remember the directions. Some people complain about how dependent we’ve all become on technology and smart phones and such, but I’m not one of them. I can still remember the way Mom used to yell at Daddy for not asking directions when I was little. Nowadays, she just puts the place they’re going to into her iPhone and Daddy pretends the voice giving the directions is only telling him what he already knew.
At least they don’t fight about it, anymore. Mom calls it “the simple compromise,” but Daddy says he only puts up with it to stay out of the doghouse.
Okay, I tend to let my mind wander when I’m driving. I put Mom and Daddy out of my thoughts as I pulled into the parking lot at Safe Harbor and parked the car, then walked up to its front door.
Safe Harbor employed some big, beefy security guards, and one of them stood just inside the front door at all times when it was unlocked. The guy on duty was about the size of a sumo wrestler, and he did his best not to look at my face as he blocked the entrance and asked me why I was there.
“I have an appointment with Allen Kennedy,” I said. “My name is Cassie McGraw, and I’m a private investigator from Tulsa, Oklahoma.” I held up my brand new ID case with my PI card and the fancy badge, and he looked closely at it. A moment later, he forced his eyes up to my face and pushed the door open wider so I could come inside.
“He’s down that hall,” the guard said, “third door on the right. Check in with the receptionist first, though.”
I thanked him and stepped out of the foyer into a big reception area, where a small older woman sat behind a desk the size of a hay wagon. She was surrounded by about two dozen women who were obviously waiting to speak to someone. She took one look at my face and almost began to cry. “Oh, dear, are you okay? My goodness, what happened to you?”
The nameplate on the desk said “Alice,” and I flashed my ID for her. “I’m fine,” I said, “all this happened a long time ago. My name is Cassie McGraw, and I’m a private investigator from Tulsa. I’m supposed to meet Allen Kennedy here this morning.”
Alice managed a smile, but it looked like something she didn’t do often. “Oh, yes,” she said, “he told me you were coming. Right down that hall, third door on the right.”
“Thank you,” I said for the second time in as many minutes, and I started down the hall. The first two doors were standing open and the bits of conversation I heard told me that intake forms were being filled out. I kept my eyes focused ahead of me and came to the third door, which was closed. I knocked lightly, and a man’s voice told me to come in.
The doorknob stuck for a second, but then it turned and I stepped into an office that looked like it would be better suited as a broom closet. There was a small metal desk shoved against one wall, a couple of filing cabinets, and one old hardback chair in front of the desk. The gray-haired man sitting on an identical chair behind the desk looked up at me, did the obligatory double-take, and then managed a smile.
“You must be Ms. McGraw,” he said as he stood. “I’m Allen Kennedy. Won’t you have a seat?”
“Thanks,” I said as I sat on the hard chair. “I appreciate you giving me some of your time today.” I held out my ID case, but he barely even glanced at it.
“No problem,” he said. “I’m just sorry you’re having to deal with this creature. I remember it all very clearly, almost like it was just a day or
two ago, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Have your police gotten anywhere with it?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m afraid not. I got an email a couple days ago that contained a recording of one of the victims calling in to a local hotline, but we haven’t been able to identify the voice of the counselor on it. I was hoping you might listen, see if the voice sounds familiar to you at all?”
He blinked. “Certainly, I’ll be glad to,” he said. “You’re thinking that the guy doing this might be posing as a counselor?”
I nodded. “Actually, yes. I’ve learned that each of our four current victims disappeared exactly three days after their last call to one particular hotline, but no one there recognizes the voice. Also, I should warn you that this guy is not behaving like a professional abuse counselor. He actually flirts with the women, and it sounds like he was trying to arrange a meeting with them for sex.”
I took out my phone and set it on his desk, then hit the play button. Once again, I listened to Wanda talking to her potential new lover, and the revulsion I felt for the man whose voice I couldn’t identify only grew more intense.
I also watched Kennedy’s face. When the recording began, his eyebrows narrowed in concentration, but I didn’t see any signs of recognition. He did listen closely, and he shook his head at a couple of spots, but when it ended I could tell that he hadn’t recognized the voice at all.
“Nothing?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. That’s certainly not anyone who ever worked here, and as the head of the Crisis Outreach Alliance, I think I’ve probably met every counselor to work around here for the past three or four years. The Alliance was my idea, a way for all of the crisis centers to work together, and it’s proven to be a godsend to this community.”
I smiled, but changed the subject. I didn’t have time to listen to a spiel for his pet project. “Sir, what can you tell me about Amber Miller? I understand she received what might have been calls from the perpetrator, is that right?”
