Buried Secrets: PAVAD: FBI Case File #0005 (PAVAD: FBI Case Files)

by Calle J. Brookes

  He’d missed that. She was probably the best friend he’d ever had. She’d been the first person he’d called when his wife had lost the battle with the cancer they’d discovered too late in her pregnancy to stop it from taking her. Miranda had flown home to be with him those first few days. That’s all he truly remembered while trying to bury his wife and just get through with the baby.

  Miranda had guided him through making the arrangements. Miranda had sat up with his daughter for hours when he’d finally given in to the need for sleep.

  He would never be able to repay her for what she’d done for him.

  He even liked Knight, though the man seemed like a real hard-ass.

  Clint had learned when working for the WSP that your strength rested in your team. He wasn’t particularly close to anyone at the DCI. He didn’t plan to be. He had a few colleagues he preferred to work with, but those were few and far between. Same as it had been at the WSP.

  Not trusting the men at your back was another lesson he’d learned at the WSP. Cronyism had been the name of the game at the post he’d been assigned to. No doubt it was still how things were done.

  Otherwise, that fool Hollace would have been long gone by now.

  At least, he’d given them the first step.

  Clint had looked for Luther Beise from the moment Helen Caudrell’s body had been found. There had been walls thrown up in front of him almost from the very beginning. He couldn’t explain it yet. He would with time.

  He almost suspected someone in the WSP or the DCI had been doing what they could to divert him.

  It wouldn’t surprise him. There were three men who would no doubt have a good time doing just that. Clint didn’t think he was paranoid. But those three men had gone through the academy with his stepfather—and they hadn’t been too pleased when Clint had arrested Clive.

  Even though Clive had nearly killed Perci Masterson that day.

  No doubt they were part of the reason he’d been unable to find Luther Beise. The man hadn’t been hidden all that well. Just over state lines. The searches he’d had run for that information should have turned up the possibilities. That they hadn’t—that concerned him.

  Clint was making notes. Taking leads.

  His position with the DCI was for that very reason.

  There was corruption at the higher levels. It was his job to ferret that out. Without letting anyone know exactly what he was doing.

  He’d been with the internal affairs division of the WSP for eight months now. Six months longer than he’d officially been with the DCI. He was there as a joint favor between Weatherby and the head of the DCI. After he found the corruption he’d been assigned to dig out, he didn’t know what the future held for him. He’d probably continue with the WSP.

  Maybe.

  A part of him was thinking of just selling the ranch, packing up Violet, and moving. Putting as many miles between him and his housekeeper as he could get.

  The woman was driving him crazy. Going to be the death of him.

  He couldn’t sleep at night, knowing she was just two doors down. Only his baby’s room separated them. Two months. It had been two months since he’d done one of the stupidest things of his life. Blue eyes flashed in his mind. Confused, sad, embarrassed. Filled with infatuation. Hope. Hope he’d destroyed when he’d told her it had been a mistake. Men made stupid mistakes sometimes. But Clint’s had hurt her. And that had been the last thing he’d wanted to do.

  Someone said his name from behind him. Clint jerked, then turned.

  Joel Masterson stood there. No surprise. It was the man’s precinct, after all. “Masterson.”

  “Gunderson, find anything important?”

  “Luther Beise gave us a list of aliases his ex-wife may have used. I’m searching for her now.”

  “Good.” Masterson wasn’t exactly talkative.

  Clint waited for the man to say more. But Masterson didn’t. Clint didn’t blame him. Because of Clive’s actions, it would never be all that easy between him and Masterson. That hadn’t changed since that day six months ago. And it probably wouldn’t. “Why do you think they did it? Left the way they did?”

  “Because of Helen, most likely. Chances are good one of them killed her. Or more. We both know that.” Masterson studied him for a long moment. “Why did your investigation turn up no leads?”

  The suspicion was hard to miss. No surprise there. Everyone thought he was just as dirty as Clive had been. As his own brother had been. That had been one reason he’d been hired for the job he did.

  Because people thought he’d look dirty from afar.

  Hell of a thing to recommend a man.

  “Because someone’s throwing walls up at me in every investigation I’m involved in.”

  “Really?”

  “Believe it or not. There’re things going on you don’t know about.”

  “This have something to do with what you mentioned before?”

  “Something like that.” Clint hadn’t gotten this far with internal affairs by running his mouth. “So…Pauline Beise. Where are we on tracking her down?”

  “Talked to Dr. Talley. My deputy found a Paula Smith down in Della that’s a strong possibility. As well as a Paulette Jackson in Colorado that’s also a possible match.” Masterson was still studying him. “And there’s a Pauletta Clark in Buffalo, but the age appears wrong on that one. The feds are running their drivers’ license photos through their software now.”

  23

  Pauline Caudrell Beise hadn’t changed much. Except for her name, apparently. Now, she went by simply Paula Smith and lived in the southern part of the state near the border. She had one child she had custody of—Ace Meynard. Ace was ten—Luther insisted he wasn’t the father. But just where the father was, Luther hadn’t known.

  Luther had confirmed through one of his children what name his ex was using. He’d been far more helpful than Miranda ever would have expected.

  Miranda studied Pauline as she approached the counter of the dinky little secondhand shop three counties south of Masterson. The Beises hadn’t gone all that far when they’d disappeared.

  Clive Gunderson should have been able to find them.

  Miranda suspected he had. He just hadn’t bothered following up on why they’d left town. And why should he? Everyone was accounted for—except for Helen Caudrell, anyway.

  She’d been in plenty of such shops before. This one was more junk than treasure. There were actual broken pots on the shelf next to her head. And they were grimy. She checked the tag quickly—sixty-two dollars for a broken, grimy pot. There wasn’t a single customer in the building, and the dusty smell threatened to send Miranda’s long-dormant allergies flaring. Knight walked at her side, silent and brooding as always.

  Max waited outside next to the truck. He made great reinforcements—not that she was expecting to need that.

  “Hello,” Miranda started, cataloging the woman in front of them and seeing the woman she had once been. But time…time hadn’t been kind to Pauline Beise—at all. “Mrs. Beise?”

  The name got a response. Just like Miranda had suspected it would.

  Luther’s story about changing the names had been a wee bit too thin for Miranda’s liking. Yet when she’d pressed, he’d been fuzzy on the details. In a way she hadn’t quite understood. But she would. Miranda would find the answers eventually.

  Pauline jerked, then her eyes narrowed. “I know you.”

  “Yes, you do. I’m Miranda Talley. Flo Talley’s granddaughter. I was good friends with Monica when your family lived in Masterson.”

  Pauline shot a deer-in-the-headlights look at Knight. “I don’t know anything about Masterson County. That’s not my life any longer.”

  Miranda didn’t have time to play games like this. She pulled her PAVAD ID out of her pocket and waved it toward Pauline. “Look, Mrs. Beise, we found your mother’s body in your husband’s cattle barn nine weeks ago. We have some questions.”

  Pauline let out a stri
ng of curses that at one time would have shocked Miranda. Now, it wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before. And the look in the woman’s eyes—yeah, she’d seen that look before, too.

  Miranda tensed, readying herself for the inevitable. Pauline darted toward the open door that sat behind her desk. Right into the parking lot.

  Miranda shouted, almost in unison with Knight. She rounded the counter.

  Knight vaulted over it in a rather impressive display, cutting her off before she could get to Pauline. If she’d had time, she would have enjoyed watching the long, lean body in action. Miranda was only steps behind him as he bolted out the door after the woman.

  Pauline Beise was middle-aged, overweight, and significantly out of shape. Did she seriously think she could outrun two FBI agents? Miranda had seen some stupid things out of people since she’d started with the bureau, that was for sure.

  Not to mention that Max was waiting. For this very possibility.

  Pauline took one look at the tall man waiting, his arms crossed over his hard, broad chest, and she squealed. Stopped.

  So abruptly that Knight almost crashed into her.

  Miranda pulled her cuffs. “Pauline Beise, you’re coming with us. You’re going to answer a few questions.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “Not yet. But you are a person of interest in the death of Helen Caudrell.”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “But you know who did?”

  “I want a lawyer.”

  Knight smirked at Miranda, a rare smile revealing surprisingly sexy dimples and perfect, white teeth. Of course, he would have a perfect smile. “No problem. Miranda, you want to do the Miranda?”

  Well, so Knight had a snarky sense of humor in there, too. Would wonders never cease?

  Miranda turned toward the woman she’d known since she’d been all of nine years old. Pauline Beise had not aged well. At forty-nine, she looked ten years older. Weathered and rough, even though her clothing seemed neat. “It would be my pleasure.”

  24

  Knight was an idiot. In the Wyoming sun, Miranda Talley just looked confident, beautiful, and…perfect. He was an idiot. There was no denying that fact.

  He resisted the urge to snarl at her.

  Instead, he turned to Pauline. “We’ll need to call someone to lock up your building for the day.”

  “Unless you want one of us to do it for you?” Miranda asked in that maddeningly calm, pleasant tone. Knight wondered how long it had taken her to perfect that. It was just designed to get under people’s skin. Deliberately.

  “Screw you, bitch. You were always a bitch. Just like your grandmother. Everyone always saying how perfect your family was. Even my daughter wouldn’t shut up about you and the great Flo Talley.”

  “Grandma is well-liked in Masterson, isn’t she? Pauline, would you like Max here to lock up your store while we talk? He’s pretty reliable.”

  “I have nothing to say.”

  Pauline reached out and shoved her knee toward the taller woman. Dr. Talley expertly blocked the kick with one arm.

  “There we go. Look at that. Assaulting a federal officer,” Agent Jones said. “Looks like I’ll be locking up the shop, after all. Miranda, feeling a bit wounded, are you?”

  “It’ll take me days to recover. Pauline, we’re going to have a talk.”

  “I’m going to sue!”

  “You go right ahead. I’m sure the bureau would be more than willing to pass the matter over to our legal team. You know how the government can be—always willing to keep the lawyers employed,” Jones said mildly. “I’m a lawyer myself—and they’re always after me to work overtime.”

  “Max has a great sense of humor as well as a pretty smile,” Miranda said. “Watch your head. You’re going to sit here for a while.”

  An hour later, Miranda stood chatting with the local sheriff. The man was about Knight’s age and seemed more cowboy than cop. Much like Joel Masterson.

  Knight watched the man speaking with Miranda, trying to see if it was just him who was drawn to her like an idiot—well, Knight and Gunderson—or if she had that effect on random men out there.

  She looked good today. She wore black trousers like those he’d seen on every other FBI agent he’d ever worked with. It had snowed the evening before—he’d heard her borrow the coat from one of her cousins. It was dark purple and made the red in her hair far more noticeable. The tight braid she’d pulled the ridiculous mass of hair into emphasized her face.

  Even the glasses highlighted the prettiness of her eyes. When she smiled at Sheriff Karr, Knight’s gut tightened. The other man didn’t seem affected by her at all.

  He knew exactly what it meant.

  He was attracted to Miranda Talley. No denying it any longer.

  Knight’s fingers went to the scar as his irritation deepened. His best bet was to avoid Dr. Miranda Talley as much as humanly possible. Before he did something absolutely stupid.

  25

  Sheriff Karr locked up the Olde Thyme Flea Market and offered to transport Pauline the long drive to Masterson County.

  Jac was digging into Paula Smith’s finances. She hadn’t paid taxes under her social security number in fourteen years. Nor, apparently, had she paid taxes on the false social security number she was using, either. Jac had made noises about tax fraud and even identity theft. Jac was on the trail, and she wouldn’t stop until she had answers she wanted.

  Pauline wasn’t going anywhere.

  Miranda was more than glad to let the sheriff have that little duty. Pauline hadn’t shut up since she’d finished Mirandizing her. And it all had to do with how horrible Miranda’s family had been to hers.

  Pitiful.

  If anything, Miranda’s grandmother had been perfectly cordial to the Beises, welcoming Monica into her home every time. Miranda’s grandmother had even bought Monica’s softball equipment when they’d been fourteen, and Luther Beise hadn’t been working due to an injury.

  Maybe that was it? The resentment of having to ask for that kind of help? Whatever it was, the vitriol spewing from the woman was starting to fray Miranda’s last nerve. Someone railing at her, she could deal with—but bad-mouthing her grandmother was something she didn’t tolerate well at all. She turned and started toward the other woman abruptly.

  “Shut up, Pauline. You really want to stop talking now.”

  Max shot her a pointed look, then jerked his head.

  Miranda got the hint. She took a walk. A short one, of course. She kept Pauline, Max, and Knight in sight at all times, until the long, lanky sheriff waved her back over.

  Matt Karr had that rugged cowboy thing going for him all the way. They really did grow them well in Wyoming.

  Max agreed to ride along with Sheriff Karr to preserve any evidence gained from Pauline that she might confess to in the vehicle on the drive. Pauline kept talking. Well, ranting. Miranda was glad it wasn’t her stuck escorting Pauline back to Masterson.

  Miranda climbed back into the borrowed truck and waited for Knight to take the driver’s seat. He had control issues. He didn’t like others driving him. That wasn’t hard for her to see.

  She waited until they were back on the road to look at him. “First impressions of our…verbal…friend?”

  “That shop was the little shop of horrors.”

  Miranda laughed. That had been the last thing she’d expected him to say. “Wasn’t it? I’ve been in worse, but not in recent memory.”

  “She has a serious case of resentment against your family. That always true?”

  Miranda closed her eyes as memories assailed her. “She was never welcoming, never friendly. That was one reason we spent most of our time at the inn.”

  “I have to say I would too, now that I’ve seen most of the town.”

  “I think that’s the most positive thing I’ve heard you say since we landed.”

  He just grunted.

  “You know what, Agent Knight—”


  “It’s actually Dr. Knight. I got my PhD in sociology probably before you were even out of high school, Dr. Talley.”

  “Why don’t you go by doctor?” Miranda had been curious about people from as far back as she could remember. People, both individually and in groups, had always fascinated her.

  A man who’d suffered such an obvious traumatic brain injury as Dr. Allan Knight had was a puzzle she would love to figure out one day.

  She’d been one of the agents who’d first helped canvas his neighborhood after he’d been shot. Miranda had seen his apartment, with his blood still on the wall of his entryway, had been arriving on scene as the paramedics were loading him into the ambulance. He’d barely survived. No one had thought he would. The sight of him like that was something she’d never forget.

  At the time, everyone had thought Knight had been the one who had been targeting her team leader, Malachi Brockman. Thought he’d been a serial killer who’d had an almost historic body count.

  It had only been a day or so before they’d learned differently.

  That no doubt had to have hurt him, too. The ready jump by his friends and colleagues to believe he’d been guilty before anyone had known the truth would have stung like the ultimate betrayal it was.

  He and Malachi Brockman had been good friends up to that point, she’d heard. Now, she didn’t think they were at all.

  “Just don’t want to. I’m more agent than sociologist. I’d like to keep it that way. The degree was just a steppingstone to where I am now.”

  Well. He’d turned into a real chatterbox, apparently. Maybe Pauline had rubbed off. “As PAVAD would be?”

  He grunted. There. The Knight she knew had returned.

  “When will the cold-case division happen?”

  “In a few months, I believe. If I take the appointment.”