The Edge

by Catherine Coulter

  “I said as little as possible to Jimmy Maitland. For the moment, at least, since you’re on leave and have already talked to your boss, Carl Bardolino, he’s going to let us go with this. As I said, Sherlock and I discussed this situation thoroughly on the flight to Portland. We’ve got more questions. Then we can discuss strategy.” He paused a moment and gripped my shoulder. “I’m very sorry about Jilly, Mac. No word about where she is?”

  “No. I’m sorry about your having to leave Sean.”

  “He’ll do just fine. Sherlock says he’s too young to be ruined just yet, so it doesn’t matter how often my mom tickles his stomach and tells him he’s the prince of the world. I sure hope she’s right.”

  It sounded so normal, so very unlike the past four days of my life. I sighed. “Come meet Laura Scott.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  After we’d each drunk a cup of coffee strong enough to cut through sludge, I said, “There’s a whole lot we need to do today. Since we don’t know how long we can count on staying here, we’ve got to make good use of every minute.”

  I looked over at Savich, who was staring into his nearly empty coffee cup. He looked every inch a mean son of a bitch, big and muscled, wearing jeans and a dark blue turtleneck sweater, short boots. You could count on him to cover your back. “It’s fifteen minutes after eight o’clock in the morning, Mac. I ain’t going nowhere until I get food in this empty belly.”

  Sherlock said, “Before we do anything, you guys need to go shower. A shave for you, Mac. Your hair’s standing on end. Actually, both of you could use some more sleep. But it’s odd. You both look real relaxed.” She raised her eyebrow, blinked twice, and walked quickly into the kitchen.

  “She knows,” Laura said to me.

  “I hope she approves of you.”

  Laura and I didn’t share the shower, but it was a temptation. We brushed our teeth together. When we returned, I inhaled the smell of bacon and eggs and nearly cried. I saw that Nolan was riding around on Savich’s shoulder. Grubster was sitting on Sherlock’s lap.

  “Quite a menagerie you’ve got,” Savich said, and lightly stroked his fingertip down Nolan’s breast.

  “Squawk.”

  The table was set. We all sat down like grown-ups. Savich brought out the plates of food he’d kept warm in the oven. “Eat up.” Savich ate for five minutes, then said, “Mac, you mentioned this old fellow, Charlie Duck, who was murdered. What about him? How does he fit into all of this?”

  “All we have is his dying words to Doc Lambert: ‘a big wallop, too much, then they got me.’ He knew something about Laura’s drug case, no question at all in my mind about that. But what?”

  Laura said, “There hasn’t been a whole lot of time to think since I met Mac, but I agree with him. Charlie found out something he shouldn’t have and that’s why they killed him.”

  I said, “After breakfast I want to call the M.E. in Portland and see what he has to say. I want to speak to Maggie Sheffield, the sheriff, and see if she’s learned anything. I’d assume that she would have called here if she’d gotten any leads on Jilly.”

  “Charlie Duck’s funeral is this afternoon,” Laura said as she fed a sunflower seed to Nolan, who was seated on a chair arm. “We can go see what’s in the pot and maybe stir it up.”

  “We’re going to start stirring the pot much sooner than that,” I said. “Paul’s first on the list.”

  Savich reached down and fed a bit of bacon to Grubster. He said to Sherlock, “Do you think they’ll keep us as interested as Sean does?”

  “He’s already a hell-raiser,” Sherlock said. “Savich is trying to find some weights light enough for him so he can begin his training.” She looked at Grubster, who was now washing himself on one of the love seats. “That’s some cat,” she said. “Big varmint but a sweetie.”

  “I found him when I was a sophomore in college. He was so tiny and skinny then, not larger than one of his legs is now. The vet thinks he’s about seven or eight years old now. Once Grubster trained me with a can opener, he never stopped eating.”

  Sherlock made more coffee. I lit the logs in the fireplace. The room was soon warm and cozy. Sherlock said unexpectedly, “It was probably a good thing you saw Laura use a gun. She was forced to tell you everything. I hate to go into situations blind.”

  “My wife,” Savich said, patting her thigh, “can find a silver lining in a ditch. But you know, it’s probably better that the shooters got away. If you’d taken them in, the shit would have hit the fan and you’d be sitting here watching yourself on national news. The agency directors would be arguing about who should be in charge, and the criminals would probably disappear while all the bureaucratic chaos was going on. You and Laura would be separated and sent to different sides of the country for endless debriefings that would ultimately lead nowhere. So Sherlock’s right, as usual.”

  He stood up and picked cat hairs off his jeans. “I do have an announcement to make. Laura is nuts about you, Mac, so there’s one good thing in all this mess. Now, let’s get this show on the road.”

  I heard a car coming down the dirt road. I reached automatically to my belt. “Where did you park your car, Savich?”

  “Behind the cottage.”

  “Good,” I said. “Everyone stay put.” I pulled out my SIG, eased open the front door, and stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind me.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Cal’s light blue BMW Roadster convertible roared toward me. The earth was still damp from the rain, so the car didn’t kick up any dust though she’d jammed on the brakes to do just that. I remembered our own party at her parents’ house and winced.

  I quickly tucked my SIG into the back of my pants, called out, and waved to her. Cal got out of the little car and looked at me, but didn’t wave or say anything, just waited for me to come to her. She was wearing baggy jeans and a huge sweater that came nearly to her knees. Her glasses were firmly on her nose. Her hair was scraped back in a ponytail.

  When I was nearly to the car, she jumped me, just as she had the night of the party. Her legs went around my waist, her arms around my neck. She started kissing me enthusiastically all over my face.

  I gave her a hug and peeled her off me. “Hi, Cal, what’s cooking?”

  “What’s wrong, Mac? Don’t you want to make love? How about over on the edge of the cliff. It’s warm enough, or I’ll get you warm soon enough. How about it?”

  “I’ve got company, Cal.”

  “Oh yes, Mom told me you were here at Seagull Cottage with Laura Scott, that you were playing FBI agent and protecting her. That right?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. It’s early, Cal. What can I do for you?”

  “I just came around to see if there was anything I could do to help. Where’s this Laura Scott you’re protecting?”

  “I’m right here.”

  Sure enough, Laura was standing on the single step that led to the front door. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Laura Scott.”

  “I’m Cal Tarcher. No one can figure out why anybody wants to kill you.”

  “Easy enough,” Laura said. “I’m a DEA agent. I was undercover until just last week, when my cover broke down. See, I was getting too close to something. Would you like to come inside? I think there’s some breakfast left. You and Mac seem to be great friends.”

  “You’re a DEA agent? Does that mean you’re a drug cop?”

  “That’s exactly what I am.”

  “What are you doing here, with Mac?”

  “That’s a very long story. Would you like to go on in?”

  I said in Laura’s ear after Cal passed us both and went inside the cottage, “You didn’t have to invite her in, dammit.”

  “Why not? You two sure do seem on very good terms. I’d be almost tempted to say intimate terms. Sherlock and Savich are holed up in the bedroom. Can we expect any more of your conquests to show up, Mac?”

  “Cut it out, Laura. It’s not what you think. Besides, I’d barely met you wh
en Cal nailed me.”

  “She nailed you? Usually it’s said the other way around. Poor Mac, all these women after your body.”

  “You’re the last so you’d better not put too many holes in me.”

  She lightly patted my cheek and followed Cal into the cottage.

  Laura had removed all signs of Sherlock and Savich. I wondered why they hadn’t wanted to stay out here. “How about some bacon and toast, Cal?”

  “Thanks, Mac. Hey, who’s this?”

  “That’s my cat, Grubster.”

  Cal immediately broke a piece of bacon in half and fed it to Grubster. “He’s a pig.” Having said that, Cal took a big bite of toast. She leaned down and gave Grubster the other half of the bacon.

  “He’ll kill for you now.”

  “He’s beautiful. Who’s that?”

  “Squawk.”

  “That’s my mynah bird, Nolan. Would you like some coffee, Cal?”

  She nodded and Laura soon returned with the coffeepot and poured, then went back into the kitchen.

  Cal took a drink, then sat forward on her chair and whispered in a very loud stage voice, “I know you have to protect her, Mac, but just maybe we can get rid of her for a while? She seems nice, she’ll probably want to take a walk on the cliffs. She won’t have to stay out long. I figure I can have you out of those pants in under three seconds.”

  Stones were piled on top of my tongue.

  “It might be nice to have a bed this time instead of the floor. What do you think?”

  “Cal,” I said, “this isn’t the time, really. Laura can’t be alone. This isn’t a game—someone’s trying to kill her.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Mac,” Laura said, grinning, not six feet away. “I think I’d like a walk on the cliffs. You two can just go tangle up the sheets. Would you like me to make the bed before I leave?”

  I knew it. I just knew it. There was no justice, no fairness in the world. What there was, was Laura standing two feet away from Cal, no expression at all on her face, and I knew that was a bad sign.

  “You see, Mac?” Cal said. “Laura doesn’t mind. You’d really make up the bed for us?”

  “It’s not all that messed up,” said the woman I’d made love to the previous night, the woman who Savich said was nuts about me. “We both slept like logs, little movement. Hey, I could just spread the covers and you two could tussle on top. How about that?”

  Cal was suddenly very quiet. “You two slept together last night?”

  “Yes,” I said, standing. “We did. Now, Cal, we’ve got lots of stuff to do. Was there anything specific you wanted?”

  “No, just you, Mac.” Cal slid off the bar stool. She took the last bite of her toast. She wiped her hands on her jeans’ leg. “I thought this was just a cop assignment for you, Mac,” she said slowly.

  “It’s a lot of things, Cal. Is there any word on Jilly?”

  Cal shook her head. “Surely Maggie would call you first if she found out anything.” She looked over at Laura, for a very long time. “Do you know what, Laura?”

  “No, what?”

  “I sure would like to paint you. Your face isn’t all that interesting, but your clothes are so tight I can tell you’ve got a great body. How about it?” I pictured Cal jumping Laura after she’d sketched her body.

  Laura was staring at Cal like she was two boards shy of a floor. Then, slowly, she turned to me. “What do you think, Mac?”

  “Cal’s a good artist,” I said.

  “No, do you think I’ve got a great body?”

  “Yes, and Cal’s still a good artist.”

  “Okay,” Cal said, rubbing her hands together. “We can set up a time for next week. About us, Mac, we can talk about it another time, since you say you’re so busy. Oh yeah, I got some of those French condoms, you know, the ones that are real slippery and ribbed?”

  I thought I’d be smart and not say a single word to that. I don’t think I even breathed for at least ten seconds. I watched Cal leave the cottage, heard the soft roar of the BMW’s engine.

  “Well,” Laura said, eyeing me, then the toast crumbs all around Cal’s plate. “I guess that took care of my idea of actually questioning her.”

  I grinned at her, grabbed her, and jerked her into my arms. I was kissing her when Savich and Sherlock walked back into the room.

  I kept kissing Laura until I saw that she was laughing. “Good,” I said, and rubbed my hands down her arms. “I barely knew you, Laura. It just happened. Okay?”

  “No, it’s not at all okay, but I won’t break you into parts about it just now.”

  “What sort of punishment do you have in mind?”

  She laughed again and poked me in the belly.

  I said to Savich, “Why didn’t you guys stay out here to meet Cal?”

  “You had a great dynamic going there, Mac. If we’d come out, everything would have changed.”

  “Thanks for the entertainment,” Sherlock said.

  “You guys just keep enjoying your own jokes,” I said as I dialed Ted Leppra, the M.E. up in Portland.

  A minute later, Ted Leppra, boy wonder, told me it was indeed a blow to the head that had killed Charlie Duck. “He survived maybe ten to twenty minutes after someone hit him,” Ted said in his smoker’s hacking voice, “and bought it, I was told, on the floor of the local doctor’s house. It was a pretty fast bleed into and around his brain. His brain was crushed by blood, if you prefer a more colorful description.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Oh, yes. Funny thing though, Mac. As you probably know, the old guy was a former cop from Chicago. One of the detectives was cruising through here during an autopsy and we got to talking about him. Do you think there’s a tie-in? Someone out for revenge after he got out of the can?”

  “Could be,” I said, all neutral. “The local sheriff is looking into all of that, naturally.”

  “Hey, you don’t sound happy, Mac.”

  “No, I’m not. I was hoping there was something else involved here.”

  Ted coughed, holding the phone away while he hacked. “Sorry,” he said. “I know, I’ve got to stop smoking.”

  “You of all people have seen enough smokers’ lungs,” I said mildly.

  “Yeah, yeah. Listen, maybe there was something else.”

  Hot damn, I thought. “Hang on a minute, Ted. I’m going to put you on speaker. There are some other folk here who need to hear what you’ve got to say.”

  “Okay. Mac, you were right about that. We found some sort of drug in his system. It appears to be an opiate or related to an opiate. At least it tested positive on the opiate screen. I haven’t been able to identify it yet. It’s maybe some sort of drug we’ve never seen before. Weird, huh?”

  “Not really,” I said. “It’s very possible it’s a brand-new drug that isn’t on the market yet. When will you be able to give me more information, Ted?”

  “Give me a couple more days. Call me on Friday. If I find out anything sooner I’ll let you know.”

  “Stop smoking, you moron.”

  “What did you say? I can’t hear you, Mac.”

  I hung up the phone, turned, and looked at everybody. “Charlie was on to them. He had some sort of drug in his system.”

  “He either found out about it and wanted to see what it was, or someone forced it down him,” Laura said. “Remember what he said when he was dying—‘a big wallop, too much, then they got me.’ ”

  Savich was scratching Grubster’s ears. “Or maybe lots of people around here want to try it and damn the side effects.”

  “More likely he discovered something and that’s why he wanted to talk to me. But he didn’t think it was all that urgent.”

  “He was wrong,” Laura said.

  “Yes, the poor old man,” I said. “Now we know that they killed Charlie Duck. The drug in his system pretty well proves that. Damn, I wish I’d collared him that first day, but you know, I just thought he had some fishing stories to tell me. I was an idiot.”<
br />
  “He did try to tell the doctor what had happened,” Laura said. “It’s too bad he couldn’t say more before he died.”

  I picked up the phone again. “Just maybe he’s got some friends he still talks to in the Chicago Police Department.”

  I identified myself to three indifferent people at the Chicago Police Department, in three different departments, including Internal Affairs, and finally ended up in Personnel, where I identified myself to yet another indifferent person. Finally, I got hold of Liz Taylor. She was a real charmer, no sarcasm, she really was.

  “Nope,” she said cheerfully, first thing off the bat, “I’m no relation at all, so you don’t have to wonder. Now, you say you want to know about Charlie Duck?”

  “Yes, please. I understand he was a detective with the CPD until about fifteen years ago?”

  “Yeah, I remember Charlie well. He was a homicide detective, sharp as a tack. It’s funny, you know? Usually, the bosses want the old guys to retire just as soon as they can plunk a gold watch on their wrist and push them out the door. But not Charlie. Everybody wanted him to stay. I bet he could have continued here until he croaked, but he wanted to leave. I’ll never forget on his sixtieth birthday, he gave me a big kiss and said he was out of here, no more dealing with scum bags, no more weeping over plea bargains that let criminals back out on the streets faster than it took the cops to catch them. He didn’t want any more winters in Chicago, either. They aged his skin, he said. He was gone by the following week. Hey, who are you anyway? I know you’re FBI, but why do you want to know about Charlie?”

  “Charlie’s dead,” I said. “He was murdered. I’m trying to find out who killed him and why.”

  “Oh no,” Liz Taylor said. “Oh no. I got a Christmas card from him just this last December. Sweet, sweet old Charlie.” I heard her sniff.

  “Tell me about him,” I said. “I heard he wasn’t exactly the trusting type.”

  “That was Charlie,” Liz said, sniffing some more. “Some people didn’t like him, called him a snoop and a son of a bitch, and I guess he was. But he’d never hurt you if you hadn’t done anything wrong. He had the highest homicide clearance rate of any detective in the department. In fact, he still holds the record. Poor Charlie. I’ll tell you, nothing could stop him if he smelled something rotten.”