Command Indecision (Lexi Graves Mysteries)

by Camilla Chafer

  “At least we have a live point.”

  “Live point?”

  “Roxanne was alive this morning to make that call.”

  “Oh.” That didn’t sound very reassuring to me.

  "Usually a kidnapper wants everyone close to the victim to know he or she is gone. That way, when a ransom demand comes in, the family pays it. No question."

  "If they don't want a ransom, assuming they haven’t called one in, what could they want Roxanne for?"

  "I'm going with they need her alive for something, or they need her out of the way. They won't kill her, if that's what they intend to do, until whatever business they have with her is done. Two bodies, two sisters, would be too suspicious," he pointed out.

  We stopped talking as we walked inside the building, waiting wordlessly until we were safely inside the apartment. Solomon, whom I couldn't pin down as acting paranoid or just clever, put a finger to his lips. I waited and watched while he pulled a small gadget from his jacket pocket and swept the place for bugs before we started talking again.

  "Is that necessary?" I asked. “You didn’t do that before?”

  "I think so. Something weird is going on here."

  "This can't be just about Jillian anymore," I said, dropping onto the couch. Solomon joined me a moment later, arranging his laptop and cell phone on the small coffee table.

  "I agree. Jillian was in the way. Her murder might not have been intentional."

  "But framing Tate was."

  "After the fact. I'm working on the theory that whatever Jillian knew, Tate and Roxanne potentially knew too."

  "So kill Jillian and she's out of the way. Then get Tate framed and sent to jail. He's out of the way." I checked him off my fingers. "Then kidnap Roxanne, she's out of the way, too."

  "Lot of effort. Has to be something big and something soon." Solomon dialed and set his phone to “speaker,” holding it between us. "I don't like what you found in Roxanne's room."

  "Me neither. You know, when we were in Jillian's house, there was a gap on her kitchen counter; it would have been the right size for that cake box. I think Jillian either gave it to Roxanne, or Roxanne took it. Maybe after Jillian was killed. That's not all." I kept my voice even and unconcerned while the phone continued to ring out, even if my heart pounded. "Maddox came by just as I was leaving the house. He came to the base too."

  "Did he have anything for us?"

  "Just that the cash I found is tied to his money laundering case. He’s been working some kind of undercover operation, and both Jillian and Roxanne are involved somehow."

  "What are these guys up to?" mused Solomon. "Drugs. Cash. Murder. This is some serious shit."

  No kidding. “It wasn’t much money. Two thousand isn’t enough to kill someone… right?” Even as I said it, I wasn’t so sure.

  “I estimate the drugs you found at two hundred thousand.”

  “Wow.”

  Lucas Givens came on the line, interrupting us.

  Solomon snapped to a business tone. "What have you got?"

  "The money in Jillian's account has been a big problem," said Lucas. "The deposits were all traced to one account, but from that point of origin, it's been bounced all over the place. Shell corporation to shell corporation."

  "This doesn't sound good," I said.

  "That Lexi? Hey!"

  "Hey, Lucas."

  "Anyway, as I was tracing it, the corporations started to close down. Someone's covering their tracks."

  "Did you find the initial account?" Solomon wanted to know.

  "No, talk about convoluted. I don't know if the person operating the account is a genius or an idiot. Instead, I'm tracing the money that was also in another account. It's bouncing around at the moment, but when I get to an end point, I'll let you know."

  "How much are we talking?" asked Solomon, whistling when Lucas told him.

  "What if there isn't an end point?" I asked. "If this cash is illegal, won't they withdraw it and start over afresh? The money will be clean for distribution; maybe they open a new account with a cash deposit, buy a business, or just stuff it under the mattress?"

  They didn't need to say it, but Lucas did anyway. "We're screwed.”

  "Keep at it," Solomon told him.

  "There's another thing," Lucas cut in before Solomon could hang up. "Jillian got phone calls in the weeks before she died. It’s a burner, so no names. That phone was off until an hour ago. I got pinged when it turned on."

  "Monitor it," said Solomon. "I want to know any outgoing and incoming calls and where it's located."

  "Already on it and I have a location. You're not going to like it. A call was made ten minutes ago. I triangulated the closest towers, and it came from Fort Charles. Before you ask, the call was made to another burner, then both phones were switched off."

  Solomon and I looked at each other.

  "I want a call the minute either phone comes back on air," said Solomon. "Hack it. Check for messages and locate every incoming and...”

  "Outgoing. Got it, boss. You'll have a report by morning, whatever happens."

  "Thanks," said Solomon as he hit “end.” He turned to me. "Whatever is going down, is going down soon. All these events are too much to be purely coincidental."

  "And we don't believe in coincidences," I concluded. He drilled that into me plenty of times. "You know, the big homecoming party is the day after tomorrow. That's going to be a huge event. Lots of people. Lots of celebrating and drinking."

  Solomon nodded. "A great cover."

  "But for what?"

  "I can only think of one person who can tell us."

  "Tate," we said at the same time.

  "I'm on it," he said, reaching for the phone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The time I spend between getting out of bed and getting out the door is my thinking time. I use it to think about what I need to achieve, and to work out my action plan for the day. I like to keep it cool and relaxed, and my routine doesn't alter much on a work day. I like the coffee pot on. I like to eat a decent breakfast. I like a hot shower and I like to dress well. So far, I’d only gotten to the hot shower part.

  Today, as I shampooed my hair, my brain was a revolving door of names. Maddox. Solomon. Roxanne. Jillian. Tate. And, of course, the unnamed mystery men at the center of the investigation. Who were they?

  There have been many times over the years when I've felt powerless and unskilled. Sometimes, it's just a case of being reassigned to a better-suited job. Sometimes, it's about powering through until I acquire whatever I need to get the job done. This case clearly didn't have the easy option. I couldn't run, hide, or get reassigned. After seeing Roxanne get pistol-whipped and bundled into the van, I was committed to finding her. Alive. I owed her that.

  "Lexi?" Solomon knocked on the bathroom door, then eased it open enough to stick his head around. Inside the shower stall, I froze, shampoo dripping down my neck and back. Last night, I went to bed early and arose early this morning, part of me trying to avoid Solomon. At three forty-five a.m., I awoke to find myself snuggled against him, his arms around me and my head tucked under his chin. It took me a good, long while to go to sleep, what with feeling awful for being in bed with him, not quite naked. I also felt awful for enjoying the feel of his body against mine, while thinking about everything Maddox had told me. So far, my solution to the problem was to avoid Solomon. Yes, I was a wimp.

  "Yes?" I waited for him to enter, wondering what I would do if he got into the shower with me. My suddenly electric body seemed to think that was a pretty awesome idea. My mind told me to take a break, to analyze things. My body went back to the Solomon-naked-awesome idea, so I clunked myself on the head with the shampoo bottle. All I got were stinging eyes.

  "I made breakfast and Mitch got me in to see Tate again this morning."

  I sluiced off the shampoo and stuck my head around the glass door. Solomon lounged against the doorjamb, his arms folded, apparently unperturbed about bothering me. Nake
d. Me, that is. He wore black cargo pants and a black t-shirt that only emphasized the broadness of his chest and the size of his biceps. I licked my lips and forgot what I was about to say. Solomon smiled. "That was fast," I forced out.

  "Which?"

  "Tate. But I guess breakfast too. What did you make?"

  "Scrambled eggs."

  It wasn't pancakes, but I could live with that.

  "I'll be right out."

  "I could always join you." He raised his brows, but made no move to pull off his t-shirt.

  "And let breakfast get cold? No way." I ducked back inside, conditioned, rinsed and flipped the water off. I felt immensely proud of my moment of self-denial as the door closed, leaving me alone with the steam. It certainly wasn't easy. One wrong move of his t-shirt and my resolve would have gone down the drainhole.

  After patting my hair dry and brushing my teeth, I padded through the bedroom wearing just the towel, edging quickly behind Solomon's turned back. In record speed, I dried off and pulled on jeans and a t-shirt. After a five-minute blow dry, my hair lay in a sleek wave down my back.

  Without an unofficial pretend job, my day was whatever Solomon wanted it to be. It also marked another day of Roxanne's captivity, a thought that weighed heavily on me as I ate the hot, buttered toast and creamy eggs. Solomon printed off some papers on the tiny portable printer he retrieved from his bag.

  "Lucas traced the calls from the burn phone," he told me.

  "That's good?" I ventured.

  "Most were to four other burners. Three here, one in the Middle East."

  I hazarded a guess. "That's bad?"

  "It's a concern. Lucas triangulated one of the calls and matched it to off base addresses of personnel. Turns out Captain Somper rents a house in that area. And the other call was made to an address not far from here. I want you to check them out today." He handed me the printouts.

  "Okay."

  "I don't know how long this thing with Tate will take, so Flaherty will go with you."

  "Why? I can check out a few addresses by myself." Solomon gave me a look I couldn't interpret. "What?"

  "Murder, false imprisonment, kidnapping, drugs, money laundering." Solomon spelled out the dangers. His voice was decisive. "Plus, I got jumped and you got shot at. I don't want to take precautions. You're taking Flaherty. He'll meet you outside the gates at ten a.m. and he'll follow you to Somper's at 1067 Frith Street."

  "Okay," I agreed, seeing as he did have a point. "Do I have to break in anywhere?"

  "No, this is strictly reconnaissance. Watch, observe and do not approach. Get pictures of whoever comes in and whoever goes out. I want to know if Somper is tied to this."

  "Can't Lucas get you occupancy lists?" Solomon gave me another look. "Fine." I got to my feet, taking my plate to rinse in the sink. "I'm going."

  "Call me at midday. If I don't answer, leave a message." When I turned around, Solomon was right behind me. How he moved so fast and so lightly would remain of the world's mysteries. He took my head in his hands, very gently, and leaned down. The kiss was soft, brief, and sweet, and it sent my previous resolve into freefall. I pulled him back for another kiss, longer and deeper, and he rubbed against me, hardening. "If I didn't have to be at the prison gates in ten minutes, I'd carry you into the bedroom and make you scream my name until noon. Instead, that's what I'll be doing tonight."

  A hot flush crept up my neck as I mentally beat the crap out of my resolve. So much for willpower! Solomon's words had me quaking at the knees.

  "Okay. Gotta go," I said, my voice a nervous squeak. I grabbed my jacket, loading my pockets with my cell phone, wallet and Solomon's printout. At the last moment, I pulled the knife my mother gave me from my case and stuffed it in my pant leg pocket.

  Solomon followed me out, grabbing me and kissing me again when we reached the foyer. If someone hadn't coughed politely, and caused us to break apart, I might have lost my resolve on the floor. Instead, Solomon laughed, handed me his car keys and reminded me to check in.

  Moments afterward, I passed through the gates and hit the main road, spotting Flaherty's SUV pulling out after me a few minutes later. We drove in a convoy to the first address and I parked around the block. Flaherty pulled in behind me. I got out and walked over to his car, hopping onto the passenger seat.

  "Long time, no see," he said dryly. "How's Army life treating you?"

  "Good. No one's tried to kill me."

  Flaherty gave an approving nod. "There's time yet," he said. “They weren’t aiming for you before.”

  "Next time you get to be Solomon's pretend wife," I told him. "I don't want to hog that duty. You boys might get jealous."

  "I don't have anything to wear. All my good dresses are in the wash." I imagined Flaherty in a dress and snorted a laugh. He glanced over and joined me. "I have great legs, you know," he told me.

  "I don't doubt it. I don’t want to see you in a dress though." I pulled out the folded printout. "So we've got two addresses to watch."

  "I know this street," Flaherty said, pointing ahead. "There's an alley that runs behind the houses. I'll take the back, you take the front. That way, we can cover both entrances."

  "Gotcha."

  "Give me two minutes to get into position, then pull around front," he said. "I'm just going to slide up this street and park across from the alley." He handed me a small, two-way radio. "Better than using cell phones when we're close," he told me. He showed me the switch to talk before making some kind of garbled noise into it that crackled into my handset.

  I jogged back to my own car and waited for Flaherty to pass me, motor around the corner, and slide out of view. A couple minutes later and the radio crackled. "In position," Flaherty told me.

  I depressed the button. "Gotcha, Red Eagle."

  "Red Eagle?"

  "Would you prefer Pumpkin?"

  "Red Eagle will do, over." The radio crackled. "Hold up, Crouching Hamster. I see a car pulling out of the carport. Looks like our guy."

  Crouching Hamster? "Want me to come around?"

  "No. I drove past the front driveway and there's no car on it, so I'm guessing this is the only vehicle. I'm going to follow it and see where it goes."

  Ugh. My first stakeout of the day and I'd already missed the good stuff. No fair!

  "What do you want me to do?" I asked him.

  "Drive around the block a couple times just to make sure no one's in. If it looks empty, go to the next address. I'll meet you there as soon as I can."

  "Gotcha, Red Eagle."

  "Later, Graves Digger."

  Given that I'd heard every novelty take on my surname, long after it stopped being funny, I should have seen that coming. Tossing the radio onto the seat, I started the engine and pulled out, turning onto our mystery house's street. The house was second from the end, and like Flaherty said, the driveway was empty. The curtains were open and my cursory glance as I slid past suggested it was empty. As I looked into my rear-view mirror, I got another surprise. We weren't the only ones watching the house. I took a right turn and accelerated, my nose twitching as I decided what to do. I circled the block again, parking at the far end of Frith Street.

  Whether it was bad luck or good fortune that I spotted Maddox before he saw me will remain another of life's mysteries. On the downside, it meant I couldn't do what I came to do—snoop—without being observed by him. On the upside, seeing as he wasn't overly forthcoming with his case notes, it did give me the opportunity to simply observe him.

  So far, in the few minutes since I’d parked, the observing wasn't getting me anywhere, except that I could see Maddox wasn't alone. Although the headrest blocked my view of his car's passenger, I knew that he thought far enough ahead to bring a travel mug. Quite possibly, he intended to be there for some time.

  Try as I might, I couldn't summon up the patience to sit all day waiting for him to do something interesting. I had three choices. Carry on to the next address, pretending I didn’t spot him at all. Go back to the
tiny apartment in Fort Charles and try my luck another day, and possibly miss my chance with MPD sitting on my suspect's house. Or simply ask Maddox what he was doing.

  It was time to pay Maddox and his partner a little surprise.

  Climbing out of my car, I pulled on a baseball cap that was tossed into the footwell, and jogged casually in his direction. At the last moment, I lurched to one side, pulled open the rear car door and hopped inside. In a moment of silliness, I made a gun sign with my fingers and pointed it at Maddox's surprised face as he turned.

  "Bang," I said. "You're dead."

  Maddox looked like he'd seen a ghost. "Jesus. I think you gave me a mini heart attack. Where'd you come from?"

  "You're the detective. Work it out. Don’t you lock your doors?"

  Maddox rolled his eyes and then let them roam over me. "I guess this isn't a social call. I don't see any food."

  "Sorry." I grinned. "Been here long?"

  "A while."

  "Peanut butter cup?" His passenger leaned around the seat, bag held forth, and I got my first look at the woman I spotted Maddox with once before. Even without a zoom lens, she was pretty, too pretty. All long, shiny, dark hair, a sweetheart face and feline-shaped, green eyes. Her skin didn't have a single blemish. I hated her. Lots.

  Though I really wanted a peanut butter cup, I wanted to punch her lights out more. "No, thanks," I said as I sat on my hands, just in case.

  Maddox introduced us. "Lexi, this is Detective Rebecca Blake. She works financial crimes."

  "So you're like an accountant?" I stifled a yawn. Childish, I know.

  "Not quite," she said, apparently not offended as she unwrapped a cup and popped it into her mouth, chewing on it.

  Maddox interrupted again. "Rebecca, this is Lexi Graves."

  "Nice to meet you," she said, sticking her hand through the gap in the seats. I viewed it with distaste, then sighed and shook it anyway. The urge to wrench her forwards and bounce her head off the headrest simmered away; but I sat on my hands again. "The Lexi Graves. Adam says lovely things about you," she continued.

  Adam? I barely called him Adam. Mostly, to me he was Maddox. It was a naming convention that I'd picked up from years of my family being on the force. There, surnames were for everyday wear, and your first name was what your mother used to scold you with. So they were on first name terms? Hate, hate. Hulk smash.