Cal Rogan Mysteries, Books 1, 2 & 3 (Box Set)

by Robert P. French

  “Did Mark take his computers with him when he left on Sunday.”

  “No. That was why I was sure he’d be back.”

  “So where are they?”

  “Early this morning, about five o’clock, two men smashed open the front door and took them.”

  Oh my god, the front door. Anyone could just walk into the house and find us here.

  “Why didn’t you call the police.”

  “They said if I did, they’d know and that they’d come back and kill me.”

  “Did you get a good look at them?”

  “No, they were wearing ski masks.”

  I am starting to worry about that unlocked front door.

  “We should get up,” I say.

  Elizabeth lifts her head off my chest and kisses me.

  She gently runs her nails down my neck, chest, stomach…

  A team from the Forensic Unit is on its way. They will be trying to lift prints or otherwise identify the people who stole Mark Wright’s computers. I got Elizabeth to change the bed and put the sheets into the washing machine. In the unlikely event that the techs get too ambitious, I don’t want them finding my DNA.

  She has given me a description of Mark’s client and agreed to work with a technician using software to create a picture of him.

  Although she has tried to remember, her description of the thieves is little more than useless.

  The theft of the computers has dashed any hope that I had of discovering the importance of the oboe code quickly, before the lab results come back. Then I remember the last time I saw Mark Wright. When he arrived while I was questioning Elizabeth about the phrase oboe is blood, he was carrying an expensive-looking leather satchel.

  “Did the thieves take Mark’s laptop?” I ask.

  “No, he took it with him when he left. He never goes anywhere without that thing.”

  Another hope dashed.

  “They didn’t take the blades, of course,” she adds.

  “The blades?”

  “Well that was what Mark called them. They were his pride and joy.” There is some bitterness in her words.

  “What are they?”

  She gets up and I follow her into the kitchen. The sway of her hips eliciting from me equal parts of desire and guilt. She opens a door, to what I had assumed was a pantry. Steps lead down to a basement. We descend. It is hot in here. The room is unfinished with bare heating ducts and electric wires stapled to wooden beams across the low ceiling. A washing machine is swishing away the evidence of our morning. There are boxes of toys and books, a couple of bikes and a tool bench. It has the musty smell of the normal family basement.

  But that is where normalcy stops.

  In the middle of the room is a floor-to-ceiling rack made of angle-iron. Bolted into the rack are two cabinets that remind me of air conditioning units… No, they are more like bookcases holding rows of identical metal books. On the top shelf of each unit I can see fans turning behind a metal grid. The air coming from the fans is warm.

  I look at Elizabeth. “Blades?”

  “That’s what he calls them. They’re computers of some sort.”

  I count the metal ‘books’. There are ten to a shelf, three shelves to a cabinet. That’s sixty computers.

  I need Damien to see these. I’ll call him right after I take another handful of Tylenol.

  36

  Cal

  I step through the door like a man stepping down from a tumbril: this is the end. Inspector Vance, head of the Major Crimes under Superintendent Cathcart, is sitting at his desk, his face unreadable.

  I wouldn’t have been sent here by a very angry Steve if the results of the urine test were not yet back. This is the one man firing squad.

  “Sit down.” Vance nods toward a chair.

  I comply. Nothing I can say now will make any difference; I am gone. I have already decided to tell them about my kidnapping. It won’t change anyone’s mind but I need to do it. I’m sorry it’s Vance that has to do this. He’s one of the good guys.

  Maybe I should just tell him I know about the test and make it easier all round. I’ll just say that I know what the results are and that I accept that he needs to fire me. Vance is a good cop; if it is easier for him, I will be happy to resign.

  “If it’s easier, I could resign.”

  Vance looks puzzled.

  “What?”

  Oh, my god. I am not here to be fired. What have I just said?

  “What the hell do you mean, Cal?” Vance asks.

  I’m hit by a wave of panic. Now what do I say? A big part of me longs to come clean about the drug test; a bigger part of me wants just one more day to wrap up this case and nail the bastard who killed Terry Wright. The bigger part wins out. But what do I say? Then, in a flash, I remember the previous conversation I had with Vance and I use it.

  “When we talked on Monday night about Stammo getting run down by those women, you said that there would be a formal investigation. Isn’t this a follow up from that meeting?”

  “No,” Vance says, doing nothing to keep the irritation from his voice. “I want you to brief me on the Wright and the Varga killings. These cases seem to be going nowhere, so I’ve decided to become more hands-on.” A wave of relief sweeps through me. So that’s why Steve was mad; his boss is taking over the cases personally. They haven’t got the results of the second drug test back yet.

  I’ve got to switch my thought to the cases at hand. Vance has a mind like a steel trap and cannot tolerate sloppiness.

  “On the Terry Wright murder, I think that it was the father. Terry’s mother says that he has been missing since Sunday. I think he’s run.” I tell him about the oboe code and the computer equipment in the basement. “He was working for someone, a client, who Elizabeth Wright says was ‘scary’. I believe Mark was doing something criminal and that if his ‘client’ knew that Terry was repeating this code he would be in a lot of trouble. He killed Terry to shut him up.”

  “Killed his own son? This oboe code must be pretty important to kill a kid.” Vance asks, skeptical.

  “Elizabeth Wright told me that he was Terry’s step-father.” I don’t tell him that she told me this in bed, a mere ninety minutes ago.

  “I think his client is part of a criminal gang of some sort. When they found out about Terry’s friend Michael parroting the code, they decided to get rid of him too.”

  Vance jumps on this. “How would they get to know that?”

  “If Mark Wright killed his own step-son, he wouldn’t have any qualms about tipping off his ‘client’ about Michael.” My stomach drops as I see how illogical that is. If Mark killed Terry to stop the gang finding out him chanting the oboe code, why would he then tell them that Michael was repeating it? Are the handfuls of Tylenol blunting my mind as well as the pains in my body? Vance’s sharp mind is sure to spot the error and he’s going to come down hard on me for sloppy thinking.

  He looks off into the space behind my right shoulder. Gathering his thoughts for the tongue lashing he’s going to give me.

  But he doesn’t.

  Why not? He must have spotted the error in my argument. Maybe he’s…

  “Why do you think he mutilated the kid?” He fires the question at me.

  “The wife goes to this odd church. In one of the pictures they have on display, there is a body mutilated in the same way. I think Wright did it to implicate the church in the killing.” I feel a bit uneasy about this. I remember Reverend Harris saying that Mark came as a guest and during guest meetings, the dark pictures were covered up. However, at some point, he could easily have sneaked a look.

  “Why would he do that?”

  “His wife was having an affair with the brother of the pastor. Maybe he wanted to point the finger at him.” Again that feeling of unease. Elizabeth said she told Mark about the affair on Sunday, a week after Terry’s death. I keep this from Vance, rationalizing that Mark Wright could easily have found out about the affair long before his wife told him
.

  I buttress my theory. “It would give him another reason to kill Terry: to punish his wife for the affair.”

  He thinks this over for a moment. “What is this oboe code?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. I sent it to Forensics and they haven’t got back to me yet.”

  “Who’d you send it to?”

  “Sally Wilkes.”

  “Good.”

  He looks hard at me and I feel like I am being interrogated. I can see why Vance was one hell of a good detective. I feel a need to fill the silence and I want to tell him that I also sent the code to Damien but Inspector Vance is territorial in the extreme; he would haul me over the coals if he knew I have involved an outsider. I’m hoping that Steve will be too ticked off at Vance for taking over his cases and won’t offer up this info.

  Or maybe he already has. Maybe Vance is waiting for me to tell him.

  A cold drip of sweat trickles down my spine.

  “So, what about the Varga killing?”

  My relief at the change of subject is short lived. I’m pretty sure that I’m going to get blasted on this one.

  “We’re not much further ahead. We can’t find the truck that killed her. We’ve had patrols checking every blue Ford F150 they run into but, so far, nothing. The husband gambles a lot and it’s rumored that he hangs around with suspect characters in the casinos, which we are checking into. The angle I want to follow up is the link between the two cases.”

  “Yeah, Steve mentioned that.” His voice is skeptical. “Explain it to me.”

  I need to be convincing.

  “Marguerite Varga used to go to the same church as Elizabeth Wright; they knew each other but not well. Both husbands attended one guest service there, though not at the same time. But the bigger connection is that Mark Wright used to work for Harold Varga at the bank.”

  “Not much of a connection, is it?” There is more than a little sarcasm in his voice.

  He raises his eyebrows a hair’s breadth, waiting for my response.

  “No sir.”

  “OK,” he says. “Here’s what you’re gonna do.” This is going to be an order, not a suggestion. “Find Mark Wright and grill him. I want to be kept up to date on this, so make sure I know as soon as you’ve tracked him down. We’ll need to either get a confession or exonerate him. Forget trying to rely on a connection between the two cases. On the Varga case, find the damn truck and track down the killer. It’s over a week since she was killed and you’ve got fuck all, so get to it. Steve’s asked for more manpower on the case and I’ve authorized it. He said he wants someone else working the attempted kidnapping to the Chan kid. He’ll let you know who.”

  Before I can object, he picks up his phone and swivels his chair away from me.

  I am dismissed.

  37

  Cal

  One more day. Tomorrow I will probably no longer be a member of the VPD, so a little insubordination now is no biggie.

  One more day to find a killer and right now, I feel stretched in many directions at once.

  The ostensible reason for being here is to interrogate Elizabeth and try and find Mark’s whereabouts.

  However, I am just as interested in what Damien might find out from those computers in the basement. He’s down there now, clacking away at his laptop which he has plugged into the ‘blades’. He has to be quick. Inspector Vance wants a VPD Forensics team here to do the same thing; they are probably en route right now. I want his opinion first but I don’t want to have to tell Forensics who this person is and why he is here.

  Also Elizabeth is sitting too close to me on the couch. I desperately need to find Mark and question him, so I need her to be… I don’t know what I need her to be.

  I stand and walk into the kitchen. There are dirty breakfast things in the sink. If this house had a logo, it would be an egg stained dish. “How’s it going Damien?” I call down.

  He can detect the agitation in my voice. “It’s OK Cal, I’ll only be a few more moments.” That’s good but in my limited experience computer people do not have a realistic sense of time.

  I pace back into the living room and sit in the chair opposite the couch.

  “Can you think of anywhere Mark might be?” I ask her for the second time.

  “I don’t know Cal, I really don’t,” Elizabeth says. She gets up and kneels at my feet, her hand on my thigh. Way too close. Damien could come upstairs at any moment.

  I cannot get a handle on my feelings for Elizabeth. Is it more than lust? I want it to be; or is that just my feeling of guilt that I have taken advantage of her in a moment of weakness? I know I love Sam but is she a goal forever unattainable? Is my past an immovable barrier to our reconciliation? Is this new man in her life going to be permanent?

  I hear a car stop outside the house. Forensics! Damn. I’ll have to get Damien out the back way fast before he’s had a chance to really investigate those computers. I stand and look out the window. The car is a Lexus, definitely not VPD issue.

  I look back down and see the tenderness in Elizabeth’s eyes; it is overwhelming. I do not want to hurt this fragile woman who has lost so much in the last ten days.

  “Do you have a cabin or a boat?” I force myself to sit down and get back on track.

  “No. Since Mark lost his job at the bank, we have lost everything.”

  She straightens up and kisses me gently on the side of the mouth. The effect is—

  “They were wiped—”

  Damien is standing in the doorway with a shocked look on his face. He must have seen the kiss and the red glow now suffusing my cheeks.

  I stand up, looking guiltier than if I had remained seated.

  Damien recovers his professional tone “The servers. Everything’s been deleted.”

  “But you can recover stuff right?”

  His smile is rueful. “’Fraid not. After he deleted everything, he copied a file to every sector of every disk. Whatever was on there is gone. Unless he had it backed up somewhere.”

  “Ffff…” I hold back on the expletive as a nasty thought hits me. Can I really trust Damien? We are both a long way from high school and I don’t really know what he might be into these days. What if there was something valuable on those computers, something that Damien could use. Would he be above copying it onto that fancy laptop of his and then deleting it from the computers downstairs? I hope that I’m wrong because it’s too late to do anything about it now.

  I have to face the fact that I might have screwed up big time here.

  “I’m sorry I dragged you all the way here for nothing,” I say.

  “It may not have been for nothing.” His smile is broad now. “While I was down there I was wondering why he would need all that computer power. I think I know what the oboe code is?”

  “What is it?” I can’t keep the catch from my voice.

  “I need to go back to the office to verify it before I commit myself. I’ll call you in a couple of hours if I’m right.” He heads for the front door.

  I glance nervously out the window. I really don’t want Forensics reporting back that they saw a man with a laptop leaving the house right before they discovered that the computers had been wiped clean.

  But there is only the Lexus outside. My sigh is just audible.

  “Wait. Tell me what you suspect, at least.”

  He cuts a glance at Elizabeth. “Let me check it out first.”

  As much as it frustrates me, he is right. Despite my feelings for her, I don’t know how much Elizabeth may have been involved in her husband’s activities. Plus I need Damien out of here.

  “I’m sorry I kissed you in front of him,” she says as soon as the front door closes.

  I ignore the stew of conflicting emotions. “We can talk about that later. Right now I need to find your husband.”

  “I don’t have any ideas.”

  Simultaneously, I hear the solid clunk of a car door closing and the sound of a starter motor.

  “What’s
his cellphone number?”

  “He has two.” While I write the numbers in my notebook, she rests her hand on my forearm.

  “Was there somewhere you went on vacation or for long weekends that Mark liked a lot?”

  “Cal, please.” She takes my face in her hands and gives me a tantalizing kiss on the lips.

  My body betrays my resolve and I return the kiss. She runs her hand up the inside of my thigh and finds the evidence of my desire.

  She stands up and I know that I am powerless to resist. Taking my hand she leads me to the hallway and the doorbell rings.

  She leans into me. “Let’s leave it,” she whispers. Her breath in my ear sends a tsunami of sensation through every nerve in my body. I hear a voice through the door as she draws me toward the bedroom.

  I glance back.

  Whoever is at the door could be relevant to the case. It could conceivably be Mark Wright.

  She has opened the bedroom door and stepped inside. I turn back to her. With one lithe movement, she reaches down to the hem of her dress, lifts it up over her head and drops it to the floor. She is naked beneath it.

  She makes my decision for me. I hope that it is a permanent decision.

  I close the bedroom door.

  Taking my Sig from its holster, I open the front door.

  “Hey, Rocky.” Staff Sergeant Sally Wilkes of the Forensic Unit is new to VPD so knows me only as Rocky. She walks in. “I’ve come to look at those computers, orders of Inspector Vance. This is Sarah,” she introduces her companion. They look like the odd couple: Sally is in a conservative suit and has a flowing mane of auburn hair, Sarah has a very short brush cut and is dressed in a steampunk style.

  I return my gun to its home and lead them down the hallway into the kitchen, glad that my back is to them. Damien left the door to the basement open. “They’re down there. I’m leaving now, call me as soon as you know anything. Mrs. Wright is in her bedroom.”

  I return to the bedroom door and knock. “Mrs. Wright,” I say loudly enough to be heard below. I turn the handle but the door is locked. “Our forensics people are here, so I’m leaving now.”