Her raised eyebrows and total silence weren't at all the reactions he had hoped for, and this day was already getting shorter and shorter. “I arranged to meet with detective Manning at ten. You can drop me off at the station down town, then pick me up after you've finished getting your paperwork."
“Okay, then what?"
“I won't know until after the meeting. It could be that Detective Manning's information will save us some foot work."
“Why would you be meeting him in Des Moines? He's from West Des Moines."
“I realize that,” Jacob acknowledged, rising to his feet. “He said to be at the Des Moines station at ten. He didn't elaborate, and I didn't ask him.” He held his hand out to her and she accepted his help to stand. Trust, he thought, she still trusts me. And it wasn't just that she'd placed her hand in his; it was the easy way they'd communicated since she handed him the towels last night. He added a mark to his mental chalkboard list with hope being the title that scrawled across the top.
“Aren't you going to say ‘watch your back?'” Whether he realized it or not, she had learned a few thing during the eleven years she'd lived in the same house with him. She'd kept track of his business accounting, plus recording the reason for and outcome of each job. They had, however, never worked together like this to put pieces of a puzzle together. Jacob had discussed things with her, ‘bounced ideas off her,’ but he'd never asked her to travel around with him. Not even on local cases. She was so busy with the kids that she wouldn't have asked to go. Right this minute, she couldn't think of any reason why she'd never thought of it. If she'd gone with him a few times, just maybe she wouldn't have fallen apart like she did when the damned butterfly shot him in the hip. Up to that point she hadn't felt any terrible fear. Sue didn't think she would ever understand what happened to her that day.
Somewhat amazed with her question, he nodded, smiling. “I sure as hell wanted to, Babe, but I didn't want to scare you.” He didn't want her out of his sight, either—not even for twenty minutes. “I don't think this guy knows Des Moines well enough to keep track of anyone. The trouble is, it's mere speculation.” He hesitated. “I'd feel better knowing you intended to keep one eye on your rearview mirror."
It seemed the uneasiness she'd awakened with that morning corresponded exactly with his. “Then you'll be pleased to know I've had one eye on it since I left Mom's this morning."
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Chapter 9
Downtown traffic stayed light all morning, and exactly an hour and a half after Sue had dropped him at the police station Jacob climbed back into the Chevy. While he fastened his seat belt, she made no move to drive away, merely stared at him.
He looked out at the old neighborhood of wood-sided homes and buildings that surrounded the police station constructed of gray-white stone and pillars. One did not compliment the other. “You buy me lunch, and I'll tell you everything I know,” he said.
“That little bribe won't work today. It's noon, J.T., and Mom will have Sunday dinner waiting for us by one or one-thirty."
“Right,” he said. “Guess I'll have to fill you in on the way.” He flipped open his notebook. “Do we have time to stop at the motel across from the airport?"
“Sure,” she said, guiding the car into traffic. “What's at the motel?” As if in some sort of cerebral limbo, they hadn't really communicated with each other verbally for at least six months. And had spoken nothing of a personal nature, except when it came to the children, for most of the past year. Last night and today he treated her as if they were partners in an investigation, respectful, friendly, yet distant. If it hadn't been for the kiss last night, Sue would guess he had forgotten that they were still married.
“When I left you last night,” he said, “I followed that car we'd been watching. Curly-headed guy drove straight to the motel. I doubt if it means anything, since the man in your apartment couldn't have had that much hair under the ski mask.” He shrugged. “But I promised myself to keep my notes straight, so I want to get his name and see if he made any long-distance phone calls."
Silence hung thickly in the air like Iowa humidity until Sue couldn't stand it any longer. “Hell's bells, Jacob, what did the detective tell you?"
He loved the way her lower lip pouted when she became impatient with him, loved the way the sound of his name seemed to float from those same lips. “Not enough,” he said as he flipped back a page in his notebook. “Manning discovered that the Goodhouse Sporting Goods store sold a ski mask and leather gloves to a man Friday evening. The sales lady remembered because it was the first request since they removed the winter stuff from the shelves a month ago. Said the buyer was tall, sandy headed, and claimed he was going on vacation to snow country.” Which, by way of description, left out the motel man, but Jacob couldn't ignore his intuition.
“There wasn't any bloodied sheet found in your apartment. They searched the garbage cans and the garage and found nothing. I had to convince Manning that Karen wouldn't have imagined the details of what happened to her. I suggested they ask the people at the motels and car rentals to keep an eye out for any stained sheets or blankets. After seeing Karen, I know there would be plenty of stains.” Through the years he'd gotten battered a few times himself. Just thinking about Karen made his skin hurt. Knowing it might have been Sue gave him the shakes.
“What did you mean, imagined the details of what happened to her?"
“Manning isn't totally convinced that the attacker covered her with anything. Trauma victims sometimes remember odd things that didn't actually happen. Oh, the cops'll look into it, but not always very enthusiastically.” There was a bloody sheet or blanket somewhere, and he would bet his shorts that it would show up eventually.
“Then, what makes you so certain Karen's remembering accurately?” She already agreed with him, but she wanted to hear what made him believe it.
He thought back fifteen years to when he met Sue and Karen at Drake University in Des Moines. Days when studies were hard, but life seemed so very much easier. “Even when we went to college with her, Karen was always a controlled, down-to-earth person. She was never one to shake easily. The sheet blinding her was the first thing that happened to her.” He hesitated, watching as Sue stopped for a red light, then turned the corner. “It also kept what the attacker did to her contained,” he went on. “I realize the crew came in and cleaned carpets et cetera, however, I called Max and he said the only stains they found were where Karen was lying on the floor. They found no staining on the couch, coffee table or anywhere else. The guy knocked her around the living room, Babe. He hit her hard enough to lacerate her skin and nearly kill her.” Sue paled visibly, and Jacob reached out and gently rubbed her shoulder.
“Sorry, Babe, but you asked.”
He thanked God Karen survived; he thanked God again that Sue wasn't the one lying battered and broken in the hospital—that the kids hadn't been home. He had to get the sonofabitch before he hurt anyone else.
She stopped the car in front of the motel and turned to face him. The image of Karen's ravaged face made her queasy; despite how she felt, Sue forced a smile. Max and his crew were great because they paid close attention to details and no one ever had to stand over them. “But Max brought me a new couch—”
“Yes,” Jacob interrupted, “because he decided it had smoke damage."
“All right,” she said, gesturing at the motel. “You seem to have eliminated the man in the rental car, so, why are we here?"
“Intuition,” he answered as he climbed out of the car. “I'll be back in a minute."
Sue felt well acquainted with Jacob's intuition. His gut feelings as he referred to them—his guardian angel was more her guess—and he kept his extremely busy.
She watched his long legs carry him into the motel office, and through the window she watched him introduce himself to the desk clerk, who started shaking her head and continued to do so as Jacob talked to her.
All night and throughout the time
she had run errands without him this morning, Sue had tried to think of every argument she could use when he brought up the subject of leaving tomorrow. And it wouldn't be long before he waged his campaign. Right now he kept busy, but he was arming himself with compelling support for them going with him—this business wouldn't last much longer. He might even wait until after dinner ... she hoped, because no excuse convincing enough had come to mind.
Being locked up in the car with him all day wasn't helping her firm resolve not to leave Iowa with him. First thing she saw him this morning, she wanted to brush his wayward hair off his forehead, run her fingers over his muscled shoulders, feel his mouth on her again. Tears stung her eyes, and she sucked in a deep breath. No, she didn't want any of those things. She wanted him to go away and leave her alone. She wasn't ready to give up her quieter, more normal existence. Maybe she would never be ready. The confusion was always there. But a clear vision of Karen on the stretcher that morning reminded her that nothing, at the moment, was either quiet or normal. And Jacob Tyler Campbell was the reason. He had stepped on someone's toes, as he liked to put it, and they were stepping back. Sue didn't want herself or the children to be around again when they stepped directly on Jacob. Once was quite enough for her.
Sue jumped nervously as Jacob opened the car door at the same moment that a jet roared over the top of the motel and them. It made the car vibrate before it finally touched ground on the landing strip across the highway.
When he climbed back into the car, Jacob smiled, trying to shake off his frustration. “The guy checked out early this morning. I suppose that means he's left town.” There was an early flight this morning to Denver, and booked solid. He didn't even bother to consider the bastard might have left town by any other means.
“What about his name?"
He gestured at the motel office. “Took some kindly persuasion, but she finally gave me that much. William Caine was what he'd written on her registration log. Checked in Friday, and paid cash, so there weren't any credit-card numbers.” The motel clerk had jotted added costs on that log beside Caine's name, but she had quickly grabbed it away from him before he could determine what for. But he would bet his undershorts that the guy made long-distance phone calls.
“Something's putting a light in your eyes, J.T.” Sue stated her observation as she put the car in gear and drove away from the motel. “I thought you decided the man who stayed here had too much hair."
Jacob nodded. “Most likely he isn't the man in the apartment. But, I like to cover all the possibilities.”
Leaning his head back against the seat, he closed his eyes and heard his stomach rumbling. “Do you think your mom made that great pot roast of hers today?"
* * * *
Dressed in lounging pajamas and silk robe, Kimba leaned against the desk in the library and watched her husband pace in front of her with his hands jammed into the pockets of his walking shorts. “I told you the files weren't found, Keats. My guys tore the whole house apart."
“But are they smart enough to know their heads from their asses? I've defended a couple of the bums you deal with. How do you know they didn't overlook anything?"
“What papers they didn't have time to search through, they brought to me. That damned alarm system of Campbell's went off even though they disabled it.” She moved around the desk and sat down in the chair, tipping it back. “One of them is an expert on the systems and couldn't figure it out."
Keats stopped pacing and appeared to study the bookcases. “Do they have time to look some more? And what about that idiot Clinton, have you heard from him?"
Kimba shook her head. “My sources tell me that Campbell booked a flight for tomorrow morning.” She swiveled the chair so she faced Keats. “Clint failed to reach Campbell's wife. He ambushed some woman staying with her and got stuck in Iowa until tomorrow morning."
Keats glared at her. “I thought he was smarter than that. Didn't he interview Campbell about his taxes, and in his own office? Do you mean he intends to take the same flight as Campbell?” Keats asked, his voice rising. “Damn it, Kimba, you aren't dealing with an amateur. Campbell won't be twiddling his thumbs just because it wasn't his wife Clinton attacked."
“Yes, he had Campbell in his office, and didn't make it a pleasant interview. But don't forget he quit the agency right afterwards.” Clint's unwavering capacity for making small mistakes continued to worry her, but she didn't want Keats to know. “If he calls before leaving Iowa, I'll make certain he takes a different flight. If he doesn't, there isn't much I can do about it.
“Campbell's reservations are for four people. If he intends to bring his family back to California, he should be too busy to notice Clint on the plane.” She rose to her feet. “Clinton's wearing a disguise of sorts. He took a wig, let his whiskers grow, and is wearing clothing that makes him look like a slob. Believe me, no one at the office would recognize him.”
Kimba wanted to add that it had been Keat's idea to send Clint on the job. She would have chosen someone else. And one of her loyal burglars would have gotten it right the first time and not needed a second chance to get the job done. She kept her guys happy, kept their pockets filled with enough money that she didn't have to worry about them. Also, they might not be perfect, but they weren't as stupid as Keats thought they were. In actuality, they just got better and better at their work.
“Well, my love, I certainly hope you're right. Otherwise, Campbell's computer-like brain's going to kick in and he'll remember where he met Clinton. With the photocopies he's hidden somewhere and what he'll know about Clint, he'll have a great deal of proof. I may have to see you explaining your extra-career real estate activities to a grand jury.” He grabbed her arm. “I wouldn't like that, Kimba."
There was a level of threat in his tone she had never heard before. It frightened her, and nothing ever frightened her. She had always considered him, for the most part, rather wimpy physically. But there was an almost supernatural strength in his fingers as they continued to dig into the tender flesh on her arm. Doing her best to disregard her nervous foreboding, she reached up, stroked his cheek, and kissed him, trying to ease his tension, and he released her.
Stunned because he had never touched her that way before, and curbing the urge to rub the pain from her arm, she drew away from him. “I'll do my best to see that never happens, darling. You know how careful I am. If Clint doesn't call, I've arranged to have something waiting for Campbell to help him decide not to pursue his investigation."
Actually, she was working on several ideas to sway Campbell. Vulnerable family members were always useful for the prime approach for persuading anyone to back off. Now some major idiot had convinced the government that it was a crime to conspire against the agency, and stealing big time became easier and easier because any defense looked like conspiring. God it was funny that people actually thought someone could conspire against a mere collection agency. Gullible America—what a laugh. But for Campbell, conspiracy might be an easy case if nothing else worked.
Clint was a crafty business thief, but he wasn't a burglar or hit man. Perhaps Keats now understood that, and wouldn't give him such inappropriate assignments in the future. She doubted it. He expected everyone to do what he said. If they weren't qualified, they had better get that way in a hurry. However, Kimba had a feeling he would blame her for anything that went wrong regardless of who gave the orders.
He suddenly looked relaxed and his usual self as he glanced at his watch. “I'm going to be late for my golf game,” he mumbled. “I'd ask you to join me, but Clinton might call."
If he was going to be pleasant, she wanted to keep him that way. “I'll take the cellular phone, darling. And have all the calls transferred to that number. That way I can watch you play and we can have dinner at the club.”
To her relief, Keats smiled for the first time that morning. “Then go get dressed, and let's forget Campbell for a while and enjoy some of this day.”
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Chapter 10
Sunday was always Martha's day off, and Sue knew that Kathleen used the day for doing her own cooking and all the little personal things she missed because business kept her weekdays filled. The best part was, Sue had helped Kathleen in the kitchen with making dinner rolls, and now felt more relaxed than she had in hours. She had managed to use up some nervous energy kneading and punching dough.
After dinner, and after helping to clear and clean the dishes, Sue challenged Michael to a game of chess, while Jacob installed himself in her father's den with the telephone. Her parents relaxed in their favorite recliner chairs with the Sunday paper as they always did after dinner, and Andee was listening to music in her own private guest room.
“Did you tell him yet?” Mike asked, his tone hinting at betrayal. He didn't look at her, but stared at the game board.
Shaking her head, Sue took his knight with her bishop. “He will have to be told, Mike. Would you rather be the one who does it?” She welcomed the idea. Just why Mike did certain things was the unanswered question she hoped Jacob could get an explanation for—or at least come up with some insights she obviously missed.
“No. No, I don't think I could do it.” He moved his queen out of harms way. “He's going to be really mad at me."
Sue reached out and touched his hand. “Has he ever been really mad at you?” Jacob had never even raised his voice at the children, but she supposed a feeling of guilt could make Mike imagine a heavy-duty response from his father.
“Well, maybe not. But this is different, Mom.” He stood up. “I wanna ride my bike for a while."
“Fine,” she said. “But don't go very far, because I think we're in for a family discussion.” When his expression seemed to shut her out, she added, “I don't think this parley will be about your behavior. Anyway, not this time."
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