Risky Alliance

by N. C. Anderson

  “Disappeared?” Jacob sat down, trying to concentrate on Tim. “A cop? Perhaps, a lawyer? Who else can come and go in here without anyone paying attention to them?"

  Tim was nodding and unlocking his desk drawer. After pulling out a key, he walked across the room, opened a closet, and pulled out a videotape. “MacBean's questioning the night man in charge of the evidence room. Meanwhile, I have a copy of that tape. I had MacBean make it before leaving last night. Damn good thing I did.”

  He placed the tape in the VCR. “We're gonna watch this thing super close. There has to be something we missed last night."

  “What about the woman—Ellen Colby?” He hated the idea of telling Sue about this. She had met Mrs. Colby and liked her.

  They were making someone nervous, real nervous. He or she had started murdering to clear the path. Bad sign. J.T. had another idea to hate, he hated that his gut said he was running out of time.

  “The lab boys are still out there. I can lay-odds they won't find a damn thing. Our killer might be busy, but also extremely cautious and professional. This one doesn't rattle easily. In fact, this one's so cold we should recognize him from the icicles hanging from his face.” He pushed play and walked back to take a seat at his desk. “If it's a he ... or the same she in this video.” Clearing his throat, he added softly, “Speak up if you want me to replay anything."

  Doesn't rattle easily, Jacob thought, and definitely without conscience. The video shows a woman. He watched closely, thinking about Sue's comments from the night before. Was that a woman they were watching? He had to agree with her that the figure seemed right, but the walk seemed wrong. The lump where a ring showed through the glove didn't look like the more delicate design most women preferred. He thought about the guy at the airport, about the wig hairs discovered stuck in the paint—and on the bloody sheet in Iowa. But it didn't compute. The person on the screen looked shorter, slenderer, completely opposite of the Iowa intruder.

  The camera showed tennis shoes with expensive clothing. Sue thought that strange. But if the woman had needed a fast getaway, heeled shoes wouldn't have worked.

  As he watched again, watched his friend being shot in the head, he closed his eyes and asked, “Did you say that Ellen Colby was smothered?”

  “Yeah,” Tim said. “There was no sign of struggle. The poor woman didn't have a chance."

  Jacob pointed at the screen. “Wait! Run that back about two seconds.” It was at the end of the scene that showed any movement at all for several minutes after the woman's last trip into the den. “There, did you see that?"

  “Yeah, it looked like she was wearing all black when passing by that door. Give me a second to get it back."

  What Jacob saw on the screen lasted only long enough to blink, but Tim managed to pause the frame. “Would be her after dumping the clothes in the garage and changing?"

  Tim's eyebrows wrinkled in a deep frown. “Couldn't be anything else. I don't believe she had an accomplice there.”

  “Do you think it's this ice lady that killed Mrs. Colby?"

  “If this is the screaming agent, she certainly had motive—But we discussed Mrs. Colby for the first time last night. How would the killer know there was a possible eyewitness, or that we had this tape?” His eyes grew wide as he shoved to his feet and walked to the VCR. “Cop or lawyer. Someone who knew or heard what we were doing here last night.” He switched everything off and ejected the tape. “I'm going to spend the rest of the day nosing around right here in my own building. Someone would have had to see something."

  Not necessarily, Jacob thought. This killer moved like a cat through tall weeds, stalking a bird. No noise—not a twitch of a hair. He, too, shoved to his feet. “I'll be on the cell phone, Tim. I promised to take the kids up to the ranch for a few hours. First, though, I'm going to go over my file on Robert. If anything comes up, call me."

  Tim walked with him to the door with the video still clutched in his hand. “You do the same. We have to get this one."

  Jacob gestured at the tape. “Best put that in a real safe place."

  Tim smiled, poking at his suit jacket. “I'm gonna wear it, J.T. The only way someone'll get it off me is to undress me."

  * * * *

  At eleven a.m., Sue left her car on the street, shaded by the healthiest looking Palm trees she'd ever seen, and walked up the circular drive. When no one answered the door bell, she walked around to the rear of the house. She had no idea what she would say if someone caught her trespassing, but she couldn't help herself. This woman had something to do with making Dottie a widow and taking a beloved father from his children. It made her mad to think about it, really mad.

  Finding the back door unlocked she opened it and walked into a huge kitchen. “Hello,” she called, none too loud. Complete silence gave her motivation to enter further.

  A door on her left looked as if it might be to a cellar, so she opened it. A long staircase of wide wooden steps led downward into darkness. Yesterday, if someone had said she would ever do anything like this, she would have told them they were crazy. She jabbed the button on the wall and a light came on at the bottom of the stairs. Gripping her hunter-green shoulder bag close to her side, she hiked her long, twisted-cotton skirt up a few inches, and descended.

  Wine racks lined the outer wall. A chill ran through her as she moved past them and the eerie shadow they cast. It wasn't until she had nearly made her way around the entire cellar that she noticed the dark cubbyhole in a corner, under a heavy wooden beam, and beside a bench with garden tools strewn about. She fished in her bag for her key ring and the penlight she had attached to it. It didn't give her much light, but when she stooped down she could see a cardboard box with a rag of some sort drooping over its side. Sue tucked the skirt between her knees, knelt down to avoid the beam, and lifted the edge of the rag.

  Her heart, already banging against her chest wall, seemed to stop. After grabbing a miniature shovel from the bench, she knelt again and used it to poke and turn the fabric. It was Robert's missing sweatshirt, and under it, a pair of tennis shoes—a long brunette wig, and black wadded up material that had to be a dress or skirt. A decorative gold button protruded from a fold. She couldn't make herself touch them any further, but she could see that something dark speckled the shoe tops, and she'd bet J.T.'s shorts that there would be paint on their bottoms.

  She had to get out of there. Rising swiftly to her feet, her head slammed against the large beam she'd forgotten was there and she slid to the floor.

  * * * *

  After sitting at his desk, Jacob began his search for any paper with names on it. He lifted the small note indicating the headman was not as he seemed that Sue had found. The note was on a blue stick note. There weren't all that many blue ones in his “show to Dottie” envelope.

  Separating the bits of paper by color, he found six, and only one had a name on it—Vincent Knoble—heavily underlined, and nothing else written. Jacob studied the force with which Robert has penned the name while he dialed Dottie's number.

  First he took a few moments to find out how she and the kids were, and then he asked, “Have you ever heard of a Vincent Knoble, Dottie?"

  “I met Vinnie when I first met Robert,” she said. “He was a hard-case L.A. street thief, drug runner, and anything else that made his pockets fill-up with money."

  “What?” He couldn't see Robert introducing his Dottie to anyone of that description.

  “Well, he wasn't any of those things when I met him, J.T. Vinnie was younger than Robert, but with him in the Special Forces. They didn't really have anything in common but the desire to live, so they watched each other's backs under fire."

  “Did Robert have any contact with this guy recently?"

  Jacob could hear Dottie clearing her voice, gaining control. “I'm sorry, J.T.,” she said huskily. “It was two days before he died. I went into his den and he was faxing a picture of some guy, a lawyer, I think. He said he had a hunch that Vinnie would know the man.” Sh
e swallowed audibly. “He didn't tell me what it was about."

  “Do you know how I can get in touch with Vinnie? I have a gut feeling about this, Dottie, so think hard.” He glanced at the blue note, “A shadow"—LA area code. Robert's killer certainly seemed to be a shadow.

  “I think you have our phone bills for the past six months, J.T. Robert and I seldom made long distance calls. It would have been long distance to Los Angeles."

  Jacob sighed with relief when he hung up the phone, thankful she hadn't asked any questions about what he had found in the house—thankful it was Tim's job to inform her that she was right, Robert didn't die by his own hand. He didn't want to be the one to tell her about the video tapes they'd discovered in Robert's den.

  It didn't take him long to locate the phone bill he needed and the area code he was looking for. Five minutes after that, he was talking to Vinnie Knoble, answering the phone “Knoble Real Estate.” And, Vinnie knew exactly who J.T. Campbell was.

  “Any friend of Robert's can count on me,” Vinnie said. “Just call me, Vinnie, J.T. I feel like I've know you since Robert and I were in training. Robert and I just couldn't seem to get together much—Damn it to hell, I can't believe he's dead. We talked a couple of days before he got it. Wished I'd known.” There was silence for a moment. “What can I do to help you get the sonofabitch? Robert saved my ass more than once. I owe him.”

  Describing Robert's death to him wasn't the easiest thing for Jacob. “Robert sent you a fax. Dottie seemed to think it had to do with a picture of some guy. What was it all about?"

  “I gotta tell you, J.T., it was something else. He sent me a picture of a man looking made of money. Ya know, I expected old L.A. to be rich, but as a lawyer—never would have dawned on me. That bastard always knew how to fall into the bucket of shit and come out smelling like rose petals."

  “Vinnie, what's the lawyer's name?” Jacob felt patience beginning to leave him. Here was a lead. He wanted to hear about it, now.

  He swung around when he heard a noise behind him. Carley Tibbs, looking fresh and tan and dressed like the front page of a fashion magazine came through the door. She waved off-handedly and went to her desk in the corner.

  “When I knew him it was Albert Dent, but Robert said that wasn't the name. Robert didn't tell me the name.” Jacob could hear Vinnie opening and shutting drawers, or something. “Back when I was ten years old, starving, and stupider than owl shit, Albert taught me how to make a killing on the street. He learned most of his expertise by traveling with his cousin from coast to coast. The guy could work for competing big boys and they never knew. Half the time he would pocket numbers money, alter a few figures, and come out happy. When he was fourteen, he told me an old lady was gonna make him king, then I never saw him again. Word was he'd been taken on a ride to the middle of the Pacific.” After a moment's pause and the sound of slamming, Vinnie added, “Obviously, he never took that ride. Yep, I've still got the picture, J.T. Want me to fax it to you?"

  “I'll get off here, and you can shoot it through."

  “Promise to keep me posted, J.T. And by the way,” Vinnie added, “our gang had a mark—a small tattooed cross below the left ear. It's fuzzy, J.T., but I can see it in this photo."

  “You got it. And, thanks.”

  Jacob watched Carley puttering around her desk as he waited for the picture to finish working through the fax machine. This wasn't the usual Carley. She wasn't a putterer by nature.

  As a fax of a fax, the photo wasn't all that clear. He would have to take it to Tim and see if he could recognize the guy. The photo wasn't in Robert's stuff, so he'd ask Dottie if she had any ideas about where it went.

  He placed the fuzzy picture on his desk. It probably wouldn't matter if he waited until tomorrow. The kids would be waiting for him to pick them up. A promise was a promise.

  He dialed Abby's number. “Hi,” he greeted her welcomed voice. “Are the kids ready for our trip to the ranch?"

  “They've been ready since noon. You know they want to spend the night?—actually Andee mentioned a week."

  “If they want to stay, let them take a suitcase, Abby. I can always go back on Sunday and get them.” Jacob glanced at his watch, and couldn't believe it was two o'clock already. “Sue get back yet, Abby?"

  “No, but she wanted to go shopping."

  “See you in a few minutes."

  He slipped the blurred picture into a mailing envelope. Abby would see Tim that evening. He would let her give it to him.

  “I heard about the mess,” Carley said, sitting down on the swivel desk chair. “Bad vibes, you know? Thought I'd better just come in and see for myself."

  Jacob studied her. “You still have four more days of leisure, Carley. If you stay here five more minutes I'm going to put you to work.” He noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the way her mouth tipped down at the corners. Carley wasn't happy. He knew Carley hid a psychic ability that often made her sad—mostly because she spent so much time denying it. He denied it, too. He didn't believe in psychic abilities.

  For the first time since she entered the room she smiled. She sighed, reached over and turned on her computer. “Put me to work, boss. I've had enough fun for a while.” Suddenly she frowned and pointed at the mailing envelope. “That's a really bad person.” She rubbed her temple with one hand. “I see Sue's face beside his. I think it's Sue.” Carley shook her head. “It's a small girl, so maybe it's not her."

  Jacob chose to ignore what she was saying. He had to ignore her when she started saying things like that. He wished she wouldn't do it. Especially to him. Seeing an emotion in her that wasn't tough, aggressive, also made Jacob think that perhaps his little Carley might have met someone who'd cracked her obstinate exterior. “Okay, get me everything you can on Keats Charles. I want to know everything."

  Ten minutes later as he lifted the envelope, preparing to leave, she said, “The guy had an aunt. Her name was Winnona Charles, and she left him everything."

  Jacob nodded. “He's a rich lawyer."

  “Well, boss, how does an aunt have a nephew when she is an only child?"

  Suddenly his gut said Albert Dent could answer that, and Jacob intended to ask him—if he could find him. “Keep at it, genius. Abby says this guy's been on TV, so see if you can get a picture of him from any of the TV stations. Also, find out if Winnona Charles had any other relatives when she died. I'll call in later to see what else you've got.” He hesitated; she looked so down. “You want to talk?"

  “Maybe next week,” she mumbled, making another selection on her monitor. “Maybe next year.” She pointed a finger at him. “The minute you see or hear from Sue, have her call me. Every time I think about her my head starts hurting, so please, have mercy on me."

  “I'll tell her."

  When he turned around, Brandy was sitting in front of him, tail, wagging. “Okay,” he said, “you can come."

  * * * *

  As Jacob parked in Abby's drive, he noticed that Sue's car was nowhere in sight. He had hoped to find her there. If Sue would go with him to the ranch, maybe, just maybe she would remember all the dreams they'd made together for the future. Maybe she would come out to him about her fears—let him tell her a few of his own—let him spill the beans to the kids.

  The ranch was a project he and Sue started eight years ago. Their dream home. Back then, they had agreed that one day they would pull up stakes and make the ranch a permanent home. It just didn't happen. As long as she hadn't brought up selling the ranch, Jacob had had hope. Maybe that was why he tried never to bring up the subject. Fear. After last night, the fear of losing her had ebbed, but not completely. Once they were all together again, maybe, just maybe, he would feel comfortable. There were plenty of reminders to keep him from ever taking anything for granted—ever.

  As he and Brandy approached the front door, Bandit trotted up beside them. He knocked, then pushed open the front door. The rattling of dishes coming from the kitchen was the first sound he heard. “Ab
by, why is this darned door unlocked?” He knew an off-duty friend of Tim's was in the car across the street, but that precaution hadn't stopped the last intruder.

  Abby came around the corner. She gave him a quick hug. “Don't sound so upset, Jacob. I just let the cat in.” She petted Brandy, and looked pointedly at Bandit. “He does just fine guarding the front door."

  Jacob couldn't argue that. Bandit's heavy black body, long sharp fangs, and incredibly deep growl, were his best intimidations. Not many people would be stupid enough to test the dog. “Are Michael and Andee ready?” He draped his arm across her slender shoulders. “And, has Sue checked in yet?”

  It wasn't like he should worry or anything. Tim would have had someone tailing her. He really would rather wait until she showed up, but Ben Eagle, the caretaker of the ranch, was waiting for them to come. Ben had made the sale of three Paso Fino foals, and Jacob needed to sign the paper work. People who bought beautiful horses didn't like waiting.

  Abby shook her head. “She didn't say what time she'd get back. And the kids decided to play some sort of video game in the living room while they waited for you. I think they're a bit bored, so I expect that seeing the ranch and the horses will snap them out of it.

  * * * *

  With his feet propped on the back of the couch and his head hanging over the front cushion, Mike viewed the TV screen upside down. He pushed buttons on the control paddle in his hand until his character fell over a cliff and it became Andee's turn. “Do you think this plan has a chance?"

  Andee, lying on her belly in the middle of the carpet, shifted sideways to look at him. “They've been so darned busy, Dad hasn't even hardly talked to her. If we don't do something to get them in the same room, we'll find ourselves right back in Iowa."

  “Yuck,” Mike gagged. He sighed. “Mom loves the ranch.” When they would go through picture albums together, his mom always smiled the most when they got to the ranch pictures. He liked it there, too—better than anywhere in the world.