by Peg Herring
The papers hadn’t reported that Abrams was kidnapped. Robin had given a false name when she made the appointment with Mink, and she’d paid in cash. He had no way of knowing what they’d done, no way to learn her identity.
Too late she recalled mentioning she’d worked for the Greens. Operating outside the law is harder than I imagined.
Rubbing her hands together, she gave Mink a second, more truthful account, this time admitting she hadn’t instigated the crime but merely exacerbated it. When she finished, he asked questions that were perceptive, to the point, and probing. She thought about each one before answering, trying to be as honest as possible without revealing details that might identify Carter or Abrams.
“So this person you and Bozo kidnapped and held for ransom. He’s important?”
“Um, yes. You could say that.”
“And now you’re afraid he’s going to call the cops on Bozo.”
“Yes. The man knows Bozo’s name and address.”
“But you recorded his confession.”
“Yes. But Bozo is...different. He couldn’t stand up to this guy in any sort of verbal battle.” Robin scrubbed a hand across her forehead. “I’m afraid he’ll end up in some institution, and that’s not right. Bozo isn’t violent, and he’s actually pretty smart as long as he can take things slowly and do them his own way.”
Mink turned his chair from side to side for a few seconds, causing the oil-parched base to make cries of distress that were almost human. Just as Robin concluded she’d made a mistake showing up there, the lawyer’s face broke into a grin. “Miss Polk, you’re a heck of a woman.”
She sat up straighter in the chair. “What?”
“Don’t get me wrong. The courts in this county would string you and your friend up for this, calling you vigilantes and worse. But sometimes I don’t think much of the way the law operates these days. We protect the privileged and squirt grapefruit juice in the eye of the poor.” Leaning one elbow on the opposite arm and setting his chin on his fist, he asked, “You didn’t set out to commit a crime, did you?”
“Well, no.”
“And you didn’t hurt the guy.”
“Of course not.”
“Then I say, ‘Good for you.’ You let him know he can’t always get away with crap.” Mink frowned. “Now if it had been me, I’d have demanded better behavior in the future.” Apparently speaking from experience he added, “It’s all well and good to teach guys like that a lesson, but the lesson doesn’t stick as often as we’d like to think. In a month or six, he’ll be at it again.”
Robin grimaced, conceding the point. “I wasn’t thinking of anything but getting justice for—Bozo.”
Mink waved dismissively. “Your guy probably laughed out loud the next morning when he woke up in his own bed, still owning land he’s going to get rezoned commercial and sell for a million dollars.”
She bristled a little at the implied criticism. “We didn’t do it for the money.”
Mink’s expression turned serious. “Right, you were helping Bozo. If the police weren’t called, that’s good, but there’s no guarantee the, um, target won’t arrange to get back at Bozo some other way.”
Robin shuddered. “That’s why I’ve got him hidden.”
His nod signaled cautious approval. “But what’s your long-term plan?”
“I guess that’s why I came to you. I don’t know—” She stopped and smiled sadly. “I don’t even know what I don’t know.”
Mink covered the whole lower part of his face with the palm of one hand then slid it down to his neck. “You say the guy’s got no relatives?”
“Nor friends. That’s why he called me when he needed help, though we’re just neigh—acquaintances.”
It really is hard to be consistently dishonest.
He ignored her mistake. “If he had a new identity, could Bozo relocate and live on his own?”
The suggestion surprised her. “Is that possible?”
The lawyer—her lawyer—picked up a spongy stress reliever shaped like the head of former President “Dubya” Bush and began squishing it in his right hand. Robin wondered if he was feeling torn between his obligation to the justice system and his desire to help her.
“I have a former client who deals in such things.” He shifted in the dilapidated chair. “Of course I can’t give you his name, because I’d be encouraging a criminal act for both of you.”
Robin had felt a ray of hope when he mentioned a new identity for Carter, but the ray faded.
Mink stared at the ceiling as he squished the ex-president’s head. “This former client’s name is in my address file there.” He pointed at what was possibly the last remaining Rolodex on the planet. “At least I think it is. I’d better check.” He flipped through until he found the name he wanted, picked up a pencil, and jabbed it between two cards. “There. Now I can call him later and see how he’s doing.” His eyes said what his voice didn’t, and the ray began to shine again.
Rising, Mink said, “I need to go out and bring in my next client. I’ll be gone a few minutes, so you should gather what you need and be on your way.” Stepping past Robin, he pulled the office door closed with a parting comment. “Fifty thousand dollars will buy Bozo a lot of anonymity.”
Chapter Six
A knock on the door at ten the next morning caused both occupants of the apartment to start in surprise. Since Cameron came to stay, Robin had avoided contact with both friends and neighbors. At a glance from her Cam followed the plan they’d devised, switching the TV to a news channel and hiding the video game controller in the end table drawer before hurrying into Robin’s bedroom and closing the door. When they discussed possible visitors, Cam had proposed the bathroom as his hiding place, but she’d answered that a guest might ask to use it and there he’d be, his six-foot-four frame looming over the five-foot shower door. As Robin went to answer the knock, she heard the louvered closet doors in her room close behind him.
Peering through the peephole, she saw a man of about thirty whose erect posture hinted at both a military background and zero tolerance for things and people that made him wait.
“Who is it?”
“Thomas Wyman from Terra Investigations, ma’am.” He held up a leather wallet with an I.D. card.
Robin’s pulse rate increased dramatically. The man who’d been hired to find Carter Halkias.
She could say she was busy, but he’d only come back later. Best to do this now. Her hands shook as she opened the door, but she lectured herself the way Em would if she’d been present. Be casual, a little curious, and willing to talk.
The first thing she noticed with a full view was that the corduroy jacket he wore had an empty sleeve. Wyman was missing an arm. Knowing how Chris hated people staring at where his parts should be, she focused on her visitor’s face. He had a stoical aspect she’d noticed in many ex-soldiers: observant and confident in his worth. “Yes?”
Wyman offered a business card with his left hand, which was scarred and missing the last finger. Ignoring the injury, she took the finely-embossed card and read the information: Terra Investigations, Thomas Wyman. There was a downtown address. When she looked up again he asked, “May I come in, Miss Parsons?”
Robin backed away. “Of course.” Wyman was about her height, five ten, with a wiry build, gray-blue eyes that might be termed steely, a strong chin, and high cheekbones that gave his face a chiseled look. A scary man, Robin decided, though she admitted she scared easily these days.
“Have a seat,” she invited. “Can I get you a soda or something?”
He sat on the edge of a chair, spine erect and feet flat on the floor. “A glass of water would be good.”
Probably lives on whole wheat toast and tap water. As he glanced at her cluttered apartment with its girly kitsch and Nicki Minaj posters, she imagined his place, probably empty except for an army cot and a weight bench.
Moving into the kitchen, Robin felt Wyman’s gaze follow her. To get control of her ne
rves, she fiddled with her guest’s drink, taking an ice tray from the freezer and dropping cubes into a tall glass. Wyman frightened her but made her angry too. What business did he have tracking Cameron down like a runaway dog?
It’s what he does for a living.
Well, it’s mean. People shouldn’t have to be afraid all the time.
That’s what “people” get for being criminals.
She poured water over the ice, which cracked and hissed as it broke into chunks and shards. When she returned to the living room, Wyman had risen from the chair and gone to examine a row of caps suspended from a wire across one wall.
“Baseball fan?”
“My grandfather got my brother and me hooked as kids. I still see a game or two each season.”
He tilted his head to study her before making a guess. “Braves?”
“Are you kidding? Pirates all the way.”
Wyman shrugged. “I’m more of a football guy.”
You prefer games where people knock people down. There’s a surprise.
“Was there something I could help you with, Mr. Wyman?”
Nodding as if to acknowledge she didn’t want him hanging around, he said, “I’m wondering what you can tell me about your neighbor, Carter Halkias.”
“Carter?” She tried to look surprised. “I’m afraid I don’t know much. He moved in a while ago with his mother, but she passed away, last month maybe, or the month before. We sometimes meet in the workout room, but we don’t talk much.” Trying for a light tone she added, “I’m usually too out of breath to chat.”
Wyman ignored the joke. “He never shared any personal information with you? Friends? Girlfriends?”
Keep to the truth as much as possible. “I know what kind of movies he likes. That’s about it.”
Wyman sipped the water and set the glass carefully on a coaster. “He ever ask you out?”
“No.”
When she didn’t elaborate he said, “A nice-looking woman just a few doors down, I thought he might.”
Surprised by the comment Robin said, “I was busy with my job until recently, but I’m not working anymore.” Now why did I tell him that? To avoid blurting out more personal information she finished, “I haven’t seen Carter in at least a week.”
“I’ve been told he moved out, or at least he’s in the process.”
She nodded as if that were news. “That explains it.”
Wyman’s gaze held hers, and she clasped her hands in her lap to keep from twisting them. “Nobody I’ve talked to has seen him since last Thursday,” he said. “The landlord got an email saying he’ll be gone at the end of the month, but he hasn’t come to clean out his place or drop off his keys.”
Robin tried for a casual expression, but her lips felt like concrete. In her head she was berating herself for letting Carter’s situation drift along in limbo. Wyman’s repeated visits to the building should have warned it was time to commit to Carter truly becoming Cameron and leaving Cedar for good.
“You have no idea where Halkias is right now?”
She was starting to feel like a mouse dropped into a boa’s cage. Was the guy trying to make her nervous, or did he always look at people in a way that practically accused them of lying?
Rather than answer his question she asked one of her own. “Why are you looking for him?”
Wyman’s brow furrowed briefly. He doesn’t like it when people don’t jump when he says jump. “It has to do with his mother’s medical treatment. He doesn’t owe money or anything, but they need some signatures.”
“Someone hired a big investigations firm for that?”
“It’s not a big firm.” He glanced at his empty sleeve. “When I left the army, I was sort of at a loss. A woman I knew in criminal investigation offered to train me with the idea I’d eventually become her partner.”
“How is that working out?”
His tone turned cold, Robin guessed she’d stepped over some unseen boundary. “I don’t think the partnership is going to work out.”
Robin had learned from Chris’ situation that even though many employers say they want to help wounded vets, they often doubt their physical or emotional ability to do a job.
Wyman glanced over her shoulder as if seeing into the future. “Finding Mr. Halkias would go a long way toward convincing the businesspeople in Cedar to trust me with other cases.”
The client’s an important man, like a county commissioner maybe. Crossing her arms, Robin said, “Sorry I can’t help. Like I said, I haven’t seen Carter in a while.”
A hundred-eighty seconds or so. That’s a while.
Wyman stood. “Well, then, I won’t take up—”
A thud from the direction of the bedroom caused him to stop. After her heart skipped a beat or two, Robin managed a tinny laugh. “My cat is terrified of visitors. He hides in the closet and knocks stuff over.”
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Parsons.” Wyman didn’t offer to shake hands. “If you should hear from Mr. Halkias, will you ask him to call?” He gestured at the business card she’d laid on the coffee table.
“Of course.”
He didn’t move toward the door but stood looking at her in a way she couldn’t fathom. Curiosity? Amusement at her pathetic attempts to lie? Robin bit her lip to keep from filling the silence that stretched between them. Wyman probably hoped she’d blurt out something useful under the pressure of his steely gaze. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, surreptitiously wiping her palms on her sleeves.
“It was nice to meet you,” Wyman finally said.
Moving to the door, she opened it as encouragement. “You too.” Please—just leave!
When he was gone, Robin set her back against the door and breathed in and out a few times. Cam emerged from the bedroom, his mouth open to apologize for the noise, but she shushed him. When Wyman appeared on the sidewalk below, she said, “It’s okay. I told him I have a cat.” Accepting her word for it, Cam dropped back onto the couch, retrieved the controller from the drawer, and returned to his game.
Robin stood at the window, unobtrusively watching the parking lot as Wyman drove away in a sporty-looking black car. The visit had unnerved her, but Cam didn’t seem perturbed by it at all. When nothing bad happened, he’d set the matter somewhere outside his consciousness.
That wasn’t possible for Robin. She needed to talk with someone who understood what might have happened. Crossing the hall, she knocked on Em’s door. When the older woman answered, she hurried inside.
Em’s apartment was spare, with only essential furnishings. The stiff-looking couch that sat along the picture window looked like it had never supported a single rear end. The end tables matched neither each other nor the coffee table between them. One comfortable chair sat before the TV, and beside it a knitting bag overflowed with yarn in various colors. Even in her disturbed state, Robin had a momentary, depressing image of the old woman sitting there, day after day, with nothing to do but knit.
“What’s wrong, Sweetie?”
“That detective was at my place. I told him I don’t know Cam very well, but I don’t think he believed me. Then Cam made a noise, and I said it was the cat, but what if he knows pets aren’t allowed here? What if he noticed the game sleeve on the coffee table? It’s something with Blood in the title.” Her voice rose higher. “What if somebody else saw Cam outside the other night? What if Wyman comes back?”
Em put a weathered hand on her shoulder. “Take it easy, Hon. He’s just a guy doing a job.”
Robin went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Why did I think I could get away with this? I’m an out-of-work secretary. My partner in crime is somewhere on the autism spectrum. My support group is a hippie lawyer and a—” She managed not to say “a senior citizen,” but she’d begun crying, so the last few words were incomprehensible anyway.
“Hey,” Em comforted. “Jesus was a carpenter who picked a bunch of fishermen and a tax collector for support. It’s how you use what you’ve got that
makes the difference.”
Leading Robin to a chair, Em ran a glass of water at the sink. “Drink this and stop that god-awful bawling.” She sat opposite Robin and set her bony elbows on the fake-maple tabletop. “Tell me exactly what you two did last week. No more bull about a misunderstanding with a nameless bigwig. I want names and details.”
Gulping tepid water between sentences, Robin obeyed. When she was finished, Em tapped a fingernail on the tabletop for a moment. “I can’t believe you two pulled it off, but it’s like they say—even a blind squirrel finds an acorn sometimes.”
“Except Abrams has sent that private detective looking for Cam.”
“Yes,” Em said thoughtfully. “Let’s go over exactly what Mr. Wyman asked and what you told him.”
Robin obeyed, fully trusting her neighbor now that the dam had broken. Em stopped her every few sentences to question how Wyman had reacted and even where he’d looked as he spoke. When Robin had reported everything she could think of, Em said, “If Abrams knows there was a woman involved, Wyman probably suspects it was you. It’s not like Cameron is acquainted with a whole string of girls.”
“I know! That’s why I have to—”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist! There are some things we can do to throw him off the scent.”
“We? Em, you can’t be involved in this.”
She raised a hand in a commanding gesture. “You’re planning to do it again, aren’t you? You’ve got another crook in mind that you want to set straight.”
Robin looked down at her nails, which were badly in need of attention. “Maybe. I mean, we’ve talked about it, but it isn’t for sure. Not at all. I mean—”
Em interrupted her. “You’ll be starting a life that’s different from anything normal people understand.”
“Normal people?”
“Do you know anyone else who’s guilty of kidnapping and extortion?”
Good point.
“There are things you have to think about before you take another step.” Em raised a finger. “First you have to learn to be aware of possible consequences but not terrified by them. You’re a worrier, and worry gives a small thing a big shadow.”
