Trust No One

by Barbara Phinney

  After nodding, Nick asked about Ron Mills. Jones told him Mills was still in the ICU, still not talking to anyone.

  Nick returned to the busy room, pausing at the doorway for a moment to stare at Helen. She peered around the office like a caged rabbit.

  Again, the single thought hit him hard. What the hell was he doing falling for her, anyway? It didn't make an ounce of sense and certainly wouldn't work out. He'd only end up hurting her.

  He strode up. "Let's get a coffee somewhere." He knew his tone was gruff and he didn't care that his grip on her arm was too tight. He was all wrong for her and maybe she'd realize all on her own that he wasn't Mr. Perfect.

  Fifteen minutes later, they were seated in a small coffee shop in the upper concourse of a nearby indoor mall. He ordered coffee, bluntly told Helen where her tape was and sat to gulp down the scalding black liquid.

  Helen dropped into the seat across from him. "So you suspect that someone on that tape is trying to kill me?"

  Nick glanced around. Did she have to broadcast it? He slammed down his coffee. "Look, I just want to know who was there that night," he growled. "It may not give us an answer to who's after you."

  Helen shot him a skeptical look. "And I'm the queen of England. You know someone is trying to kill me. You know Jamie taped a short surveillance segment over one of my tapes. You know my place and my mother's have been searched, but nothing taken. It's obvious that whoever was videoed is looking for evidence that could be used to blackmail them."

  All right, so she was smart. "Speculation. You may know that, but we have to prove it. Leave the police work to the experts, okay? You don't even remember who was there at the party."

  Helen's features chilled. He didn't want her mad at him, but he didn't want her to feel the same way he felt. It would be futile. She wanted something in a man that he couldn't give. A little pain now, but the end result would be for the better.

  "It wasn't as if I didn't remember all of those people." She glared at him. "I didn't know them. Period. There must have been fifty people there and I had only met a handful of them. Besides, if we go by your suppositions, then we must assume those people are innocent. They were just partying, after all." Her tone turned sarcastic. "Of course there weren't any drugs at the party. I didn't see any."

  Nick drained his coffee. "All right. Those people knew full well why they were there and where the money for that party came from."

  "But I didn't."

  "Which only proves you should leave the police work to the experts." He stood. "I shouldn't have brought you here. It's too dangerous. I'm taking you home."

  And he was going to lock her up in his bedroom and throw away the key. She was an innocent mixed up in a dangerous business. Like the night they met when he felt the urge to bury himself into her and forget the world, he knew he wasn't doing either of them any favors. He didn't want a relationship. And hadn't she said the same thing? Different reasons, but both valid.

  * * *

  Helen gaped at Nick's stiff-backed form as he stalked across the glassed-in catwalk that would lead them back to where they were parked.

  She would not cry. She refused to. They were getting so close to the answers. Soon they would find Clive and discover who was trying to kill her. She couldn't give up now and allow Nick to hide her away.

  She stormed up to him, overtaking him with a surge of defiance. "Take me back to the police station," she snapped as she passed him.

  He grabbed her arm. "What for?"

  They were halfway across the glass catwalk. Below them was one of the busiest streets in the city center, the roar of traffic muffled by the glass and the sounds of the mall they'd just left. "I'm going to take back my tape," she said. "You may think I should just sit by and let the police do my work, but that's not what's going to happen. I don't trust the police."

  "You should."

  Helen pulled him to one side to allow a young mother with a stroller to walk by. "Look, Jamie had told me he had some politicians in his back pocket. And he hinted about some dirty cops, too."

  "That was me, Helen. It was part of my cover."

  "I thought so at first, too. But then I thought, just one? That's not Jamie's style. And I don't believe he was always talking about you. Someone thinks I know all about Jamie's business and can ID them. Someone important. I'm going to find out who."

  "Don't be so foolish." Nick directed her off the catwalk and toward the stairs that would take them to his truck.

  "I'm not being foolish. I'm doing what Jamie would do. Killing two birds with one stone."

  "And how do you figure that?"

  "I'm proving to you I'm not looking for a white knight. Because no one like that exists. And I'm going to find and stop whoever is trying to kill me. If not for my sake, for my mother's. She can't even go home."

  Helen felt the last word tighten in her throat. The word stirred up warm memories that were hidden in boring filmed moments like her piano recital. All she wanted was to go home and be safe herself.

  Like the way she'd felt last night.

  Refusing to acknowledge that thought, she strode past the parking attendant of the garage where they'd parked. She could hear Nick swear as he followed her.

  Outside, she found the sun had slipped behind a layer of mackerel clouds. The fair weather would soon end. She spoke without turning around. "Did you find out who Clive Darlington's parole officer is? Maybe he knows where Clive was the night before last."

  Nick stopped her. "I was hoping Mark could tell me who he is, but he didn't answer his phone."

  "Of course not. He was at the police station this morning. All of Lower Cove's officers were, remember?" She couldn't stop the tiny bit of sarcasm.

  Nick frowned at her. She didn't like the shadow of suspicion that drifted across his features. The wind flipped a lock of hair into his hooded eyes. Above the sounds of the busy city she heard him slur out an expletive. "Where was he?"

  "After you left me, he walked past the office, heading downstairs."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Of course I'm sure. I know the man. He was in uniform, too."

  Nick pursed his lips, grabbed her elbow and directed her into the garage again.

  She pulled back. "Where are taking me?"

  "Back to the police station."

  "We should walk. It's not far."

  "No. It's not safe for you to be out walking the streets."

  Nick didn't bother with any more explanations. As soon as they reached the police station, he took her elbow again and practically dragged her down to where he'd left the tape. She saw another officer viewing it on one of those huge monitors that surely was part of a state-of-the-art computer system. He glanced over his shoulder when Nick and Helen entered.

  "Hey, I'm not done yet."

  "Sorry," Nick answered. "We had to come back here anyway, so I thought I would check on it. Do you know who Clive Darlington's parole officer is?"

  Still studying the tape in slow motion, the officer rattled off a name. Nick turned to Helen and indicated that she could sit on one of the vacant chairs. Then he grabbed the police phone book.

  Five minutes later, he hung up the phone. "What did he say?" Helen asked, her voice tight.

  The other officer, Jones laughed. "Said Nick should stop investigating while he's suspended." He grinned at Nick. "Everyone around here knows what you're doing."

  Nick glared at him before turning to her. "He was 'counseling' and I say that lightly, Darlington, at a coffee shop at the time of the hit-and-run. One of the terms of Darlington's probation was to avoid all establishments that serve alcohol. Well, someone called his parole officer from a local bar, saying they saw him in there. The parole officer managed to talk him into going for a coffee, but Darlington figured he was headed for another arrest, so he took off."

  Jones twisted around to face Helen. "Are you Helen Eastman?"

  She nodded.

  "You can pick up your car keys at the front desk. The ones you
gave us so the boys could look at your mother's car." He turned back. "Oh yeah, they impounded the vehicle used in the hit-and-run. It's in the compound, waiting for Forensics to go over it."

  "Where was it found?"

  "Illegally parked downtown."

  Nick pulled a face at Helen. "We won't get any fingerprints off it until Forensics is done."

  Jones zoomed in on one of the men and began to clean up the image. "But I hear there was an eyewitness. A club owner saw the driver park it around two yesterday morning."

  "Let's go," Nick told Helen. "We'll see if the description matches what I saw." He turned to the other man. "Thanks, Jones."

  "No problem. Now leave me alone so I can finish this for you. Neither of us needs to be caught doing this before you turn the tape in as evidence."

  * * *

  That was a big, easy hint and Jones was right. Neither of them needed to be caught with any evidence. His suspension would turn permanent pretty quickly, then. He nodded and headed back upstairs.

  "Nick?"

  He grunted.

  "You came back here because I said Mark was here. Why aren't you trying to find him?"

  She was too smart. "Never mind. We've got other things to do."

  It didn't take Nick long to obtain a description of the driver. It fit the man he'd seen. Tall, heavyset, and unfortunately, built like most of the men on the tape.

  Frustration welled in him and he told Helen where she could find her keys. While she was gone, he headed downstairs to Records.

  "You're not the first person today who wanted that autopsy report," the file clerk commented. "Don't you guys in Lower Cove have a filing system?"

  "Who else was here?" Nick asked, feeling the hairs on his arms prickle as he leaned on the counter and faced the clerk.

  "Sandra somebody called from your office. I faxed it to her. Plus Mark…" He peered at his computer screen. "Mark Rowlands. But he hasn't picked it up yet. You guys have to get organized."

  "Yeah, we will. Thanks." Nick grabbed the copy of the autopsy report and scanned it, thankful the clerk didn't seem to know about his suspension yet. Jones hadn't opened his mouth to this guy, he figured.

  There it was, right below the detailed description of the bullet that had lodged in DiPetri's skull. The cause of death. Gunshot wound to the head. Death was immediate. While the contusions Nick had inflicted were noted, at least they hadn't contributed to the man's death.

  Almost hollowly, he handed the report back. Had he hoped his beating of DiPetri had contributed to the man's death, making that horrible revelation become more proof that he wasn't that perfect man Helen was looking for?

  Hell, he didn't know.

  He vaguely remembered climbing the stairs to meet up with Helen. As his hand found the polished curl of the rail at the landing, he paused. Oh, yeah, he had wanted to be responsible for that death. It would give him a solid, valid reason to stop this relationship with Helen.

  Now he had nothing. Blinking, he climbed wearily up the remaining steps. No, he still had the fact he shouldn't be involved with an ex-girlfriend and victim of a local drug lord.

  But that reason didn't seem to matter much anymore. Not now that he knew he'd fallen hard and fast—yeah, really fast—for Helen Eastman. Not even when he realized that he was losing his edge with this investigation. And if a cop loses his edge, he puts himself at risk. Big time.

  Opening the door into the bustling front entrance of the police station, he tried to shut out the reasons against falling for Helen. He should just focus on keeping her safe.

  "Did you find the autopsy report?"

  He spun around in time to see Helen pocket her keys and fold the copy of the receipt she'd signed. "Yeah."

  "What did it say? Did you find out what happened to the other copy?"

  "No." He shook his head as he led them out the door. The day was graying fast. Rain was due again. "But I know Mark was here looking for it."

  "Maybe your clerk had asked him to pick it up."

  "No, she'd asked the file clerk to fax her a copy."

  "Maybe he noticed it was missing and was doing the station a favor."

  "Maybe."

  A voice rang out from behind him. "Nick!"

  He turned and looked up the wide stone steps to the front door. Jones trotted down to him. "Here," he said. "I was able to clean up most of the people on the video, but not all of them. Some I recognized and I wrote their names on the back." He handed a large brown envelope to him.

  Nick took it. "Thanks, man. I appreciate it." He felt the envelope. "Where's the tape?"

  Jones looked contrite. "The chief walked in, saw it and…well…you don't need to turn it in as evidence, okay? I was lucky I had already put the prints in that envelope."

  "Thanks."

  As Jones walked inside, Helen laid her arm on Nick's. "Let's look at them in the truck."

  As soon as they both slammed the truck doors, Nick flipped open the file. A few grainy black-and-white stills fluttered onto Helen's lap. She picked them up, studying them one by one, shaking her head. "Jamie, Clive." She paused. "Here's Mr. Parker. Jamie had wanted to schmooze with him. At the time I thought it was so Mr. Parker would lease more of his buildings, but I guess that wasn't the reason." She picked up more stills. "Some I've seen around, but most of these men I don't know. I just know some faces, or what we can see of them."

  "Bad angle for the camera. Not many of these faces are useful."

  "Well, if you're going to hide a camera, you've got to take what you can get for vantage points." She held up the last picture. It was of her. "I had no idea I was so short. I look like a midget compared to all these men."

  Nick took the stills and folded them all up before shoving them into the inside pocket of his lightweight jacket. "You are short," he said. "Was your dad short?"

  Helen nodded. "Yes, but he was always a big man to me. Even when he lay in his casket. He looked small, but I can still remember thinking of him as big."

  Nick glanced up at her melancholy expression. "Cooms wasn't a big guy, either." Why was he bringing this up? Because he was a foot taller than her?

  Her features darkened. "I told you I only dated Jamie because he promised no strings. I wasn't trying to replace my father. No one could do that."

  He should tell her to remember that. He should remind her that she wasn't ever going to find anyone good enough.

  But the words wouldn't come out.

  "So, where to now?" she asked.

  He tugged his jacket closed. "I find Mark Rowlands. I want to know why he's so interested in the autopsy report and why he thinks it went missing."

  "Do you know where he is?" Helen asked him as he pulled out of the parking space.

  "It's nearly noon and he's been up all night. If he's not here anymore, he's got to be on his way home."

  "You're going to keep him up?"

  "Yep." Mark wouldn't like it, but frankly, too bad. A lot of things were adding up and some of the answers were pointing back at Mark.

  * * *

  Helen clenched her fingers until they were damp and half-numb. She wasn't sure why she was nervous. Perhaps because she knew Mark Rowlands wasn't going to be too happy to be awakened by a suspicious Nick. There seemed to be enough tension between the two of them.

  Nick pulled the truck into a small house just west of Lower Cove. They'd driven though a local fast-food drive-through on the way there and eaten on the run. The scent of French fries still filled the cab. Of course it would, half of Helen's were still cooling in the paper bag.

  "It is really okay to call on him?" she asked.

  "He'll be mad as hell, but there are some things I need to know."

  "Wasn't he on the undercover case with you? Why did I see him in uniform this morning?"

  Nick shut off the engine. "He was doing the follow-up work. He wasn't actually undercover, but rather my contact man."

  "So you would have to trust him to relay information, wouldn't you?"


  He shifted in his seat. "Yeah."

  "Do you think he knows something he's not telling? Do you think he's one of the crooked cops Jamie hinted at?"

  "Look, I'm not assuming anything. Can I do this my own way?" He unlocked his seat belt. "Now stay here. Quietly."

  Helen shut her mouth. He was having second thoughts about bringing her here, but whether they were because Mark posed some level of danger or because she was asking too many difficult questions, she wasn't sure. She leaned toward him, scrutinizing the doubt on his face. "Be careful."

  He chuckled. "I'm always careful."

  Helen watched him ring the doorbell, holding her breath. His back to her, he stood tall and strong, all confidence.

  That strong sense of desire—as strong as the day she first saw him—still hit her. Last night, she'd tasted the very essence of the attraction and her desire for this man hadn't diminished a single bit.

  Abruptly, Mark opened the door. After a short talk, Nick signaled for her to come in.

  "I wasn't asleep yet," Mark told her as she crossed the threshold. To Helen, he looked tired and drawn. She offered him a cautious smile before glancing furtively at Nick.

  "Can we talk to you about DiPetri's autopsy report?" Nick asked.

  Mark rubbed the back of his neck. "Nick, I can't discuss the case with you."

  "Can you tell me when you noticed it was missing?"

  "You like breaking the rules, don't you? Was that why you were in Saint John today seeing Jones?"

  "Mark," Helen interrupted gently. "I know you're tired and we won't stay any longer than necessary. But both of you, try to understand each other's position, okay?" Though the sense of rivalry still lingered between the two men, she noticed it didn't feel as strong, especially from Nick. Why, she'd consider later. "We found the missing tape and noticed a short segment of a surveillance tape recorded on it. We took it into the Saint John police. I also got my car keys back. Now, before you say anything, the tape is at the police station. As evidence." She was counting on her instinct that Mark was innocent, but he didn't need to know that they hadn't originally planned to turn it in right away.

  Nick cut in. "We know the autopsy report went missing and we know you asked for a copy of it. Why?"