by J. D. Allen
Jim swung open the door. To his great and unpleasant surprise, Agent Webb walked in … followed by Oscar you’re getting your ass kicked Olsen. Jim tightened the towel wrapped around his waist. Did she give him a good once-over before she turned away? Probably not. He needed some sleep.
“Sorry, bro. Didn’t know you were … um … naked.”
“I’m not naked.” Jim headed to the bathroom to grab his jeans. If O was matchmaking at this time of night, Jim was going to find a good payback.
“Mostly naked,” O allowed. “Nice abs. Been lifting again, I see.”
Through the mirror Jim saw her give an eye roll. She didn’t find his nakedness quite as amusing as O. Could be a good thing. Could be bad.
And his gym time was to burn off steam. Properly release his anger. Or so the court order had read. Didn’t hurt to be in shape in his business either and O knew it.
“Why are you two here, O?”
“Ran into Lady Fed in the hall. She was on her way.”
Jim popped his head out of the bath as he buttoned his jeans. She didn’t correct O’s comment.
“I got something on Elizabeth Stanton.”
As if on cue, his phone started blaring “Smoke on the Water.” Ely. The phone was by the bed, across the room. She was a Fed, worked around men. His walking around shirtless shouldn’t offend her sensitivity. And if it did, he wasn’t sure he cared. He picked up the phone. “You have good stuff for me?”
“I do, my fine friend.” Ely was always on target. He’d get the chance to one-up the woman. “I do. How’s Lady Fed?”
What? “How do you know about … ” Jim was going to say her name, but that would give her reason to believe they were taking about her. She was smart enough to see they were all plotting to put them together as a couple. Probably already picked up on it. That pissed him off too. He had no intention of adding to the farce. He glared at O as Webb looked out the window. Not that the view was exciting. His room overlooked the parking area.
“Good news travels fast,” Ely said.
Jim gritted his teeth. “There is no good news. Unless, of course, you have some for me.”
“Bummer. And I do.”
“Well?”
“So you want the Stanton stuff or the mother stuff first?”
Jim looked at the Fed. “You coming up here to share info on Stanton?”
“Who is that?” she asked.
At the same time, Ely asked, “Is that Lady Fed? You in her room?”
“Special Agent Ava Webb, meet Ely. Go on with the Stanton info.” Jim hit speaker button. “This is my research guru, Ely.”
“Hello, Miss Ava Webb, Lady Fed.” Ely was stoned. He all but sang out her name.
Her brows drew at Ely’s tone. “He together enough to be reliable?”
Jim sighed. “Would I have put him on speaker if I didn’t think he was okay?”
She frowned and stepped a little closer. Her eyes scanned his chest again. That time he was sure of it. Jim inwardly smiled.
Ely started, “Elizabeth Stanton. Born in Sweetwater, no real records until ’89. Graduated University of North Texas in Dallas with a logistical something or other degree. Social Security records show two jobs in her career. One short term at a car rental company, the other with a warehouse distribution firm. You know, trucking and logistics and shit. She was there at least six years. Then she drops off the face of the earth. No money trail. Nothing.”
Jim rubbed his chin. “That time period. The seven years or so she was employed. That the quiet time in the killing spree?”
Agent Webb nodded.
Ely said, “You got it.”
So they had the same information. Where was her partner from the Vegas office, anyway?
“All lines up.” O oozed into the chair at the tiny desk in the room. He’d been drinking all evening. Jim had a stash of scotch he’d been about ready to crack open. He wanted it now.
“But it tells us nothing.” Jim shook his head. “So she had a job. Killing pimps seemed to be her job for a while before that. Pays her way through school with the drug sales? Then she goes all respectable? That would mean she was in school, turning tricks, and selling drugs. Busy young lady.”
“Makes her smart and hard working. But fragile and easily thrown off kilter,” Ava added. Jim shook his head at himself for thinking of the agent by her first name. He’d intentionally kept her at a distance by reminding himself she was an FBI agent and Jim was not. It would be like dating a really rich chick. You’d never be on her level. Not really.
“No shit,” Ely said. “But I got another bone for you.”
He paused. He always did. Jim could see him sitting at his wall of computers and grinning like a kid with a new Xbox.
“Don’t keep us hanging too long,” O shouted so he’d be heard from across the small hotel room. “We’re all here looking at Jimbo’s throbbing pecs while you shoot for the dramatic pause. It’s taking away from the effect.”
Jim grabbed a tee from his bag and pulled it over his head.
“Stealing my thunder, Bean?” Ely drawled.
“Ely.”
“I found her real mom, bro.”
“Sophie’s real mom, not the foster mom?” Jim had talked to that family. They’d said terrible things about the girl. Not surprising, given what Dan had said about the way the fosters had treated her. Nothing to really consider there, since he was sure the foster father had abused Sophie.
“Exactly.” Ely cleared his throat. “Her name is Mary Callas. Looks like she gave up three kids to the system over about seven years. Get this. All three were named ‘Something’ Ryan Evers. Oldest, Samantha Ryan Evers, died in a car wreck in 2001. Middle, Sarah Ryan, moved to Idaho and got married real young. You Feds find that shit out?”
Ava frowned. “Not yet. We didn’t have a lead to make us think tracking down the birth mother would be of importance.”
“You were not adopted then, Miss Lady Fed. My girlfriend was. She’s looking for her mom right now. Probably dead, but I think maybe all abandoned kids feel the desire to seek out mom.”
She nodded to the phone. “You got me there, Ely.”
Ha! His guy had one-upped the Feds. Take that. “Nice job, anything else?”
“No. Annie misses you. You want to talk to her?”
Ava raised an eyebrow.
“Miss her too, but I can’t talk now. Work to do.” Interesting. Maybe Agent Ava was a little bit jealous.
O butted in. “Give her some tuna.”
Ava looked appropriately confused at O’s order.
“Cats love tuna, don’t they?” His tone dripped amusement.
So much for making the Fed think there was a little woman named Annie at home waiting for him.
“They do,” Ely agreed.
“Goodbye, Ely.”
“Later, Jim. See you in the a.m., O.”
Jim looked at Oscar.
Ely sang over the phone, “Goodbye, Lady Fed.”
Jim ended the call. “Heading home?”
O shrugged and put his arms up, locking fingers behind his head. “I figured you and Agent Webb here have things firmly in hand. No need for me to be tagging along. I got a business to run.”
His leaving Jim alone with Agent Webb was definitely playing matchmaker, but O’s reasoning made perfect sense. No way to argue it. Jim was the one emotionally invested in the case, not O. He’d be available if Jim needed him, no question about that, but talking him into staying was impossible.
“I’ll check in on Dan as soon as I get there and often. Is he in the same place?” O asked.
“We haven’t made the move yet. But I’ll clear you when we do. Probably tomorrow.”
“Why so long?” Jim would have figured for a quick move.
“Sometimes we do a fake-out move. Let
the bad element believe the subjects have been moved. His mother is old. Taking her a long way off would be hard on her. My partner is there, coordinating with the locals. Dan’s being consulted today, we’re getting his opinions.”
“Wow. Considering the subject’s opinion.” Not what Jim expected to hear. “Kinder, gentler FBI?”
She smiled. “Not exactly. People in protective custody tend to stay in custody longer and stay safer when they have some say. Likely, we’ll move your boy and his mom to another local spot. She’s really frail. Don’t want it to be too hard.”
O piped up. “So I’m out for the night. On a jet plane in the a.m. Call me if you need.” He gave a pathetic salute and left Jim standing in his hotel room with Special Agent Ava Webb.
“Tomorrow. Distribution company and the mom’s house?”
Jim nodded.
“Eight. In the restaurant?” She was looking at the carpet. Or was it his bare feet? He hadn’t answered, so she looked back up. Damn, her eyes were green.
“Got it. Breakfast at eight.”
“No. Ready to go at eight.”
Not a breakfast invitation then. He needed that scotch.
34
It was definitely not a breakfast date. She met him in the dining room precisely at eight a.m. He was finishing up his steak and eggs, which was better than the paleo-vegan mush at the Coffee Girl, but the place lacked a certain charm—that charm being Sandy. He hoped that girl stayed in school for a long time, otherwise he’d need to go farther afield for his normal breakfast.
No surprise, Agent Webb seemed miffed that he wasn’t ready to leave. She slid into the booth with a snippy greeting. They ran over what facts they had.
He paid the bill. They headed to Hickville, north of Dallas somewhere. No trees. Lots of dust. Ninety-three degrees at 9 a.m. Breathing was as laborious as sucking air through a swimming pool.
Heffelmire Distribution and Trucking was not the small, tired business on the verge of ruin Jim had expected. Not really sure why he’d thought that anyway, other than it was in a small town outside a huge metro area. He’d been dead wrong.
Instead of a shack, Heffelmire was a complex, thriving enterprise. Two office buildings and several huge warehouses sat safe inside an eight-foot fence topped with shiny new razor wire. No one was coming into this place without cutting up his ass cheeks. If Jim had bothered to spend the time counting, he was sure he’d find at least fifty tractor-trailers and half that many box trucks in and around the warehouses. Alejandra was right. Sophie had gotten a real job.
“Someone from HR is meeting us at the main building.”
“You called ahead?”
Agent Webb let the window down to show her ID to the man working the gate. He jotted her name and the plate number in a log. “Yes. It’s best to have an appointment.”
“First building on your right, ma’am.” The security guard waved her on with a sleazy grin.
“I never give people a heads up. That’s opportunity for a guy to decide what you want and how he wants to handle you. If he’s got something to hide, he’s ready to talk. Lying’s easier if you’re prepared. I like to take them off guard.”
“And if the person you want happens to be out to lunch?”
“You get what you can from the secretary or a co-worker. They’ll be back.”
She got out and leaned on the roof of the car. “Seven-year-old employment records? You really think anyone here has old information like that off the top of their heads that they want to protect?”
Anything was possible. He shrugged. No way he’d admit she might be right about that, and followed her into the building. She was still wearing a dark suit—possibly the same one, but it looked clean and pressed. Did she take the time to press it this morning? Jim checked his jeans to make sure they weren’t stained.
Webb took the lead. She was the Federal agent in charge at the moment. Why would she let a lowly PI take point? Made for a great opportunity to see how people reacted to her. How she did her job.
She flipped out the badge. “Agent Webb, here to see a Millie Stubbs. I have an appointment.”
The receptionist smiled. “I’ll call her right away.” She motioned to a clipboard with a sign-in sheet. “If you could, please.”
She called and chatted with Millie in a hushed tone as Jim and Webb left their full names, the name of the party they were visiting, and the time of arrival. The woman took the board and handed them each a visitor badge as she logged the badge number beside their printed names.
Jim eased over to the large windows overlooking the complex. A security guard walked the front of the building. Probably cameras in the parking lot too. Lots of security. With a small turn, Jim scanned the reception area. Inside, two surveillance cameras scanned the reception area.
“What kind of distribution do you do around here?” he asked.
“All kinds. Domestic. International. Land, sea, air. You need it moved, we’re your logistics experts.” The phone rang. The receptionist grabbed it as she pointed to a small seating area and mouthed Have a seat before rattling off her canned greeting.
“Bet this is the biggest employer for miles around.”
“Looks like it.” Webb was also scanning. Checking the environment. Her cool eyes assessing. “Why take off? I mean, this is a real job. One she got from an education she earned under an assumed name, as if this was going to be her long-term life. But then she abandoned it,” Webb pondered aloud.
Heels clicked sharp and snappy on the floor. Efficient. Millie Stubbs rounded a corner, but she wasn’t what he’d expected either. A Millie should be older, grayer, probably a little chunky. But this Millie was in her mid-twenties, dark blond hair with a pert nose and stick-thin figure. Her beige pinstripe suit made her look like a walking ruler. She was not smiling.
Webb stood. Extended her hand. “Special Agent Webb, FBI. Thanks for seeing us on such short notice.”
“Not sure how much I can help. I pulled Elizabeth Stanton’s file. She did work here on the dates you gave me. Almost exactly.”
“And she left why?” Jim stood. Millie looked down her nose at him. Could be his unshaved face, could be his causal attire. Either way, Millie was not impressed.
Millie put her hands behind her back, making her look even more like a talking ruler. “Afraid that’s confidential. I can’t release the circumstances around someone’s termination. It’s against privacy laws.” She tilted her head down but looked up at Agent Webb, as if she were looking over glasses. “I would think you would know that, Special Agent Webb.”
This chick was a barrel of laughs.
“Would you hire her again?” he asked.
Millie’s sour look made Jim want to smile. He knew the laws. But he didn’t want to push any more of her buttons than necessary. Yet.
“I’m afraid not.”
“So, she was canned?”
She said nothing. Just stood there looking straight and smug.
Webb let out a heavy sigh and cocked her hip slightly to the side. She clasped her hands at the fingers and impatiently tapped her thumbs together. Quick as a snake strike, her face contorted. Millie took a very small step back. Jim loved it. Special Agent Webb turned bulldog in a heartbeat.
“You can be as smug as you like, Ms. Stubbs. But I’m investigating murder cases and the body count is now over double digits. Do you think you might have something you can share from your files that could help us?”
Millie’s face paled. Her hand went to her chest. “Wow. Murders?” The word murder usually takes the starch out of the smug one’s britches. “And one of our ex-employees is involved?”
Jim decided to speak. “We’re trying to track Stanton down, follow her history. It could help us solve a series of murders and prevent any further violence. Any help you can provide would be beneficial.” He’d play the nice guy. It wouldn�
�t kill him this once.
“Umm. Legally, I can’t say too much.” She glanced back toward the hall she’d come down. “I looked at the file when you called. I, of course, was not here at the time. But the termination was robustly documented. Without a warrant, I’m afraid I’m only willing to say she had a rather heated personality conflict with another employee.”
“Can you tell us the employee’s name?”
Millie hesitated and glanced back again to make sure the receptionist was not listening. “No.” She bit her lip. Her little pointy-toed shoe tapped the tile. “I can suggest you stop in at Woody’s Place to have a drink. The ‘bartender’ is a great guy. He’s been around and may have stories about local history.” She actually used air quotes for the word bartender, as if they were stupid.
Agent Webb pulled out a card.
Millie took it. “Hope that helps.”
“Me too. Thanks.”
“Tell Max I said hi.” Millie turned and strolled down the hall, seemingly satisfied that she’d helped the FBI and not broken her rules.
Max the bartender was either the ex-supervisor or someone who would know what had happened. Hopefully he had something pertinent, if not …
“How long does it take the FBI to get a warrant?”
“Too long. My hope is Ms. Millie just made that unnecessary.”
35
“Stop by and see Max on our way to Mary Callas, the mom?” Jim closed the car door.
FBI car. Big and dark and with state-registered plates. About as stealth as the Empire State Building rolling down the Strip. She drove. He’d never be caught in a dark blue or black sedan of any type. Cop car, cop engine. In his line of work, the car should say nothing about the man or his mission. Special Agent Ava Webb, however, had a cop car. Rolling authority.
“Logical progression.” She punched Woody’s Place into the GPS. “Only ten minutes in the wrong direction. Back towards town.”
They had to have driven right past it on the way out here. Jim hadn’t noticed. What had he been paying attention to? Not like him to miss something like that.
