"It would be nice if everyone liked everyone in this world," her father had told her the day she graduated from the San Fransisco Police Academy, "but humans are wired to find fault. It's a survival skill. Humans innately find a weakness in others so that the weakness can be exploited if need be. We ignore the assumed and expected similarities we have with others and instead strive to discover differences so that, if the situation presents itself, we can advance our objectives in good conscious."
Over the three years she had been a private eye, Nikkie thought of her father and his advice often. The words and the memories reminded her to keep a pleasant exterior and a focused, realistic interior. Clients had a goal they were either unwilling or unable to reach themselves, and hired private eyes to reach for them. In exchange for the accomplishment of their goals, clients paid money. This exchange, and the probability of it occurring, was predicated not on the client liking the private eye sitting across the table, desk or bar from them, but in their belief the private eye could accomplish the goal. Nikkie's smile, flawless dark skin, and near-perfectly proportioned body created the pleasant exterior people enjoyed, while her determined mind, pointed questions and apparent disdain for platitudes and half-truths delivered the interior focus her clients needed.
There were many things Derek appreciated about Nikkie and felt fortunate to have her on his team. While he considered himself a good freelance detective, he believed Nikkie’s skills were stronger. While he acted on emotion, Nikkie broke down cases logically and believed emotions were better reserved for the rare occasions logic failed her.
"Now," Nikkie continued, "if you wouldn't mind not mind-humping every half-way attractive woman in this place and actually giving us your attention, I'm sure you'll see you've hired a more than just competent investigative firm."
Louis rolled his eyes to meet Nikkie's, then shifted his focus to Derek. "She's got more balls than you have, Cole." Louis's tone of voice was wholly incompatible with his statement. What he said was easily interpreted as an insult, a slight against Derek's character. But his tone revealed more. It revealed a discomfort with being called out, a fear of not being the one in charge. His whimsical tone of voice conveyed his pressing desire to shift focus away from himself as quickly as possible. To disrupt and alter the possible direction the conversation may take if Nikkie was allowed to drive the discussion. Derek instantly understood why this man had fallen for Crown: He needed to be held in place. He had a desire, as intentionally hidden as this need was, to not have to be the one making decisions. Crown provided Louis the ability to breathe, to relax, to be taken care of, to not have to control every aspect of his life.
"Between her and Crown," Derek said, completely unaffected by the lobbed insult, "my balls are a distant memory."
"Must be a whole lot of fun at your office," Louis said, continuing to steer the conversation away from any destination where he wouldn't be in charge.
"We get shit done," Derek said, his face turned stern. He recognized a fear in Louis's eyes and wanted to let Louis know that Nikkie wasn't the only person sitting at the booth who wasn't going to be intimated. "Like my assistant said," Derek continued, making sure Louis understood that Derek was the man whose name was embossed on the agency's office door, "we are here for Crown, for you and for your son. I don't really care if you'd prefer another investigator on the case. The fact is, we are on the case, you are paying us our full, non-discounted fees and we are on the clock, now. So," Derek paused then reached into the breast pocket of his L.L. Bean sport coat and removed his Moleskine notebook and a pen, "unless you prefer paying us to sit around and watch you ignore us, how about we get to the details of your son's case?”
Louis held a long stare at Derek, who, in turn, allowed a small smile to work at the corners of his mouth. "My son is in trouble," Louis finally said. "Serious trouble. At this point, I'm leaning, however unfortunate it may be, towards arranging a plea bargain. The DA has a solid case, the details of which I'll have my paralegal share with you both. Essentially, I want you to focus your investigation not on proving my son's innocence, but instead on uncovering circumstances in his life which I could use to leverage a less severe plea."
"Wouldn't it make sense for us to at least see what we can dig up?" Nikkie asked.
Louis, his eyes still fixed on Derek, said, "As you have bluntly suggested, I am paying you an hourly rate. Which, according to your associate—who also happens to be my more-than-a-little-annoying ex—is uncomfortably high. My son means the world to me but I also run a business. Keeping expenses low is an unfortunate priority. You two running around, ‘digging’ in places you shouldn’t be digging, will not only be expensive, but costly in other ways.”
"Having your son possibly convicted of a crime he didn't commit would be more unfortunate, I'd assume," Derek said.
Louis leaned back against the booth's seat. Jiggling the remnants of the two ice cubes chilling his double shot of Glenlivet scotch, he smiled, and said, "Maybe I’ve given you more credit than you deserve, Mr. Cole. Maybe having worked with Victoria for the months you have, has given you the idea that I am someone accustomed to taking, not giving orders. Or, perhaps you have divined something I have overlooked. I've heard about some of your other cases. You seem to be attracted to the unexplained. Well, allow me to relieve you of any potential mystery: My son is accused of arson and two counts of manslaughter and every drop of evidence points to him being guilty. Yes, Mr. Cole, the very fact that my son may be complicit in this horrible crime, that he started the fire using a flare and fifteen gallons of high octane fuel and then watched the fire consume the house from the backyard, is more than unfortunate. So, too, is my inability to run a ground investigation the way I see fit. Having you running around chasing ghosts, or imaginary suspects, or whatever the hell you seem to have a penchant for, will do nothing to strengthen my position with the district attorney's office. What I need you to do is to uncover anything that will lead to leniency, not waste time, money or emotions on fingering someone else as the perpetrator.” Louis paused, swallowed the remnants of his scotch, then said, “Now that I’ve made my intentions hopefully more clear, are there any other questions you care to ask?”
Derek said, “Just one more. Did your son admit to you, in confidence of course, that he started the fire?”
“He did not,” Louis said. “And before you ask, I did not ask him if he set the fire or not. I assume my clients to be innocent until such a point when evidence makes holding that belief illogical. That is where I am now. It is illogical for me to believe his claim of innocence.”
“Then how do you know he watched the fire from the backyard?”
CHAPTER NINE
The meeting with Louis Randall ended quickly. Obviously offended with Derek’s question, Louis ignored the question. He stood, then said, “The police investigators found footprints along a row of mature cedar trees that run along the property line. Size eleven. Bo wears size eleven. And the tread matched a pair of boots Bo had in his closet.” He paused. “I don’t like you, Mr. Cole. I wasn’t sure of my feelings about you until this meeting. So, thank you for clearing up my wonderings about you. I’ll pay your fees till Monday morning and will also hire my own private dick,” he said, placing a heavy emphasis on his pronunciation of ‘dick.’ “You chase whatever fairy tales you choose, but I will leave you both with this: Don’t disrupt the work of the real investigator I’ll be hiring. Doing so will not end well for you.”
“Sounds like a threat,” Derek stated.
Louis said, smiling broadly, “It is a threat. A clearly stated one at that. Glad your finely tuned detective skills allowed you to follow it to its fitting conclusion. Play with fire, Cole, and, trust me, you will get burned.”
“Interesting phrase,” Nikkie said.
With that, Louis turned, straightened his tie and walk towards the exit.
“I’m picking up that he may not like us.”
“What do you make of his threat?” Nikkie said.<
br />
“Plenty of ways to take it,” Derek said. “Could be a father, convinced he knows what’s best for his son and doesn’t want anything, or anyone, throwing a monkey wrench into his plans. Or, it could be we threatened him with our questions and he felt the need to show he’s the alpha male. And it could be that Louis Randall has something to hide. Something he doesn’t want us to uncover.”
Nikkie said, “So, which of those are you leaning towards?”
“All three, rolled into one. He’s not happy that Crown can still push him around. He’s used to giving orders and he probably feels he has no control over us. I also think that he may have a sordid past he doesn’t want us learning about.” Derek paused. “Pretty interesting that he did some research into my past cases, isn’t it?”
“He’s a powerful man,” Nikkie said. “Someone accustomed to hiring private investigators. Probably has one or two set as favorites on his phone. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if he had one of his private eyes run our background.”
“He didn’t say anything about you,” Derek said. “Just me. Just that he knew about some of my previous cases.”
Nikkie said, “You did have a pretty high profile case a year ago. A quick Google search for your name would be an easy place to start a background check.”
“Maybe that’s all, but, the way he said it. Men who have things to hide almost always think other men also have things they’re hiding.”
“You think he may know more about this fire and murder than he’s letting on?”
“He knows something. What he knows, I’m not sure.” Derek ran his index finger along his scarred cheek. “I don’t think he had anything to do with the fire, but I have a feeling he is nervous about us finding something out.”
“Something about his son?” Nikkie asked.
“A guy like Louis,” Derek said, “he’s all about his image. He is either thinking us digging around will uncover something that hurts his image or that we find that his son is an even worse person than an arsonist. Or…” Derek paused, waved the waitress over, ordered a double scotch from the bottom shelf, then drifted off into his own thoughts.
Nikkie furrowed her brow, took a deep breath, then paused. She assumed Derek was about to reveal an insight. A feeling that could change the direction of their yet-to-have-even-begun ground investigation.
But Derek said nothing. He simply lowered his head, his sight fixed on the table in front of him. He waited until the waitress placed his tumbler of a double order of cheap scotch in front of him before he looked up at Nikkie. His eyes held a far off look, as if he was looking through Nikkie and towards something either in the past or in the imagined future.
“What?” Nikkie said, her eyes wide in anticipation. “What were you going to say? And please don’t tell me you couldn’t finish until you had a drink in front of you. That would be a bad sign.”
“Who were the people that died in the fire?” he asked.
“Um,” Nikkie scrambled into her purse and pulled out a small Moleskine notebook Derek had given her. She flipped through a few pages, then said, “Brian Mack and his ninety-year-old mother, Elizabeth Mack. Mack was a member of the same fire department Bo Randall belongs to.”
“Was Mack married?” Derek asked.
“Don’t know,” Nikkie said. “Why?”
“Randall’s firm is in Albany, about an hour or so east of here, right?”
Nikkie sighed heavily, “Yes, but Albany is an hour and a half to the east, not an hour. Where are you going with this conversation?”
“How old was Brian Mack?” Derek continued.
“Not sure. Why?”
“Something Louis said doesn’t fit.” Derek drew a deep draw on his scotch, draining the brown liquid. He motioned to the waitress who must have been assigned to stick close to the Chairman’s Booth. She was at the table within seconds. “I’ll have another one just like this. Nikkie, what do you want to drink?”
“Soda water with lime, thank you,” Nikkie said, then shot a stern glance at Derek. “You need to tell me what the hell is going on in that head of yours. What did Louis say that didn’t fit, why did you ask about Mack being married and how old he was and why does it matter how far away Randall’s law firm’s office is from here?”
“Not sure what it is,” Derek said. “But I can’t believe that he wouldn’t want to pull out every trick in the book to clear his son’s name. Doesn’t sit right with me that he’s ready to plea before he even starts his investigation. I’m wondering if there’s a connection we’re missing.”
“What kind of connection?” Nikkie asked.
“That’s what we need to find out. If there’s a connection that ties Louis to the fire, or to Mack, or to Bo’s department; that’s what I think I should focus on. You focus on Bo, the crime scene, the fire department and everything about the case the DA has against Bo Randall.”
Nikkie said, “It doesn’t give us a ton of time ff we only have three days and Monday morning to run this investigation.”
“More like six days. Three from me and three from you.”
“Makes sense. So, what’s our first step?”
Derek said, “Since the tab is still open and you’re not drinking, I think our next step is another scotch. You make an excellent designated driver.”
“I meant the next step in our investigation.”
“Bo’s out on bail, right?”
Nikkie said, “Yes. His dad got him out on half a million dollar bond. Crown texted me right before we sat down with Mr. Personality. She’s with him now at his house.”
“Text her back. Tell her you need to meet with Bo no later than eight tomorrow morning. Tell her she’s more than welcome to sit in during your interview with him. That will make her happy and will keep her from trying to figure out what I’ll be doing.”
“And what exactly will you be doing?”
“Digging where I’m not supposed to dig.”
CHAPTER TEN
Crown opened the front door of her son’s house, letting Nikkie inside. She could tell that Crown had been crying, an act Nikkie wasn’t certain Crown was capable of.
“He’s in the shower,” Crown said. “He’ll be out in about ten minutes, which gives us just enough time to talk about what you and Derek found out so far.”
“We met with your ex last evening,” Nikkie began, then was cut short by Crown,
“Not about your meeting with shithead; I want to know what you two found out about the case against my son.”
Derek and Nikkie had agreed to not tell Crown their decision to split the investigation. Derek assumed Nikkie would find some reason to object and demand that both he and Nikkie spend every waking hour hunting down clues. What they didn’t agree on was what Nikkie should tell Crown.
“There’s a lot of ground work that needs to be done,” Nikkie began. “Derek and I spent most of last night planning our approach.”
“In other words,” Crown said, “Cole got into some cheap ass bottle of scotch while you sat around wondering if he has the hots for you.”
“Only partially correct. Derek was drinking scotch but only after we finished meeting with your ex. We decided…”
“Hold your ass a second,” Crown interrupted. “Scotch boy isn’t here but you are, which tells me something happened during your sit down with Louis yesterday.”
“Your ex-husband is quite an interesting character,” Nikkie said.
“And Derek thinks he knows something and isn’t talking, right?”
Somewhat amazed at Crown’s ability to figure her and Derek’s plan out after only a few words, Nikkie said, “Derek is investigating to see if there’s any connection between the fire, the victims, your son and your ex. I’m here to meet with your son and figure out where the ground investigation should begin.”
Crown folded her arms across her ample breasts, stared at Nikkie, then said, “That’s what I hoped you two would do. Something’s not kosher with Louis and how quickly he started talking abo
ut a plea bargain.”
“I’m actually surprised with your reaction,” Nikkie said. “Derek and I thought you’d be pissed we aren’t both working at finding something to get your son vindicated.”
“Louis is a dirty lawyer. Anyone with half a brain could figure that out. If Derek starts digging, he’s going to find a pile of shit that stinks from here to Alaska. I just hope he doesn’t chase too many rabbits down their rabbit holes. And trust me, there’s a shit-load of rabbits to chase in Louis’s past.”
Crown poured Nikkie a cup of coffee, then offered her a bowl of Cheerios. Shrugging her shoulders, she said, “What can I say? Bo’s a bachelor. It’s Cheerios or yogurt that’s probably been in his fridge since two thousand and nine.”
Passing on breakfast, Nikkie sat at the kitchen island, pulled her laptop out of her carry bag and waited for Bo. When Bo walked into the kitchen, Nikkie could tell he was battling some seriously strong demons. His shortly cropped brown hair looked as if it hadn’t seen a brush in a few days, his face was darkened by stubble and his eyes seemed to be covered with a haze. He was taller than she’d expected, easily six foot two. Bo’s thin waist, broad shoulders and muscular arms would have made him a candidate for top billing in any fireman’s calendar. His deep, brown eyes suggested that Bo would find few challenges in the dating department.
Bo, still feeling the pain in his injured backside, limped closer to Nikkie, extended his hand, then, without emotion, said, “I didn’t do it. I didn’t start that fire and I didn’t kill Mack and his mom. You need to help me. You need to figure out who is framing me.”
The Devil's Snare: a Mystery Suspense Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thrillers Book 4) Page 5
