Man Without A Badge

by Dani Sinclair

She looked pointedly at the broken picture frame near his feet. “That must be a male point of view.”

  “I meant there’s no one else here. Someone trashed the place.”

  His words were simple truth. It was a nice, airy apartment, furnished in garage-sale odds and ends. Now those same odds and ends lay scattered about in malicious destruction. Cushions were flung to the floor. The movie posters that had served as pictures were off the wall, some broken, others simply leaning drunkenly against other furniture. Clothing and personal items littered the carpet.

  “What were they looking for?” she asked.

  “Good question.”

  “Do you think it had anything to do with us?”

  Sam paused to consider. “I don’t see how, but I hate coincidence. Someone was looking for something.”

  “The rest of the missing money from the evidence room?” She didn’t know why she said the words, but Sam’s face took on a stony expression. He didn’t answer.

  She stepped over a single sock and passed a table littered with books and the remains of a TV dinner.

  “I can’t tell if anything is missing. Lee didn’t keep many personal effects after the divorce.”

  Marly heard the note of bitterness reflected in his tone. “So what do we do now?”

  Sam shrugged. “We wait.”

  Being in this messy apartment was making her edgy. “Mind if I turn on the television? I want to get a news report.”

  “News isn’t on again until ten. I don’t plan to be here that long.”

  Marly switched on the set. “He has cable.” She indicated the box on top of the television. “Channel eight is a local news station, and CNN will have national and international news. Then there’s the weather station—”

  “Stop it, Marly.” He moved to stand in front of her. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just feeling restless, I guess.” She looked away from his rugged features to avoid the temptation of touching him. The flicker of the screen caught her attention. “Sam! That was Chris! They just showed Chris’s picture on TV. Let me turn up the sound.”

  “Police are asking anyone with information to call this number…” the reporter was saying.

  Marly made an exasperated sound.

  “Are you sure it was Chris?” Sam asked.

  “Positive. Why would they show Chris’s picture unless something has happened to him?”

  He didn’t answer her directly. He didn’t have to. Her fear was mirrored in his eyes. “How often do they repeat the news?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe every hour?”

  “Then I guess we wait.”

  Marly perched on Lee’s worn leather couch and began flipping channels.

  “Is there another news station?” Sam asked.

  She shook her head. “I was hoping to get a newsbreak on one of the other stations.”

  “I have a better idea.” Sam disappeared and she heard him open a closet door. When he returned, he was holding a radio. “Let’s see if we can find a news station on here.”

  Eventually they listened as a reporter calmly stated that Chris was missing. He had last been seen in his hospital room, talking to the two of them.

  “They think he’s with us!”

  Sam’s only response was to lean forward, his head tilted as he listened intently to the announcer.

  The police had tracked their pickup truck to the Metro station, and wanted persons with any information about them, or the six boys traveling with them, to come forward.

  “Don’t they know by now that we sent the others home?”

  “The police know.” Sam switched everything off. “Come on. We aren’t safe here. Someone at the hotel is bound to recognize us if they’re flashing our pictures on the nightly news.”

  “But we don’t know that they are.”

  “Simple deduction, Marly. Trust me, by now our pictures are going to be in every living room with a television set turned to the news. And, once they trace us to the hotel, it’s only a logical jump to Lee’s apartment. I hope you didn’t leave anything behind in the motel that you need.”

  Marly shook her head. He started back down the hall toward the bedroom.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Try and find Lee’s spare keys.”

  “What for?”

  “Transportation.”

  “Oh.” Lee must have two cars.

  “The keys aren’t in Lee’s bedroom,” he told her a moment later. “I’ll check the kitchen, then we’re leaving without them.”

  Marly nodded. She moved to stand by the sliding glass door and stared at the busy street below. There was no longer any pedestrian traffic, only a steady stream of cars.

  Was Chris okay? And Emma and the other children…She wished she could call and at least know that they were all right. The person who’d been making the phone calls to her wouldn’t have any reason to hurt the children now. Her youth program was history.

  Marly moved to the table, staring blankly at the books spread across it while she considered their options.

  “Got ‘em,” Sam announced. “Let’s go.”

  But her eyes had focused on the page beneath her hand.

  “Marly? What’s wrong?”

  She tried to swallow, only her mouth was too dry. Wordlessly she nodded to the open book. “I told you the average person wouldn’t know how to tamper with the brakes.”

  Sam stared at the book on auto repair. It was open to a page on brake linings.

  “No.” The word was hollow. As empty as the expression on his face.

  “Your theory about Porterfield and the missing money—would it still work if you substitute your friend Lee for Porterfield?”

  MARLY STARED at the Harley-Davidson and the helmet Sam held out to her. Strands of hair whipped at her cheeks as she shook her head. “I’d rather steal a car.”

  “We’re not stealing.” Sam placed the helmet down over her wild mane of hair. “We’re borrowing. From my good buddy.” The acid in his last words was more effective than anything else would have been. Marly adjusted the helmet. Her heart ached in sympathy.

  “He may be innocent, Sam.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” he snarled. His features softened. “Sorry. I’ve known Lee a long time. He’s a friend.”

  The betrayal in his eyes hurt her soul.

  “There’s an explanation for that book,” he stated grimly.

  “Maybe we were supposed to find it.”

  A frown creased his forehead.

  “I mean, he didn’t tear up his own apartment. What if someone did it to cover up the fact they put the book there to implicate him? Maybe they put something else in the apartment. You did say only some of the money was recovered.”

  Sam uttered an expletive. “Come on. We’ll talk about this later.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To ask some questions,” he told her grimly.

  She thought about pushing for a better answer, but decided to wait once she saw his expression. “I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before,” she told him. “And I’m wearing a full skirt.”

  “I know. It was a bad choice, but there’s no time to change it now. Hike up the skirt and tuck it in. We don’t want it getting caught on anything.”

  “I don’t think this is a good idea, Sam.”

  “Pretend it’s a short horse and don’t argue. We’re under a surveillance camera.”

  “Oh, my God.” She barely resisted the urge to look around. He got on the bike and helped her straddle the wide machine awkwardly. Tucking in the voluminous skirt took several minutes. She was very conscious of the extent of bare leg that showed. So, she noticed, was Sam.

  “You’re going to stop traffic,” he muttered.

  “Thank you,” she said sarcastically. “Just remember, this was your idea.”

  “Uh-huh. Put your arms around my waist and hold on tight.”

  “Where have I heard that before?”

 
; He spared her a lopsided grin, and she gripped his waist as directed, then flinched when he started the noisy beast. She’d take a horse any day over this contraption. At least their emissions made the grass grow.

  “How are you going to get through the security gate?” she yelled over the roar of the engine.

  “No problem. Watch.”

  It was open. Sam must have noticed that fact earlier. No doubt he would have gotten them out somehow, even if the gate had been closed.

  She clutched him tightly, amazed once again by his whipcord strength. It didn’t take her long to adapt to the pattern of their motions. She automatically leaned with Sam as he steered the bike through the heavy traffic. This new rhythm was unexpectedly sensual. She pressed more closely against his back, savoring the play of his muscles beneath her fingertips.

  When they stopped at a long traffic light, she took the opportunity to stuff the bulk of her hair under the helmet. They were drawing more than a couple of looks from passing motorists, and no wonder. Their outfits were incongruous with their mode of transportation. At least the visors on their helmets were opaque. Marly felt confident that no one they passed connected them to the wanted criminals being displayed on the area’s television screens tonight.

  Sam headed away from the main roads as soon as he could. Dusk dwindled to an evening sky and finally yielded to blessed darkness. Her tension increased with every mile they put behind them, because their destination was obvious to her now.

  Surely the police would still be at the farm. If not, wouldn’t they have left a guard or something? For certain, her men had been told to call if she returned. Either way, Sam could hardly drive straight into the yard on this noisy bike. It would draw every person in the vicinity right to them.

  As though sharing her thoughts, he rode past the turnoff to the farm’s main driveway without slowing and continued down the road. The noise of the bike prevented her asking the questions hovering on her lips. Then, without warning, he began to slow. They were in front of her west pasture when Sam pulled off the road into some tall grass and stopped.

  “What are you doing?” she asked when he cut the engine.

  “I thought we’d go across the field.”

  Marly eyed the pasture before them and thought about her open sandals. She’d have an uncomfortable hike in these shoes. “Why don’t we—?”

  “Do any of your horses come when you call?” he asked before she could finish.

  “What?”

  She followed the direction of his nod and saw a lone horse standing several yards away.

  “Forget it.” Even in the darkness, she recognized the animal. “That’s Dickens.”

  “As in Charles?”

  “As in filled with,” she corrected. “He wasn’t a very cooperative saddle horse before he and the barbed wire came into contact. Now…” She gave a careless shrug. “Carter wanted to destroy him, but I just couldn’t do it. Where are you going?”

  Sam stepped off the bike, walked over to the fence and climbed up to sit on the top rail. Dickens lifted his head. Sam made a soft, beckoning noise. The horse stamped its hoof and snorted in reply.

  Marly stood in the grass, feeling wobbly after the ride, and grateful for the feel of solid ground beneath her feet. Riding a motorcycle was an interesting experience, but a car would have been a lot more comfortable.

  Sam whistled. At first, Dickens shied nervously away. Moments later the horse was working his way closer to where Sam sat.

  “This is a waste of time,” she told him quietly as she moved to stand alongside him. “We’ll never be able to ride him, even if you do get him to come over here.”

  “You never know until you try,” Sam answered. “Right, Dickens?”

  The horse trotted away, then turned and raced back, this time coming much closer.

  “I’m not exactly anxious to get thrown,” she told Sam.

  “Dickens won’t throw us, will you, boy?”

  Dickens snorted in answer and tossed his head.

  “I take that as a yes, Sam.”

  Sam ignored her and made a whickering noise. Dickens minced closer. Amazingly, he allowed Sam to stroke his muzzle before racing away again.

  “Do we have time for this?” she asked.

  “Sure. We want the bunkhouse and its occupants to settle down for the evening.”

  “What if the police posted a guard?”

  “We want him to settle down, too.”

  Marly watched in a combination of awe and amusement as Sam coaxed the horse back over to the fence, where he allowed a few soft caresses. Sam talked quietly to the animal. She could have sworn the horse was listening. She was almost as startled as Dickens when Sam suddenly found an opportunity and swung himself onto the animal’s bare back.

  Dickens kicked out in shock, snorting in angry protest. Seconds later, Sam landed in the field on his back, a stunned expression on his face as Dickens raced away. By the time she reached his side, Sam was already getting to his feet, a chagrined expression having replaced his surprise.

  “Now can we walk?” Marly asked.

  “Not a chance. I should have grabbed his halter instead of his mane.”

  “You’re determined to do this, aren’t you?”

  “Hey, it’s a matter of pride.” He dusted off the seat of his slacks.

  “Uh-huh. Well, unless you’ve got some rope hidden on that motorcycle to make a neck lead, there’s no way we’re going to ride Dickens.”

  “Damn.”

  “Why don’t we go in the back way?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Sam’s mouth dropped in surprise. “What back way?”

  “The road that leads to the bunkhouse.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me there was another way in?”

  “When did you bother to ask?” she replied sweetly.

  Thunderclouds crossed his face and were quickly dispelled by a rueful chuckle. “I guess I did sort of take over and start giving orders, didn’t I?”

  “You certainly tried.”

  Grinning, Sam gave her a quick hug and helped her back over the fence. “Okay, boss, I’m suitably chastised now. You want to tell me how to get to this back road?”

  “Sure, but we can’t just ride up to the bunkhouse on the motorcycle, Sam. Not unless you want everyone to know we’re here.”

  “Is it a long driveway?”

  “Longer than the main entrance, and more twisty, but sound carries at night. This is the country, remember?”

  “Okay, we’ll hide the bike and walk.”

  Marly looked down the empty stretch of roadway. “There’s some heavy shrubbery near the mouth of the driveway.”

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  The side road was really more of a dirt lane than anything else. The opening was heavily overgrown, and badly in need of another truckload of gravel. Carter hadn’t told her the entrance was in such bad shape, and Marly hadn’t had any reason to use it in a long while. She mused over Carter’s failing while Sam hid the bike in a thicket of weeds.

  “Give me your hand,” he directed as they resumed walking.

  “You romantic devil, you. A stroll in the moonlight?”

  His smile was devastating. “Too bad we forgot the champagne,” he quipped.

  “No cups.”

  He tipped his head. “I could drink from your slipper.”

  “Now that I’d like to see.”

  They both glanced down at her open-toed sandals, and Sam laughed. He had a nice laugh. Warm and rich. Holding his hand was stirring some urges best left for later. Much later.

  “Sam, I’ve been thinking.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  She ignored his teasing to blurt out the idea that had been tickling the back of her mind during their ride here. “What if Matt wasn’t killed because he was a cop?”

  Sam stopped walking. “What are you talking about?”

  A shiver of apprehension traveled up her spine. “Didn’t you say Lee was divorced?”
>
  “What does that have to do with—?”

  Marly could see his mind working in the new direction. “I know you don’t want your friend to be guilty of murder, and neither do I. But Matt was…Let’s just say he found women a challenge. He didn’t care if they were single or married. He didn’t even seem to care what they looked like. He just…he could be so damn charming. I mean, I wondered if Lee’s ex-wife might have been one of his conquests.”

  Sam dropped her hand. His eyes had a contemplative, unfocused look to them. “Lee never said exactly why they divorced.”

  She could almost feel his mind turning over the possibility. Then he shook his head.

  “That wouldn’t explain the money that was stolen from the evidence room. Lee is not a thief.”

  He said the last with more intensity. Interesting. He could believe Lee was a murderer, but not a thief? Or did he just think Lee might be that passionate about his former wife?

  “What if Porterfield was the thief? What if he stole the money, and someone else killed Matt?”

  Sam muttered something under his breath. Marly plunged ahead. “Think about it, Sam. Porterfield knows he made a mistake. He’s sitting there holding money from the evidence room when he learns Matt’s a cop. Then Matt is murdered. He has to get rid of the money, so he spreads it around. Some in your place. Some in Lee’s. Probably your captain and that other cop—Silvers?—their houses too.” The more she thought about it, the more sense it made.

  “Then who murdered Bill?”

  “Maybe whoever was going to hang the goat. Maybe that murder had nothing to do with Matt’s death at all.”

  Sam shook his head. “It’s too complicated, Marly. I’m a cop. We like things nice and simple.”

  “Life is rarely simple.”

  “But murder usually is.”

  They started walking again, each lost in thought. Marly wasn’t prepared to argue her case. She was only tossing out possibilities. Still, the more she thought about it—

  “Do you know who Matt was sleeping with recently?” Sam asked.

  “No.” The thought of her ex-husband’s infidelities had long ago ceased to matter on an emotional level. But a memory surfaced. “He got a phone call at the house the day he died. That was unusual. By then, most people knew not to call him there.”