by J N Duncan
Jackie studied Laurel’s expression. One didn’t joke about seeing another agent in the morgue. It was bad karma. She knew from the last time a ghost was involved that if the shit really hit the fan, Laurel might actually fight her to get off the case, and that was not a scenario Jackie could win. Fighting Laurel would be like taking a bulldozer to the foundation of her being. The consequences would be too dire.
Jackie grinned at Laurel. “That’s why I always win.”
“Uh-huh. Get over yourself, goon girl, and promise me you will be very careful with this one.”
The cell phone buzzed in Jackie’s pocket, and she pulled it out to see that Denny was calling. She hit the button. “What’s up, Den?”
“Hey, Jack, thought I’d let you know we found an old coin beneath the boy.”
“You mean like something a coin collector would have?”
“Yep, looks that way,” he said. “It’s sealed up in plastic, but it looks to be very old if it’s real. It’s going downtown with the little evidence we have for now.”
“Give it to the geeks when you get there. We’ll be in soon. I want to see those pics you took also.”
“I e-mailed them to you a few minutes ago.”
“Already? How?”
Denny laughed. “Technology, Jack. You know, the cool stuff without triggers attached to them.”
“Ohhh, funny, man. It’s a good thing I like you, otherwise I’d have to inflict some bodily harm.”
“Promise?”
Jackie smiled, clicked off the phone, dipped the last of her bread into the sauce on the plate, and ate it with a wide-eyed smile. “They found an old coin under our boy. So, why don’t we go back to the bureau and see if the geeks can find out anything regarding that penny.”
“Promise me, Jackie. Be very careful with this one.”
Jackie could feel the heat of the finger pointing at her chest. The seriousness of Laurel’s voice tightened her stomach. “Okay,” she said, laughing off the tense moment, but she knew better. Laurel was never wrong about these things. “I promise.”
Chapter 6
Nick sat against his mahogany desk, thumbs hooked in the belt on either side of the buckle that looked like two crossed revolvers. As the stress mounted, old habits tended to kick in, and the cowboy posturing was one of the oldest.
“Drake is back,” he said, glancing quickly at each of them.
Shelby sported cutoff denim shorts that revealed a good inch or two of ass, and a white tank top with no bra. Her nipples pushed up right into the fabric to say, “Hello, how do you do.” It was an annoying habit of hers, purposefully putting herself on display in front of him. Her dark hair had been drawn back into a simple tail, showing off the smooth, sensuous lines of her face, looking unchanged from the day he had met her seventy-eight years ago.
Reggie’s transparent form sat in the old leather wingback in the corner. He was dressed in the same old, faded overalls, T-shirt, and leather work boots he had died in, forever Nick’s right-hand man.
Cynthia sat in the chair immediately in front of him, her legs demurely crossed, gaze curious and calm. Only the arms crossed over her chest gave any indication of her seriousness. Nick knew that irritation lay ready in waiting, crouched just beneath the surface.
Shelby’s relaxed nonchalance evaporated. “How do you know?”
“Someone found a twelve-year-old boy, drained of blood, sitting up against a tree in Garibaldi Park this morning. I felt Drake on him. I sensed Drake… a couple days ago but had no luck tracking him down.”
Reggie made a low whistling sound, and Shelby straightened up stiff as a lightning rod. “Two days? And you didn’t tell me?” She pointed an accusatory finger at Nick. “You asshole! You promised you would tell me the minute he was back again.”
“There’ve been whispers lately,” Reggie said in agreement. “But these days, the restless folks whisper about a lot of things, and, honestly, I’d not been paying attention to them. I suppose I should’ve checked on things.”
Nick shrugged at them. Knowing two days ago would have served no useful purpose other than putting them in harm’s way even sooner. “It wasn’t clear, and more than likely you would have just gotten yourself in trouble before we realized what he is up to this time. I figured it was better to risk just one of us until absolutely necessary.”
“Ah.” Shelby’s voice teetered on the fine edge of fury. “And if you’d managed to get yourself killed before letting us know what the fuck was going-”
“Hey,” Cynthia’s calm and cool voice interceded. There was a hint of fear. This was beyond Shelby’s usual acerbic attitude toward Nick. She never got downright pissed at him. “Aren’t we a team here? I mean
… what exactly is going on? I’m a little disappointed to be left out of the loop on this, Nick.”
He folded his arms across his chest, a futile attempt to ward off the negative emotions tightening up every muscle in his gut. How many times had he considered asking Cynthia to find another job, trying to find a good way of letting her go, and then not being able to do it? It was difficult to let go of someone who knew about the dark parts of your heart and accepted them anyway. And then part of it was just plain, old-fashioned honesty. He did not have the wherewithal to lie to Cynthia.
“Cyn. This case is potentially very dangerous, and it’s also very personal,” he said, forcing himself to look down at those wide, accepting brown eyes. “After today, if you decide to pack up and leave, there’ll be no hard feelings from any of us. Honestly, I’d feel better if you did.”
She leaned back, eyes narrowing. “You’re serious.”
“I’m not going to ask you to stay.”
Shelby laughed. “Oh, come on, Nick. Like Cyn would refuse you anything.”
He shot her a hard glance, which was met with equal fire.
“Why don’t you just tell me the whole story and let me decide for myself?” Cynthia said.
Nick shifted against the desk. Nothing like having the two people you cared about most in the world seriously annoyed with you at the same time. “You have to promise me, Cynthia. If you have any doubts, any reservations at all about this after today, you will-”
“Christ, Nick. Just tell her already, and make it the short version. The last time you sat down and told this sob story, it took five and a half hours.”
Except I was lying down in your bed and figuring I was dead. Nick bit off the reply that burned on his tongue. “Fine. The short version. Stop and ask me a question about any of this. Shel and Reg know the story.”
Cynthia smiled. “Talk away, hon. I’m all ears.”
Shelby walked out of the office and returned a moment later with two more beers. In the meantime, Nick turned to Reggie. “Reg, when you decide to leave, I need you to go check out the FBI headquarters downtown. Typical snoop run. I want to know who is on the case, what they’ve got, etcetera. Be careful though. They have a medium working with them now, and she’s pretty strong. Might give the locals on the scene a look, too, just in case.”
His silvery head nodded. “I’m all over it, boss. Was just waiting for the go-ahead.” He waved his fingers at Cynthia and Shelby. “Bye, girls. Enjoy story time with Uncle Nick.” His body slowly sank through the chair and vanished.
With a fresh beer in his hand, Nick opted to stand behind his desk to allow for some pacing. Telling Cynthia this information was just too nerve-wracking to be parked in a chair. Shelby was the only other person he had ever told, and look what had happened. Sadly, it was too late to turn back the clock two days and fire Cynthia. Even then, it was possible she had already been marked. Cynthia sat on the edge of her chair now, hands folded neatly in her lap. She looked more curious than anxious, and Nick wished he could make her feel the opposite. She needed to be worried. She needed to know that leaving was the best option, and sooner rather than later.
Shelby sipped at her beer, standing with nonchalant grace in the corner. “Anytime, babe. Drake’s probably already plan
ning number two as we speak.”
“Shelby,” he said but realized then that arguing was pointless. She was just looking for an excuse to jump down his throat for breaking his promise to notify her. Nick heaved a sigh and shook his head. “Anyway. The short-and-sweet version.” A long draught on the beer wetted his already dry throat. “Short, at least.”
“Nick,” Cynthia said, forever the voice of tranquillity. “Just tell me, please.”
“Right. I know.” He blew out his breath again. It should not have been this hard the second time around. “I was a sheriff in Wyoming back in 1862.”
And so his story began.
Chapter 7
Jackie leaned over Denny’s shoulder, one hand braced on the edge of his desk. He had the crime-scene photos uploaded onto his computer, a spread of thumbnail pictures across the twenty-four-inch screen. Laurel stood in the corner of his cubby peering from the other side.
When he scrolled to the next set, Laurel pointed. “Stop.” She stepped forward for a closer look. “Tenth one and the next few. Those look like the right area.”
The tenth photo was enlarged to fill the screen, and Jackie looked at the faces of the crowd. Hands in pockets, pairs and small groups chatted with one another. Nobody that she could see had any of the telltale signs that might implicate something more than casual interest.
Denny looked up at Laurel. “See anything?”
“No. Did you shoot video first? These pics might be too late.”
“Too late for what?” he asked.
“Her knight in shining armor,” Jackie said.
“Being polite doesn’t make you chivalrous,” she snapped back.
Denny snickered and clicked through to pull up the playback screen. “Here’s what I’ve got. I shot it before I began taking the pics.”
It was from the vantage point of the park grass, somewhere between the big maple and the parking lot. It started near where they had parked and panned slowly across to the television crews, zooming in gradually to pick up clearer images of the crowd standing at the edge of the grass.
When the view panned all the way to the other side, Laurel pointed at the screen. “Stop there.”
Denny paused the video. Jackie could tell immediately who she was likely referring to. A tall, broad-shouldered figure past the crowd, walking away from the scene. “The big guy there, jeans and sweatshirt.”
“Yep, that’s him.”
“Okay,” Denny said and zoomed in closer. He clicked the play button again, and they watched him continue walking away. A few seconds later he stopped and looked back.
“Look at where his gaze is,” Jackie exclaimed. “He’s not interested in the tree at all.”
Laurel straightened, crossing her arms over her chest. “Hmmm, you’re right. He’s looking back at us.”
The still frame zoomed in more, and the image blurred. Denny began to go to work. “I’ll get this cleared up and enhanced. It should give us a pretty good shot of his face to work with if you want.”
“Do it,” Jackie said. “Run it if you get a good one, and see if anything pops up.”
“Sure thing.”
Laurel shrugged. “He’s probably just wondering if I’m all right.”
“Maybe,” she agreed. “But he could be wondering a lot more than that, too.”
“Paranoid.”
“Innocent.”
“Ha! My title is better.”
Jackie clapped Denny on the shoulder. “Thanks, Den. Figure out who he is, and I’ll buy you a shot.”
“I’m there.”
She stepped away from the desk. “I want to see about that penny they found. Maybe the geeks can tell us what it is.”
After acquiring the penny, Jackie and Laurel went down to the basement and tracked down Mark Hauser, head of the Geekroom, where all things information were acquired and processed. Jackie never ceased to marvel at the kinds of things the FBI was capable of finding out. It was almost disturbing.
“Hey!” he exclaimed, spinning around in his chair when Jackie knocked on the open door to his office. “What brings the FBI’s sexiest agents down into the depths?”
Jackie took in the sprawling desk with its three thirty-inch monitors and grimaced. “Seriously, Hauser? Can you ever greet us without mentioning looks?”
“Why? That would be boring.” He gave her a smug grin. “Besides, who else around here can get away with it besides us harmless geeks?”
Laurel laughed. “He has a point. Hauser’s about as harmless as they come.”
He pointed at Laurel. “Exactly.”
Jackie thrust the bag containing the coin at him. “You guys are also the sneakiest, most conspiratorial bastards in the agency. Everything has a plan.”
He plucked the bag from her fingers. “It makes us more interesting. What have we got here?”
“It’s a coin found under a dead boy this morning. Only real piece of evidence we found at the scene, so I’m hoping you might give us some info on it.”
“Cool. Let’s have a look.” He grabbed a pair of tweezers from a drawer and withdrew the coin from the bag. After turning it over a couple times, he arched his brows. “It looks like an Indian Head Penny, 1862. Perfect condition, by the look of it.”
“Worth much?”
“One sec, and I’ll find out,” he replied and spun back around to type on his computer. About thirty seconds later he tapped his screen. “If it’s real and as pristine as it looks, it’ll fetch about twenty-five K.”
Laurel whistled softly. Jackie could hardly believe it. “For a damn penny? Wow.”
“Coin collecting is serious business, Jack,” he said. “And this was just found on the ground beneath a dead body?”
“Yep.”
“Robbery gone bad?”
The image of loose, gray skin washed through Jackie’s mind. “Don’t think so. We think it was left on purpose.”
“Really.” He nodded and reexamined the coin. “Someone sending a message, perhaps?”
“What sort of message requires killing a twelve-year-old boy?”
He winced. “Ouch. That sucks. I’ll look into this and see if I can find anything-coin collectors, auctions, that sort of stuff. Maybe something will pop.”
“Thanks,” Jackie replied. “Let me know the second you find something.”
Back on their floor, Jackie sat down at her desk to the sound of Denny’s voice coming from the other side of the cubicle’s wall. “Check your e-mail, Jack. Got some interesting stuff on your guy.”
“Already? Nice going, Den. Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Jackie turned on her computer and accessed the e-mail, downloading a picture of what turned out to be a photo ID card. Laurel leaned over her shoulder, her head next to Jackie’s.
“He’s a PI?”
“So it would seem,” she said.
“Man, would you look at those eyes. Those have to be colored contacts.”
“Maybe. So why would PI Nick Anderson be interested in the body of a dead boy from the Chicago burbs?”
“Coincidence?”
Jackie shot her a skeptical glance.
“It’s been known to happen, you know.”
“Not in my lifetime.” Jackie scrolled to the next page, where another picture greeted them.
“Whoa, he cleans up nice,” Laurel said.
It was a newspaper clipping dated over a year earlier. Jackie scanned through the article. “Nicholas Rembrandt Anderson? What the hell. Hey, Denny!” she shouted. “Are these the same guy?”
“Yeah. Interesting guy. Wait till you see the next page.”
“CEO of Bloodwork Industries,” Laurel said. “Wonder what that is?”
“Curious, isn’t it? I think we might want to have a little chat with Mr. Anderson.”
“He donated two million dollars to the children’s hospital.”
“So he’s a saint.”
“Bet he likes tough FBI types.”
Jackie smirked. “Rule
s you out then, doesn’t it?”
“Screw you. I’m tough in the ways that matter.”
“Like an Annabelle’s cream puff.”
“Oh, Annabelle’s! We’re stopping, right? Where’s this Anderson guy located?”
“Um, I don’t know where this address is,” Jackie said, pointing at the screen.
“Just type it into Google maps.”
“What?”
“Oh! Look at this.” Laurel had scrolled to the next screen, which was another newspaper clipping. This one was dated April 1970.
Jackie stared at the picture. It was the spitting image of Nick Anderson. “Wait a sec, that can’t be right. That the same guy?”
Denny’s voice piped in again. “It’s his dad, keep reading.”
“Creepy,” Laurel said. “Looks just like him.”
“Acquitted of murder.” Jackie tapped the screen. This was getting better by the word. “In the slayings of five people…”
Laurel chimed in at the same time. “… who were drained of all their blood.”
Jackie leaned back in her chair. “Holy shit. Coincidence, my ass. We really do need to go have a chat with this guy.”
“Okay,” Laurel admitted. “Got me there. This is too strange.”
“So where’s this guy at?”
“Just Google it and see.”
“I only Google after about six drinks.”
Laurel shook her head, chuckling. “You really should try using your computer once in a while. They’re actually useful.” She pulled up the Google screen and located their address. “See? Ten seconds, and presto! Special Investigations, Inc.”
“Shit. That’s almost an hour from here. Call and see if he’s there. Otherwise track down his home address.”
“We’ll need to hit Annabelle’s first.”
“You know, I hope your ass gets fat. Where the hell do you put all the crap we buy from there?”
Laurel grabbed at her breasts. “Boobs, baby. You should eat more cream puffs.”
There was snickering from nearby cubicles. Jackie rolled her eyes and got up. “Let’s go, you bitch. You’re buying.”
“Don’t I always?”
