There he goes again. The girl. Is she damaged goods now? Diana’s budding empathy wilted. “Is she getting any counseling?” she asked, aware of the irony. She’d stuffed Dr. Hovac’s suggestion into her mental trash. This was different, a child was involved.
Flannigan shook his head. “Private things are best kept in the home. I’m only tellin’ you ‘cause we need legal help with this mess. He’s not goin’ t’ get the kids.”
“He?” Diana thought she knew. “Is their father in the picture?”
“Damn straight he is, and it isn’t a pretty picture. He’s got no business with these kids.” Joe Flannigan’s ruddy complexion deepened in color. Diana had the feeling that it would be unhealthy to be on the receiving end of this man’s wrath.
“You know, Mr. Flannigan,” began Diana, opting out of first-name basis, “the courts always favor the parents … unless there’s a serious impediment—”
He was up, out of the chair, into her face. “There is, damn it!” His breath reeked of stale cigarettes and indigestion. “He killed her. The rotten, womanizing SOB killed my Brandi.”
Chapter 4
Joe Flannigan sank back in his chair, looking like he was about to have a coronary. “Try to calm yourself, Mr. Flannigan.” Diana got up and filled a glass from a pitcher of water on the credenza, handed it to Flannigan.
He took a sip, and then eyed her sheepishly. “Sorry. It gets to me. Know what I mean?”
Diana nodded. She knew what he meant when it came to rotten, womanizing SOBs.
“I know what you’re goin’ to ask, and no, I can’t prove it, not any of it.” He shook his head slowly, like it was a tremendous weight on his shoulders. “But I know it in my gut.” He paused and took another gulp of water. “October, beginnin’ of elk season, he took the girl huntin’. Him and his buddies. My Brandi didn’t hunt. Had a soft spot in her heart for animals. Strays and wild ones alike.”
He seemed to be fading away again. Diana saw tears welling under faded, sandy lashes. She cleared her throat discreetly to bring him back.
A shudder ran through his body that he shook off like a dog emerging from water before picking up his discourse. “She went down the street, the girl did. For a soda pop or who-knows-what. He let her go by herself. It got dark—”
“Wait a minute,” Diana interrupted, alarms going off in her head. “You were there and you didn’t say anything?” Unbelievable.
“No, no.” He waved away her words. “I was down gassin’ up my truck. Didn’t see her on the street. Didn’t know t’ look. Don’t know where Strickland was when she left, but we sure know where he ended up. Right, Missus?”
“Strickland is the man who took your granddaughter?” The dead guy?
He nodded, again fixing on the carpet. “Her dad didn’t help by suggestin’ she ran off.”
“Runaways are a big problem for law enforcement. Do you realize how many they have to deal with each year?” she asked.
“In some big city, maybe. We weren’t in Denver, Missus Martin. We were in the Sangre de Cristos huntin’ elk, for God’s sake. We came down to Westcliffe for the night. You know how small that town is? Where would she run to?”
Something didn’t sound right. “Considering the low esteem in which you hold your son-in-law, how did you happen to be there?”
He snorted derisively. “Four men and one pretty little gal? You think I’d let that happen? You bet your sweet … ah … you bet I was there, yes Ma’am.”
“Has your granddaughter named Strickland as the one who took her?” Other questions tumbled into Diana’s mind, but she held back, not wanting to push Flannigan over the edge again.
“The girl, she won’t talk about it. It became apparent who took her because of where they found her. Strickland’s cabin.”
“Are you in the habit of going hunting with your son-in-law? Was this something you’d done in the past?”
He was somewhere else again. Somewhere painful from the look in his eyes. “I regret to say … it was somethin’ we did for many years.” He looked up then, and Diana saw tears again. “Had it not been for our acquaintance, Darren Rogart never would o’ met my Brandi and taken her from me.”
Taken her from me? Did he mean by marrying her, or killing her?
“So, your son-in-law wasn’t estranged from the family when either your daughter or your granddaughter went missing?”
Flannigan glared at her. “He’s been estranged from me for a long time.”
“What about the children? How do they feel about their dad?”
Another snort. “He’s got ‘em mesmerized. They think he walks on water.”
Diana’s turn to glare. She tried to neutralize her hostility. “A piece of advice, Joe,” she said, switching back to first name basis to soften her words, “don’t badmouth your son-in-law to his kids. That won’t make you any points in court.”
“They don’t make it easy for a man t’ do the right thing.” Flannigan’s emotions appeared genuine, or he was one damn good actor.
“What does the police report indicate? Is he a person of interest?”
“Your friend Jessie’s got a copy. As I read it, he’s not.”
“Then, what kind of evidence do you have that I could use to convince a court that the children would be better off with you and your wife? Or more importantly, what evidence that they might be harmed by living with their father?”
“Ask Jessie. That’s what I’m payin’ her for. Evidence.” He pounded the desk for emphasis.
“I’ll do that. Then I’d like to visit with your wife and grandchildren.”
“What for?” The hostility again, always boiling just below the surface.
“I need to see if you’re all of the same mind. Frankly, I need to find out how the children feel.”
The eruption Diana had expected didn’t materialize. “I guess that’s reasonable,” was all he said.
“I’ll have my secretary draw up our standard contract.” The words were out before she remembered it wasn’t our. Greg was gone. “I’ll need a retainer that will go into my trust account and be drawn upon as used—”
“Okay, okay. I know the drill.” He pulled a checkbook from his back pocket. “Five thou enough to get you started?” He didn’t bother to ask her billing rate.
Diana nodded, watching him fill in the check and tear it out. She hoped she wouldn’t regret taking on his case. Something felt off. Flannigan handed her his check and lurched out of the chair. Diana followed him as he lumbered to the door.
“Do you have any idea why the authorities don’t consider your son-in-law a person of interest in your daughter’s disappearance? I mean, usually the husband tops the list.”
He turned back toward her with a smirk. “Guess Jessie didn’t tell you yet. He used to be a cop. They guard their own dirty little secrets.”
Chapter 5
“Where’d you get this Flannigan character?” asked Diana. She and Jess sat at a window table in Top of the Rockies, preparing to enjoy a late lunch. Below them Denver’s Christmas lights sparkled on new snow.
“Winston’s AA group,” replied Jess as she zeroed in on a martini.
So much for confidentiality. Diana, still on painkillers, nursed a hot-buttered rum, minus the rum. “He doesn’t seem like your kind of client. Or Winston’s.”
Winston Bell, Jess’s significant other for the past several years, was a law professor at the University of Denver. When Winston pushed for marriage, Jess ran like the devil was after her. Although she knew Winston’s alcohol problem didn’t originate during his relationship with Jess, Diana could well imagine her friend—much as she loved her—driving a man to drink.
“Joe’s just a good ole boy. Grows on you after a while,” Jess smirked, “like warts.”
“So what’ve you found out? He told me to ask you.”
Jess drained her glass and motioned for their waiter before answering. “I took on Joe Flannigan as a favor to Winston, okay? I said I’d do it and I�
��m keeping my word. But truth is the guy creeps me out.”
“We’re in agreement there,” said Diana. As she watched, Jess’s expression turned from mildly annoyed to outright pissed as she focused on something behind Diana.
“Shit! If ever there was an argument against commitment, there it is.”
Diana turned and saw Greg piloting Cathy toward a table on the opposite side of the dining room. Diana’s former secretary wore a short beige skirt and a sweater that clung like a wet suit.
“Damn,” murmured Jess, “You can see her nipples from here. What do you think? New boob job?”
Embarrassed, Diana turned back toward her own table. But curiosity swiveled her around again. Something shiny glinted on Cathy’s left hand. Diana could only imagine. She was suddenly aware of her own newly naked third finger, left hand.
Jess offered her appraisal. “Cubic zirconium, no doubt.”
“You’re just trying to make me feel good.” Diana turned back toward Jess again, hoping the couple hadn’t noticed her looking at them.
Jess started giggling. “Did you see the silly grin on his face?”
“Like I care.”
Jess’s giggles increased. “He looks like the guy from that E.D. ad. You know the one I mean?”
“No. Definitely no.”
“If there’s any justice in this world, he’ll die of a priapism.”
“A what?”
“An erection lasting over four hours. You must’ve seen them.”
“In his dreams,” muttered Diana.
“I meant the ads.”
Diana doubled over. “Oww. It hurts to laugh.”
Their waiter set down steaming bowls of chowder before them. And Jess’s second martini. He was cute, thought Diana, about twenty-five. She watched Jess shoot him a grin, along with a wicked wink.
“Shame on you,” scolded Diana after he had left. “You made him blush.”
Jess ignored her comment. “Have you told your mom yet?” she asked.
“Did you have to remind me that I haven’t?”
“Well, you wanted to stop laughing. I guess that did the trick.”
“I’m going to call her tonight,” said Diana. “Let’s talk about Flannigan. Any history of abuse there?”
Jess shook her head as she started in on her clam chowder, taking several spoonfuls before replying. “From what I’ve been able to find out, one of the men from the hunting party grabbed Flannigan’s granddaughter off the street in Westcliffe and locked her up in a cabin he owns. Owned. The guy’s dead. Murdered. The feds found him outside the cabin where he was holding her.”
“If first impressions mean anything, I’d give my vote to Joe Flannigan. The nearest he came to a smile was when he told me about the guy being dead.”
“But Brandi, the mother, could’ve done it as well. That would give her a reason to run. As far as I know, the weapon—they think it was a hunting knife—it hasn’t been found.”
Diana frowned. “Flannigan said there were four other men in the group. Okay, there’s the dad, the dead guy, and … who else?”
“Couple more regulars on the annual hunt. But they’re not considered persons of interest.”
“Why not?” asked Diana.
Jess pointed toward the briefcase at her feet. “It’s all in there. Have at it.”
Diana glanced down, and then asked, “Have you met the kids?”
“No. Flannigan asked me to concentrate on their father.” Jess paused to crumble crackers into her chowder.
Diana laid down her spoon, gesturing for Jess to continue. “Hey, I don’t need the dramatic effect here. What’ve you got? Does he have any history of domestic abuse?”
Jess smiled enigmatically. “Darren Rogart doesn’t have so much as a traffic ticket. Doesn’t drink, smoke or do drugs. Just lots of good, clean, safe sex.”
“What?!”
“Ha! I knew that’d get your attention. Just kidding. Or guessing.”
“Or wishful thinking? Seriously, you had my attention. The sex part goes along with what Flannigan said. That the guy’s a womanizer.”
“Flannigan’s probably just jealous. The kids want to go back to their dad’s.”
“I thought you hadn’t met them.”
“I haven’t. It’s what Darren told me.”
“Darren?”
Jess shoved aside her empty bowl as the young waiter brought hot sandwiches to the table, then hurried away.
“I had to interview him, didn’t I?” said Jess. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“I don’t like the silly grin I’m seeing on your face. Jessie, you’re working for Flannigan.”
“Not any more.” Jess took a bite of Reuben sandwich, then closed her eyes sensually.
“Damn it, Jessie. It’s a good thing you’re not an attorney. You’d get disbarred if you pulled something like this.”
“Only if I got caught.”
“I don’t believe you. No wonder Winston drinks.” She regretted the words the instant they slipped out.
“He doesn’t and you know it. Not for years.”
“Maybe he should.”
“Anyway, it’s a non-issue. I moved out this week.” Jess squelched Diana’s sharp intake of breath and disapproving frown. “Don’t even go there. I’ll talk about it when I’m ready.”
They glared at each other; then ate in silence for a couple of minutes. Diana broke the silence as she remembered something Flannigan had said as he was leaving her office. “This Darren is a cop?”
“Was,” replied Jess without looking up.
“As in quit? Got fired? Come on, help me out here.” Diana snapped her fingers. “Disabled? No, I don’t think so.”
This drew a grin out of Jess. “A misfortune cost him his job,” she replied.
“Like what? You’re really pissing me off, Jessie.”
“Okay, okay. He did some time.”
Diana would have shot up out of the chair had it not been for the pinch of her recent stitches. “You said he didn’t even have a traffic ticket.”
“Well, he doesn’t. This is different. This wasn’t exactly a crime.”
“Somebody must’ve thought it was.”
Jess nodded slowly. “Are you familiar with the Lacey Act?” she asked.
“Not really. It sounds vaguely familiar. But … no.”
“It’s an archaic law that makes it a federal crime to transport game killed out of season across a state line. The man got jail time for shooting a sheep. Tell me that’s not screwed-up logic when you consider all the violent crimes against people that can get a perp probation and a slap on the wrist.”
Diana waited to comment until Jess looked like she’d gotten a tether on her emotions. In a calmer voice Jess concluded, “He was a Denver detective with a spotless record. That bighorn ram cost him his job and his pension. And, Diana, it was a victimless crime.”
“I don’t think the sheep would view it that way,” Diana couldn’t resist commenting. “I do recall the Lacey Act now. It’s supposed to protect wildlife from poachers.”
“Whatever,” said Jess with a dismissive flick of her hand. “Darren’s not in that class. He was set up by Joe Flannigan, I’m convinced of that. Here’s what I’ve got so far from Custer County and the Feebs.” She bent down, took a file from her briefcase, and then handed it to Diana.
Diana took the file, noting its thickness. “Custer County?” she asked.
“That’s where Darren’s daughter was found and his wife disappeared. Sangre de Cristos, near Westcliffe. Where the good ole boys used to hunt every year.”
Diana felt an uneasiness stemming from Jess’s shift in loyalties. “But they were Darren Rogart’s good ole boys, according to Flannigan.”
“I have a big problem with Flannigan’s credibility. I wish I’d never referred him to you.”
“Now you tell me.” Diana flipped through some of the pages in Jess’s file without really reading them. “So, what changed your mind?”
/> “According to Darren they were Joe’s buds. Maybe he knew all the time where his granddaughter was.”
“What possible motive—”
Jess’s response, in an imitation of Flannigan’s drawl, cut off her question. “Good ole boys often have a hankerin’ for young things. Brandi Flannigan Rogart may have been intimately familiar with this hankerin’ and decided that the buck stopped there. No pun intended.”
Chapter 6
By the time Diana finished lunch with Jess, it was dark outside. Still snowing lightly, but not too cold. She walked the block to her office building, hoping to build up her strength. Small steps, she told herself. You will not let this beat you down.
It was not such a bad thing to have this muddled case Jess had thrust upon her, only to jerk it away by undermining the client. Knowing she was using it as a distraction from her own situation, Diana mentally replayed Jess’s words regarding Flannigan. The possessiveness the man had exhibited toward his daughter when Diana had interviewed him, along with the depersonalization of the granddaughter, could be markers along a path of abuse. She’d get a better read when she met the man’s wife and the grandkids.
Inside her building, riding the elevator to the ninth floor, Diana was only slightly winded from the walk. As she entered her office suite, Tamara greeted her with a fistful of messages.
“Oh, and your mother called three times. Am I still not supposed to tell her anything?” Tamara’s eyes, behind wire-rimmed glasses, chided her gently.
“I know I have to deal with telling her,” Diana replied. Tamara was proving to be a good replacement for Cathy. The voice of reason, without being pushy about it.
“If I could help, I would.” Tamara gave her an earnest smile with no pity in it.
Pity was something Diana couldn’t deal with. And it was bound to come pouring through the phone line as a result of filling her mom in on all that had had happened since last they’d talked. And advice. Advice on how she should have dealt with Greg.
Tamara glanced up at the wall clock. Five o’clock. “You want a ride home?” asked her secretary.
The Trophy Hunter Page 3
