Damien frowned at him. “Of course she’ll tell us, this is our case too, and we are the ones who will be guarding him.” His words sounded confident but a hint of uncertainty was evident in his tone.
“And what about me?” Kurt spoke up. “Am I one of the select group who gets to know where I’ll be staying?”
Anticipating the remarks of poorly veiled bellyaching from the detectives, Lana knew their half-joking complaints were due to a feeling of being left out of the loop. Not having time for a distraction of a verbal tussle with the two, she addressed her answer to Kurt. “You’ll be staying with Nellie Langstrom. You may remember her. She was your aunt’s neighbor.”
“Sure, I remember Nellie,” Kurt said. “Nice lady, although a little on the crazy side.”
“A little?” Jamie scoffed. “That woman is nuts. Why there?” he asked Lana.
Lana was prepared for the question and quickly rattled off the reasons. “It’s close to the Steel Bridge where Kurt needs to appear, no one would think to look there, and Roselyn Wymer’s apartment will provide a place for you two to stay nearby.”
“And The Nellie is okay with this?” Jamie asked.
“She is. I had a nice long chat with her on the way back from Cascade Global. And,” she added with a twinkle in her eye, “ she is expecting you, all three of you, for dinner.”
“Thanks,” Jamie said as insincerely as he could muster.
“Guess I better call my wife,” Damien said. “Let her know I won’t be home tonight.”
“Be sure to tell her you’ll be having dinner with another woman,” Jamie called as his partner went off down the hall. To Lana, he said, “You won’t be joining us?”
“Me? No,” Lana said. “I’ve got to get ready for an interview.”
Chapter Twelve
Arriving at the TV studios, Lana stared at the maze of hallways and doors. Checking her notepad for the studio number she’d been given, she looked up and down the halls. Just when she’d decided this was the wrong building, a side door opened and out stepped Kristyn Falorni, the news anchor, and host for the interview.
“Detective Denae?”
“Yes,” Lana said. Then with a sheepish smile, “I thought I was lost.”
“Oh, no. We’re on the other side of the building,” the host explained. “But it’s okay. Everyone comes in this way. We probably need some better signage out front.” The woman frowned then. “The receptionist should have directed you to the correct studio set when you checked in.”
“I didn’t really check in,” Lana admitted. “Too used to finding my own way.”
They walked down the empty hall chatting easily. As Kristyn opened the door to the studio, Lana was a little surprised at how small it was. “Looks bigger when you see it on TV,” she said.
Kristyn laughed. “That’s what everybody says.”
The cameraman and a couple other people were already there. As soon as Lana was seated, Kristyn was ready to begin. Taking her cue from the one of the sidemen, she turned to face the camera. “I’d like to welcome my guest, Detective Lana Denae of the Portland Police Bureau. Lana, why don’t I let you tell the folks why you’re here?”
“Thanks,” Lana said. The butterflies that had crept into her stomach when she realized the cameras were rolling, surprisingly faded once she started talking. Feeling totally at ease, she began her spiel. “I’m here in connection with the jumpers we’ve had recently.” She then launched into a repeat performance of the sales pitch she’d given Jamie and Damien the day before.
Laying out the story, she described the computer glitch at Cascade Global and the resulting frantic state of the investors when they discovered their life’s savings had evaporated, which had tragically led to them taking their own life.
Then, her face drawn in a contrived expression of deep concern, she told how other investors had also been affected; saying most had been advised of the situation. “But there is still one we’ve been unable to reach,” she said in a strained voice that she hoped conveyed her “worry.”
Kristyn sat listening intently, interrupting with a question occasionally, but for the most part, letting her guest talk freely.
Emphasizing the part about the pending quarter million dollar payout, Lana disclosed the details of Kurt Stabler’s status.
She was careful to stick to the script, not giving away any information that would compromise the mission. She ended with a near tearful plea for the public’s help in locating the missing Kurt Stabler.
Holding up the eight by ten photo, Lana said, “If you see this man, or if you know him, or have any information on his whereabouts, please give the Portland Police Bureau a call.”
“Can you turn the picture to the right just a little?” Kristyn asked. “So, our camera man can get a better shot.”
Lana complied, holding the pose until the man with the camera gave her a nod that said he was done. Then, she made one final pitch. “Remember, this man could be deeply distraught and suffering from severe depression. If you see him, please do not approach. Call the police and let us do our job.”
“Well, that wraps up our interview,” Kristyn said. “Thank you, Detective.”
“Thank you.”
“I sincerely hope we can be of some assistance in finding this man,” Kristyn said. “Such a tragedy.”
Waiting until she was given the all clear, Lana stood, shaking hands with her host. “The Portland Police Bureau thanks you, as do I.”
“Glad to help,” Kristyn told her. “I only hope you find the man before it’s too late.”
Lana nodded grimly. “I’m confident we will.”
Suddenly, she felt a twinge of guilt at having made up the story and not cluing Kristyn in on the truth. She liked the news lady and forcing the well-respected host to unwittingly play a part in the hustle went against the grain. But if she expected the ruse to work, that’s the way it had to be. Still, she didn’t have to feel happy about it.
Leaving the studio, Lana realized how tired she was. The interview had taken more out of her than she’d expected. Skipping a full night’s sleep was catching up with her.
Deciding to forego watching herself on the news, when she arrived home, she grabbed a quick bite and went straight to bed. The next day could be quite eventful—and long. She might need to get some rest—at least a little more than usual.
* * * * *
Returning from their early evening dining experience with Kurt at Nellie Langstrom’s, Jamie and Damien warmed up the ancient TV set in Roselyn Wymer’s apartment. The six o’clock news would be coming on soon and neither one of them wanted to miss it.
“Think she’ll do all right?” Jamie asked. “Or crash and burn?”
“She’ll do fine,” Damien assured him. “Since when has she failed at anything?”
“Well, if she doesn’t have at least one gaff, I’ll be surprised. This is, after all, her first television experience.”
“Surprised? Or, disappointed?”
“Not disappointed. Not really. I don’t want her to look bad or anything. Besides, our case may depend on her pulling this off.”
“But...” Damien prompted.
Jamie grinned. “Okay, it would give us something to badger her about.”
Pointing to the TV, Damien said. “She’s on.”
They watched the entire interview, all twelve minutes, in silence. When it was over, Jamie let out a low whistle. “That was even more convincing than the preview she gave us.”
“Yeah,” Damien agreed. “She looked genuinely concerned for Mr. Stabler. Almost as if she were really stressed out and tired from worrying about him.
“That’s because she is tired,” Jamie reminded his partner. “She’s been up for two days.”
“Hopefully, it was just as convincing to our murder suspect, whoever he is,” Damien said.
Just then, a firm knock sounded on the door. The detectives exchanged glances. No one was supposed to know they were there, except for the Captain
and Lana—and Nellie Langstrom and Kurt, but the detectives could hear those two talking next door.
Killing the lights, Damien drifted back to the far corner, gun drawn, as Jamie approached the door. Standing to the side, hand on his weapon, he said to Damien in a whispered voice, “Ready?”
“Ready.”
Jamie pulled open the door part way, keeping his body out of the possible line of fire. Then, as his eyes focused on the figure in the hall, he relaxed, motioning to his partner that there was no danger. The man at the door was the building manager, Paul Borland.
“Can I help you?” Jamie asked.
“Yes, you can,” the man said, his voice betraying his hostility. “You can start by telling me why you’re here, without permission.”
“Sir, this is a crime scene. We’re conducting an investigation. And, as has been made clear to you on at least two previous occasions, we do not require permission to do our job.”
Ignoring Jamie’s sound explanation, Mr. Borland, with a defiant look on his face, spluttered, “I’ve repeatedly asked you people to check with me before entering the premises. Yet, you continue to dismiss me.”
Damien had moved closer, standing now beside his partner. “Mr. Borland,” he said, opening the door a little farther, “you need to go back downstairs and stay out of the way. Do not come back up here.”
“I’ll not be told what to do in my own building!” Borland said, not budging.
“Sir,” Jamie said, trying to keep his voice even. “If you do not leave, we will be forced to arrest you for interference in a police investigation.”
“Are you threatening me?” Borland demanded, moving a step forward.
“Only with arrest, sir,” Damien said. “Which I’m sure none of us want.”
Both of the detectives had remained calm, speaking quietly but authoritatively. Their purpose was to diffuse the situation and not escalate it to something more. They certainly didn’t want a scene. No one needed to know of their presence at the apartment.
But Paul Borland was having none of it. “You can’t arrest me! This is my building!” he shouted.
His voice growing measurably louder, Jamie said, “If you prefer, we can start poking around, see what we can dig up. There must be some reason you keep insisting we give you a warning before showing up. I wonder what you’re trying to hide?”
The raucous man went suddenly quiet. He made no move to leave but the detectives could tell he was thinking, contemplating Jamie’s words. Not willing to give in just yet, he abruptly switched tactics. “The Portland Police are going to owe me for this. You have been in and out of here for nearly a month and I haven’t seen a dime of compensation. You can’t just use this apartment rent free.”
“That’s not really our call. You’ll have to take it up with our Captain, or someone at the city,” Damien said.
“I will,” Borland retorted. Then, not wishing to push the issue further, afraid they would make good on their promise to start snooping around the place, he began to back away, grumbling all the while. “I’m not obligated to provide the police a place to stay or to do their job.” He paused only long enough to take a breath. “I’m paying taxes on a precinct that, apparently, isn’t being used.” Getting no response from the detectives, Borland mumbled something about the injustices and financial hardship this investigation was causing, and finally walked away. As he disappeared down the stairs, he was still grumbling to himself.
Closing the door to drown out the man’s fuming rant, Jamie looked at Damien and both shook their heads. “Is everyone in this building crazy?”
“Hope not,” Damien said. “We’re here, after all.”
“Doesn’t sound promising for us then, does it?”
The two spent most of the evening in idle conversation, watching TV—just passing time. Shortly before ten o’clock, getting a case of the hungries, Jamie got up and started noisily going through the cabinets.
“What are you doing?” Damien asked with an appalled look.
“I’m hungry.”
“Well, so am I but you can’t be eating a dead woman’s food. That just ain’t right.”
“She ain’t going to be needing it,” Jamie said, still scrounging through the cupboards.
“No.” Damien scampered to his feet. “I can’t let you do that. That’s like grave robbing.”
“Not exactly,” Jamie said. “I ain’t digging up anything.”
Damien shook his head, dismayed at the idea. “At the very least, it’s sacrilegious.”
“Well, how are we supposed to get something to eat, then? We can’t leave.”
“You ever heard of pizza? Or Chinese takeout? They do deliver, you know.”
“And what do we say, we’re here at the Rose City Apartments, number 607, the dead woman’s place?”
Damien sighed. “Why do you have to make everything so hard?” Reaching for his phone, he called to order a pizza and something to drink. Giving Nellie’s address, he hung up. “Now when I see the delivery guy pull up outside, I’ll go out and meet him in the hall.”
Jamie didn’t answer but sat with a slight smirk on his face. An obviously disturbed Damien didn’t seem to notice.
An hour later, well fed and becoming tired, they decided it might be best to get some sleep.
“Think one of us needs to stay awake?” Damien asked.
“No,” Jamie answered. “Anyone tries anything, the commotion The Nellie creates is bound to wake us.”
With a laugh, his partner agreed.
Staying in the living room, Damien switched off the light. Claiming the couch, he laid back, closing his eyes.
Already comfortable in the recliner, Jamie was content to remain right where he was. Sitting there in the dark silence, he startled chuckling to himself.
“What’s so funny?”
“You.”
“Why am I funny?” Damien asked with a yawn.
“You really thought I’d eat a dead woman’s food? That’s just creepy. But thanks for the pizza.”
Damien rose up half way off the couch. “You went through that entire charade just so I’d spring for the pizza?”
“Mm-hm,” Jamie answered.
“Cheapskate.”
“If that’s the worst you ever call me, I’ll be happy.”
They continued the back and forth, taking small jabs at each other, neither noticing when they finally fell asleep.
Hours later, they were startled by a loud and forceful pounding on the door. Instantly awake, Damien noticed the sunlight streaming in the window. It was morning.
“Think that’s the manager again?” Jamie asked in a low voice.
“Wouldn’t surprise me, but I don’t think so,” Damien answered. “Different sounding knock.”
They both remained where they were, neither particularly inspired to answer the door. Then, the knock came again; followed by a female voice, “Open up guys.”
“Lana,” they said together, jumping up.
Damien went to open the door. “Come in,” he invited.
“Thanks,” Lana said, stepping through the doorway. Inside the apartment, her eyes took in the greasy pizza box and empty soda pop cans. She gave them a raised eyebrow look. “Have a little party last night?”
“Pizza party,” Jamie said, nodding.
“In a dead woman’s house?”
Jamie gave her a shrug. “The living still get hungry.”
“S’pose they do.”
Damien spoke up, then. “You didn’t come by here at the ungodly hour of,” he paused looking to find the clock.
“It’s eight o’clock,” Lana told him. “Hardly early.”
Eight o’clock! Blinking in surprise, Damien finished. “You didn’t come by just to talk about food.”
“You’re right,” she nodded. “I came to make sure you two were up. I’m on my way to Cascade Global. Mr. Holloway called this morning to say that our suspect did access their computers, specifically, Kurt Stabler’s account. It h
appened last night about two a.m.”
“So, he must have seen your TV special, huh?”
“Guess so.”
“We saw it too,” Jamie said. “Nice job but you could have just held a press conference like everyone else.”
“Could have but this was a more controlled setting, with only one person asking questions,” Lana explained. “And a press conference is much too formal. Plus, they play it only once and then show just the highlights. The killer may still have seen it but I thought we had a better chance of that this way.”
“Still, a little consideration on your part would be appreciated.”
“Consideration? For what? Why?” Lana was clearly confused.
“Why? Because you just made the whole Bureau look bad if anyone else ever has to do one of those.”
Lana laughed. “Is that your way of giving me a compliment?”
Jamie shrugged. “Take it any way you want.”
“I’m only interested in how the killer took it,” Lana said. “That’s the only opinion that matters.”
“True.”
“So was Holloway’s guy able to trace the hacker?” Damien asked.
Lana shook her head, “Unfortunately, no. The hacker seems to have covered his tracks again. But Ray might be able to find out anyway. Says he has a few tricks up his sleeve that Holloway’s guys may not know. He’s on his way over there now. Which is where I’m supposed to be headed too. Just wanted to make sure you guys were up.”
As she was on her way out the door, they told her of Paul Borland’s visit the night before. Lana was only mildly surprised. “The guy is a strange one,” she said.
“We decided the building must have something to do with it,” Jamie told her. “Everyone here eventually starts acting peculiar.”
Lana smiled bleakly. “In that case, I’m leaving,” she said, closing the door.
Chapter Thirteen
Ray Chaffe was already immersed in the task of decoding the tracking software by the time Lana showed up at Cascade Global. She knew better than to bother him and instead went to find Mr. Holloway.
Dead Broke (Lana Denae Mystery Series Book 1) Page 9
