“Well, Paul and I did,” Jimmy cut in.
“Paul?” Daisy asked.
“Paul Lewinski. He’s the detective in charge of the case,” Jimmy replied, looking at Izzy. To Daisy that glance implied a connection between the woman and Paul. Oddly, she noticed the other woman stiffen.
Daisy asked, “Was he the man I saw you talking with?”
Izzy hadn’t moved her hand and Jimmy seemed to be enjoying her touch. He now placed his hand over hers. Daisy noticed.
“Yes,” Izzy answered. “He was called out on a homicide downtown.”
Jimmy was surprised at the comment. He hadn’t heard rumblings of a new murder as he traversed the room. After his years on the force, his ears were attuned to what should now have been a low hum as law enforcement personnel spread the news. He’d heard nothing. He could only conclude that for some reason there was a tight lid on this new murder.
“Could I impose upon you to take me home?” Izzy asked out of the blue. “Paul told me to catch a ride with someone if I could. I’ll call a taxi, if you haven’t time.”
“No problem,” Jimmy said. “If we can stop at the office first. There are some business calls I need to make.”
As Daisy listened, she figured out that Paul was the tall man who had been speaking to her friend. She hesitantly questioned, “That gentleman, Paul? looked familiar to me. I wonder if I could have met him before?”
“He’s in the public eye often,” Jimmy said. “Lewinski’s getting quite the name for himself as a homicide detective. You’ve probably seen him on TV.”
“Maybe…” Daisy said slowly. If that was the case, why did she feel so ill at ease? There was just something about him that had made her uncomfortable.
“Anyway,” Izzy said. She didn’t want to talk about Paul; he was Abby’s problem. She was more interested in finding out how Daisy’s life had gone the last few years. “What have you done with yourself since college?”
They entered into a conversation that, if it hadn’t been for the fact that he was with the two prettiest women in the room, Jimmy wouldn’t have listened to as closely. He learned about Daisy’s position on the board of Wilson Steel and her recent engagement, and Izzy inheriting her grandmother’s home after losing her family. Nothing was said about Grant, and nothing about Paul living with Izzy. He considered this, thinking that those things should have been important enough to at least be mentioned in passing. Since Izzy didn’t, it found it curious. And, he was embarrassed to admit, encouraging. It gave him hope to think that he had a chance.
After several minutes, the women hugged their goodbyes and promised to get together soon. Daisy went to round up Roland who was shooting the bull with a politician and Jimmy and Izzy said goodbye to their hosts.
Chapter 37
Once they got to Jimmy’s office, Izzy started right in cleaning up. She cleaned off the counter, even wiping out the refrigerator and scrubbing the stains out of the coffee pot and was sweeping the floor, all in the time he took him to call and talk to the girl at the number Anita Parker had given him for a Chicago hotel, which was where her husband was supposed to have stayed.
Under the excuse that he’d missed an appointment with the man, he asked if a Mr. Levy Parker was still in his room. Receiving a negative answer, he stated in that case, he was positive Mr. Parker would have left an envelope for him at the desk. No, there was no envelope. Feigning a little panic, he asked about a phone number or address where he could reach the man. The girl on the other end of the conversation, hearing his alarm and being a sympathetic sort, volunteered to check the address of the credit card Mr. Parker had paid with. After a few minutes of being on hold, she returned to the line.
“I’m sorry,” said a little girl, confused voice. “I can’t find a guest with the name of Levy Parker. What day did you say he checked in?”
“It would have been Sunday or Monday.”
“I’ve checked both days, and there was no one at our establishment under that name.”
“Well, this is very strange,” Jimmy said, making his voice sound embarrassed and confused. “I’m really sorry to have bothered you; I must have misunderstood. But I thank you for your time. You’ve been very helpful.”
He sat for a moment, thinking. The man wasn’t where he’d told his wife he’d be. Was there a girlfriend in Chicago, or was there an innocent explanation?
He took a little black book out of his pants pocket and looked up the number to the hacker he occasionally employed.
“Hello, Chase? This is Jimmy Warren.”
“Long time, buddy,” a squeaky adolescent-sounding voice said.
“Yeah, I’ve been out of town,” Jimmy drawled, hoping he wouldn’t have to go into it further. With Izzy in the room, he didn’t want to have to explain leaving a wife behind. It wasn’t a secret exactly. Izzy knew he’d been married before; he just wasn’t sure he’d mentioned that he wasn’t divorced yet. Come to think of it, he should be hearing from the Thug Brothers soon. Hopefully, with pleasant news this time.
“But, now you’re back.”
“Yes, now I’m back,” he said, grinning. Chase was young, maybe twenty, twenty-five years old, probably scrawny with a prominent Adam’s apple, and (in Jimmy’s mind’s eye), a penchant for mixing plaids and stripes. He was brilliant and a superlative hacker, albeit with a slightly askew way of looking at things. It would never be important to him where Jimmy had been, or why, just that he was here now. The kid lived in the present with his brain jammed so full of numbers, code, and logic that there was little room for anything else.
“Got a job for you, Chase.”
“Shoot.”
“I need you to get into one of the airline’s computers (I can’t tell you which airline), and find out if a Levy Parker flew out of Cincinnati, or possibly Dayton, with a destination of Chicago.”
“That involves Homeland Security. What with all the terrorists flying around the country.”
“If it’s a problem, I’ll figure some other way of finding out.”
“Didn’t say it was a problem,” Chase laughed, his voice cracking. “You insult me. Give me five minutes. Can’t stay on.” He hung up.
A dead phone stuck to his ear, Jimmy had to smile. That boy was a thorn in quite a few sides, business and government, but he liked him. He always got the job done. His need to not stay on a line for more than three minutes could sometimes be a pain, but you got used to it. You learned to talk fast.
Izzy had her hand in the file cabinet when Jimmy hung up the phone and turned to see what she was doing. His surprise must have showed, because she laughingly explained, “You really don’t have much of a system here, do you? I figured you needed help. I took secretarial courses in high school.”
Jimmy stood up and walked over to the cabinet, determined to put a stop to her intrusion, only to be embarrassed. Izzy was right. His filing skills were lacking. He jammed everything as it came in into the pockets of a simple fold-over file. She showed him one of the cold cases that she’d taken the time to rearrange. It was now organized by date and event, making it easier to locate a specific item, rather than wasting time sorting through every piece of paper the file held.
“Thank you, but you don’t have to do this,” he said lamely. “I’ll do it when I get time.”
“Sure, Jimmy,” she said, flashing him one of those beautiful smiles that made him forget his name.
The phone rang and he wobbled unsteadily back to his desk.
“Nope, nobody using that name flew out of either city,” Chase said abruptly. Small talk wasn’t a strong suit for the young man. Jimmy had come to realize that in dealing with Chase, time was an important commodity. At first disconcerting, now his predilection was understood and even welcomed. In the relative short period since Ada had left him, Jimmy had come to believe that time was a valuable commodity no matter what your age.
“I didn’t get into
the facial recognition hardware, since I didn’t have a photo.”
“That’s not necessary,” Jimmy said. “This man has no reason that I know of not to use his real name. If it wasn’t listed, then he didn’t fly out commercially.”
“Do you want me to check privately owned planes?”
“No. This is enough. I’ll send the usual your way.”
“Thanks, Jimmy. Later, man.” The phone clicked. Chase was gone again.
***
The expression on Paul’s face would have scared a grave robber, but since he drove nearly empty streets, no one would see. That uncaring disrespectful bitch had showed up at the memorial, ruining his chance to rub elbows with important people, and spoiling the photo session that was planned for afterward, had infuriated him, and probably set his career back immeasurably. His life was carefully plotted and the success he’d had finding the remains of the little rich girl was another steppingstone promising to put him front and foremost in the public eye. Over the last few years, he’d had several triumphs and had always made sure a few select reporters were aware of it. But this little rich girl with her powerful daddy, she was going to be his ticket for advancement. Paul wanted to be made lieutenant, and then the next chief of police. From there, mayor. Maybe, with his talents, governor wasn’t too much to think about.
But that dream was no closer than it had been the day before. That bitch, Daisy, had seen to it. First, she’d ruined their ‘special night’ and, unbelievably, had almost shot him. Then she had showed up at the post, barely avoiding their running face to face into each other. Now she did this. Old anger combined with new resulted in a cold rage that nearly blinded him. He drove on, unaware of his surroundings.
Beep! A horn blew. And then, beep! It blew again. He looked around and found himself stopped at an intersection, staring at a green light. Flipping a finger at the driver behind him, he drove across and to the next through street, where he turned right and parked in an available parking space. He shut the motor off and leaned forward, resting his forehead on the wheel. Closing his eyes, he blocked out the sounds of traffic, knowing he had to think.
After several minutes, he straightened, his mind made up. He had been a nice guy too long, and Daisy had pushed his buttons one too many times. It should be easy to find out who she was and where she lived, since she’d caught the attention of every man in the place and somebody would want to show off that he was acquainted with her. Paul had to admit the woman was certainly pretty. It didn’t seem their little dance had affected her looks much. She wouldn’t be so lucky the next time. Daydreams of the games they would play swirled through his head. An hour later, after finally coasting back to reality, he restarted the car and turned around, back toward home.
***
Paul breathed in the delicious aromas as soon as he opened the door.
“I thought we were going to eat out tonight?” he called to Abby back in the kitchen.
“You were so late that I decided to have hot food ready when you got home,” she replied. Her back was to him as she stirred a simmering pot at the stove. “We can go out another night, when you’re not so busy.”
Paul glanced at her sharply, wondering if she was being a wise-ass, or if she really thought he’d been hard at work. When she turned toward him, her face was composed and innocent. He relaxed, no longer suspiciou.
“I’m sorry you had to call a cab,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist.
“It goes with the territory,” she answered. “Your job is important, and it was really no problem. Although, turns out, I didn’t need a cab. Jimmy was there and he gave me a ride.” She didn’t notice Paul stiffen and casually continued, “He had to stop at his office first, but that only took a few minutes. He really needs a secretary, and I’m considering the job. I’ve been thinking of getting a part-time position for a while.”
“No,” Paul said more forcefully than he’d intended. “You don’t have to work; I make a good income,” he added hastily, after seeing the startled expression that settled on her face. It wasn’t his intention to upset her. But he did not want her working for Jimmy. For one thing, he’d begun to dislike the man, while she seemed to like him too much. For another, he wasn’t sure that the PI wasn’t suspicious. He’d seen him watching him. It had naturally pissed him off. No, Jimmy Warren was a man best to avoid, especially by Abby.
The look on Abby’s face now was odd. He didn’t remember ever seeing it before. Instead of her usual calm, serene appearance, she looked angry. This was so unlike her.
“I said I’m ‘considering’ it,” she said firmly, much too firmly for the Abby he knew. “It’s my decision if I work or not. I’m not saying you don’t make enough money. I’m saying I’m bored and I need to get out of the house.”
“Okay,” he said, putting his hands in the air in a motion of surrender. At the same time, inside, a part of him hardened. He knew she was interested in Warren, and if she really wanted that run-down private dick then he wasn’t going to let her know what this did to him. She’d been his first love; others before her had been merely sex. He did not realize that the reason he jumped to conclusions so quickly was because his feelings were shallow, although this had been the deepest connection he’d ever experienced. If he’d applied the classes he’d taken in Indianapolis to himself, it would have told him that most serial killers killed not because of intense emotion, but because of a lack of it. He had begun to sever the ties linking them. Once started on that path, he could never return.
“I just think it may be dangerous,” Paul continued, pretending it still mattered. As if she still mattered. “Remember being shot at in front of his building? That might happen again.”
She motioned him toward the table. As he sat, he glanced at her again. She looked different somehow, but he didn’t know what it was. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it.
“I’ll think about it,” she replied, closing the subject.
He thought it strange that she was so determined. This was also unlike her.
“I met an old friend,” she continued. “Daisy Wilson. I haven’t seen her since high school.”
Paul almost dropped his fork.
“Oh, really?” Somehow, he managed to keep his tone even. All thoughts of Abby showing a different side of herself vanished in an instant. The only thing that mattered now was that obnoxious bitch that flaunted herself to the world; the one that had gotten away, the one that just by being was a threat to his career and his very freedom.
“You know, Wilson Steel? Her daddy owns the business. She’s on the board now.”
He poked at the pork chop on his plate, moving it around. So, her last name was Wilson; this was what he’d needed to know. She was a rich-bitch. Wilson Steel was huge. She would undoubtedly have protection surrounding her, making it difficult to lure her someplace to play their delightful game. This was certainly a complication. Also, Abby’s knowing her was a tie that might prove too close. It was a link that could connect him with Daisy’s murder.
“She’s coming over sometime next week. We’re going to catch up on everything that’s happened since school.”
“I’m glad,” he said, cutting into his chop, as he considered the possible ramifications. She would be here? In this house?
“Were you good friends?” he asked.
“Not close, but I hope to know her better. She seems like a lot of fun.”
Paul smiled as he put a piece of the chop into his mouth, while mulling over what had been said. He certainly agreed with Abby on that point. Daisy had the potential of being fun. Serious fun.
Chapter 38
“Now Jimmee,” Thug One pleaded, grinning like a bemused native confronted with the effort needed to shrink an enemy’s head. “I trade for thees deevorce papers. You give last monies to our Ada.”
“I told you I haven’t got it,” Jimmy answered. His back was p
ressed to the door, his feet dangling as Thug Two suspended him. Although the brothers weren’t tall, they were built like weightlifters. Holding him off the floor a few inches didn’t seem to put a strain on the man. He wasn’t even breathing hard. The stupid grin, which was a copy of his brothers, and the garlic he’d eaten for lunch, however, weren’t so awe-inspiring.
“Jimmee… We know you paid. We read papers that say you big shot private eye now. You get good monies for that, right?”
Jimmy thought quickly. Okay, so they knew, no sense bemoaning his hard luck. In fact, it might be a good idea to give in and pacify them. In exchange, there was a chance he’d get the divorce papers.
“All right. Let me down. I’ll write a check, but you’re killing me.”
“Right here, Jimmee,” Thug One said, smiling, holding his checkbook up.
When his feet hit the floor, Jimmy patted his pants pocket, wondering how the man had gotten possession of it. Were the thugs pickpockets, too? There seemed to be no end to their talents.
“Two thousand. That’s half of what I got.”
Thug One shook his head, half amused, half sad. “No, twenty-five hundred. Like the first time. That ees half.”
Jimmy sputtered and complained as he wrote the check. “The landlord’s going to put me out on the street. Then there’ll be no detective agency and no way she’ll get another dime.” He slammed the utilitarian blue slip of paper down on the desk.
“Thees ees it. She no gets more.” Alphonso straightened and pushed a paper-clipped collection of papers across the desk where he’d been sitting with his feet crossed on top, watching his brother manhandle Jimmy. He now stood and smoothed out the black sport coat that was layered over a lightweight, black crewneck pullover. Black jeans completed the ensemble. Both brothers wore identical outfits; the only one Jimmy had ever seen them wear in public. He expected that at home, in private, they lounged around in boxers and wife-beater t-shirts. As soon as he thought it, he tried to get the vision out of his head. Too late. This was going to haunt him.
He picked up the papers and now even angrier, moved around to the other side of the desk.