He focused his attention in her office, particularly on the filing cabinet. It was one you could buy at any business supply store, with a lock that only took a hairpin to open. He sprang that and looked inside.
The top drawer held personal information, and he flipped through that, skimming the carefully marked file folders to see whether there was anything that caught his eye. He checked the one for her mortgage papers and her income tax. A person's financial situation often suggested alternative answers. Like the woman who'd tried to hire him to kill her supposedly abusive husband . . . and it turned out she was neck-deep in gambling debt, and her husband wasn't eager to empty their 401(k) to pay off her bookies.
In the second drawer, he found Angela's legal files. Not the full files--those would be in her office. Here she only kept copies of the most pertinent information, presumably in case she needed it while working evenings or weekends. Past clients took up the rear three-quarters of the drawer. She kept the current ones in front. Those were the files he lifted out.
As he pulled the files, he dislodged a legal pad. On it, Angela had been making notes, doing a little detective work of her own. Jack set the files down and leafed through the notes.
Angela had made a list of all the cases she'd taken over from Charles Atom--the injured lawyer. Then she'd cross-referenced that list with another one, presumably the names of people who also had some connection to the murdered social worker and judge. Three suspects arose. Jack pulled those files. As he took pictures of the pages, he skimmed them.
Suspect number one--Steve Forrest--was what Jack would call a classic angry white man. A middle-aged guy who ran a successful local electronics business, only to have his wife object to his sleeping around. Not only did she leave him, but she also expected half the money he'd earned while she'd stayed home to raise their kids. The social worker--Mindy Lang--had gotten involved when their seventeen-year-old didn't want to visit Forrest anymore. Then the judge--Albert Kim--had forced Forrest to divulge details of investments he'd tried to hide. Charles Atom had been the opposing lawyer in Forrest's divorce case. Last month, Forrest had shown up at his ex-wife's house and told her that if she didn't want to be responsible for more deaths, she should agree to his divorce terms. She'd captured that threat on tape, which bumped Forrest to the top of the suspect list.
Next was Louis Stanton, an engineer whose wife had left him, claiming "irreconcilable differences." Just a breakdown of the marriage. It had started amicably enough--a fair division of assets and joint custody of the kids. Then Stanton got a job offer in California, and his wife wasn't willing to leave Hawaii--she ran a business in Honolulu--so Judge Kim ordered that if Stanton wanted to retain joint custody, he had to remain here. Stanton tried taking the kids to California anyway. He lost joint custody and started having all his visits monitored by Mindy Lang. Clearly the problem was that the family courts favored women, Stanton decided, and he launched a men's rights group, dedicated to dismantling the current system--"by force if necessary."
Suspect number three was a woman who'd been denied joint custody of her children based on prescription drug dependence. Sheila Walling had a run-in with Mindy Lang over visitation: she'd been late returning her kids, and on the urging of Atom, Mindy had advised the judge to reprimand Walling, which he had. Unlike the other two, Jack saw no indication that Walling had threatened anyone involved, either directly or obliquely. While Walling was a chemist by trade--which might help with the bombs--she seemed an odd choice of suspects . . . until Jack found a note deeper in her file. Six months ago, Walling had been the prime suspect in the murder of her ex-husband's new girlfriend, who'd been killed with a gift-wrapped IED. The police hadn't found enough evidence to charge Walling, but it was obvious that they'd taken this into consideration when looking for a person committing grudge murders . . . using IEDs.
Jack flipped through the other cases that Angela had taken from Atom. Nothing else stuck out, but he knew Nadia would want to be thorough, so he snapped shots of those pages, too. Then he went back to the three prime suspects.
The cops would be investigating all of them--looking for the missing evidence that would let them lay charges. Which was a perfectly rational way to go about it, but Jack wasn't a cop, and really, he preferred a more direct approach.
Time to go and see a man about a grudge.
Chapter Nine
Nadia
Angela Kamaka was a partner at a downtown Honolulu law firm. In this case, "partner" just meant she was one of the two lawyers who worked there along with a support staff.
When I first walked in, the front desk was empty, but I'd barely crossed the floor before a young man zipped out from a side room and ducked behind the desk.
"I'd like to speak to Ms. Kamaka," I said.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No, but I'm hoping she'll have a few moments to speak to me."
He gave me a quick once-over, and his lips tightened. "If you are a reporter--"
"I'm not here looking for a story. A mutual friend sent me. I just need a moment of her time."
He picked up the phone and turned away for a brief murmured conversation. Then, with an abrupt wave, he walked off down the hall, leaving me to follow. When we reached a closed door, he stopped and said, "I have security on speed dial."
"Under the circumstances, I'm glad to hear it."
The door opened before he could knock, and Angela stood there, one hand on her hip.
"You do know I can hear you, right, Richard?"
"As I have said before, we need to invest in better soundproofing." He walked away, raising his watch as he did, a reminder he'd be watching how much of his boss's time I consumed.
"Ignore him," Angela said as she closed the door behind me. "Everyone here is a bit overprotective these days."
"Better than the alternative." I turned to face her. "And because I know you're busy, I'm going to use that as a segue to get straight to the point. It's not just your office staff that's feeling protective. I'm a personal bodyguard, hired by a concerned third party."
She eyed me, her head tilted. I waited for her to say I didn't look much like a bodyguard, but after that assessment, she nodded, walked to her chair and waved for me to sit.
"The fact that you aren't naming my benefactor tells me it's anonymous."
"It is. I'm a former police officer, living in the Detroit area, currently working part-time as both a bodyguard and investigator." I took a sheet from my bag and set it on her desk. "My credentials and references."
They were all fake. Or fake in the sense that I'd never done bodyguard work, and my private investigations weren't something I'd put on a resume. But like the credit cards, they were real numbers. If she called them, she'd get glowing references from Quinn, Felix and Evelyn. Well, maybe not "glowing" from Evelyn, but she'd confirm I was competent enough.
Angela drummed her fingers on the paper, her lips pursed. Then she looked up at me.
"Private benefactor, huh?"
"Someone who is concerned about your situation. All my expenses have been paid. I'll be mostly acting as a bodyguard and security consultant, but I'll do some investigating as well while being careful not to interfere with the police."
She nodded. "And this benefactor . . ."
"Is paying me very well, meaning this isn't a scam where I'll later charge you for 'additional' expenses. I'll sign anything you need to that effect."
"That isn't my concern. It's . . . the benefactor. Any chance he's . . . Oh, I don't know. Male? Late fifties? Six foot five? Built like a Mack truck? Swears like a sailor? Works in the . . . extermination biz, you might say."
Oh, hell, no.
I'd run this scenario past Cypher, asking if there was any chance she'd realize it was him.
"Fuck, no," he'd said. "Been too long."
Maybe so, but Cypher was a man who left a lasting impression.
I kept my expression under control, only my eyebrows shooting up. "That definitely doesn't soun
d like my client. Not unless he's had a sex change since you last saw him. And even if he had, given those stats, I think he--she--would stand out."
"Hmm."
She eyed me, her gaze boring in. Then she leaned back in her chair. "So you're here to keep me safe."
"That's what I was hired for."
"Qualifications? Besides being a former law officer?"
"I know some martial arts. No black belts, but I can hold my own. I'm an investigator and something of an expert in private security, so I can assess your current setup. I'm also a crack shot."
"Hmm."
A long stretch as she continued to study me, and I tried not to squirm under that stare.
"All right," she said. "Tell me . . ." She looked at my fake resume with my fake name. "Nancy Cooper. What is your plan here? Assess my situation."
"You face the most danger at home. That's where the perpetrator likes to strike. You've avoided attack there, though, so he--or she--may have to branch out and get more creative. Your office seems good, though I'd suggest you tell your receptionist to stay at his post--he wasn't there when I walked in. I'm sure you've instructed him not to accept parcels. I would also tell him not to let someone off the street into your office. He thought I was safe because I don't look like a threat. That's a problem."
"I would agree."
"With some adjustments, you'll be safe here. Same as at home. I won't hover in either place. I can stay the night if you like--"
"I'd rather you didn't. The police are outside all night. That's enough."
"Then my main job will be shadowing you when you're not at home or here in your office. When you're safely in one of those places, I'll be investigating. I'd like to speak to the detective in charge--Lee--so she understands that I won't interfere with her work."
"Also agreed."
"Today, when you have time, I'd like to go over your client roster, see if I can find any suspects."
"Oh, I already have a few." She reached for a drawer.
As Angela gave me the rundown on the primary suspects, I received a text from Jack, who was checking out Angela's house.
Got SF. Will get LS later.
Yes, Jack texted like he talked, which was great for privacy. Not so helpful for clarity.
SF and LS? Initials? That was the first thing that came to mind. Then my gaze flicked to the stack of files on Angela's desk . . . and my own notes.
Steve Forrest.
Louis Stanton.
So Jack was one step ahead of me.
I turned my attention back to Angela, sorting through the files and taking pages she could show me without breaching confidentiality. The suspects were all former spouses of her clients, and those clients had to be protected.
"These are the three who worked with Mindy, Judge Kim and Charles," she said.
"Did you take over all of Mr. Atom--Charles's--cases?"
"All his family court ones, but these are the three who've been questioned, so I feel comfortable giving you their information. Not the others."
"Understood."
"You'll also want to talk to Mindy's ex, Howard Lang."
"He's a suspect?"
She looked up in surprise, and it took a moment for her to answer. When she did, she gave a soft laugh. "No, not Howard. Sorry--I see how that sounded. I meant you'll want to speak to him about the case. He's a retired police officer. He took early retirement and started a security business. He's been investigating her murder."
I lifted my brows.
"Yes," she said. "The police usually frown on that, but Howard knows what he's doing, and he doesn't interfere. He still loved Mindy. It was an amicable split. No children, assets divided fifty-fifty. He was still part of her life, and her death hit him hard. So he's been investigating and sharing his information with the police. You'll want to talk to them, of course, but you should also speak to Howard."
A rap on the door. It opened, and Richard poked his head in. "Victor Walling is here for his appointment."
When he withdrew, I said, "Is that . . . ?"
She nodded. "Sheila Walling's ex-husband. It's a mediation meeting." She lifted the pages she'd taken from the files. "I'll have Richard copy these and call Detective Lee. She's lead on the case. Richard will introduce you."
As soon as we stepped into the hall, a woman barreled through the main office door. Late thirties. Well dressed. Purposeful stride. Her gaze flicked my way. Caught me. Dismissed me. Kept moving . . . and landed on the man standing beside Richard's desk. He was about her age. Thin. Balding. As soon as her gaze lit on him, he shrank back.
"Victor," she said.
"Sheila." His gaze only made it to her neck level, and he seemed to be using all his willpower not to turn and flee.
"Let's get this over with," Sheila said. "Where is--?" She turned just as another man walked through. "Good, both lawyers present and accounted for. On with the show."
She headed into a side room, leaving everyone else trailing after her. Richard rolled his eyes and mouthed something. Angela shook her head before following.
"I'll just read those pages out here if that's okay," I said to Richard once Angela was gone. I nodded to the chairs . . . right outside the meeting room door.
"Actually, I think you'll find the acoustics better in there." He pointed to an office beside the meeting room.
"Thanks," I said with a smile.
"Don't thank me. Just stop this killer before he hurts Angela."
Chapter Ten
Jack
Men never checked the back seat of their cars before getting in. Some women did. Not all, mind you, but the percentage was vastly higher than with men. Women had heard too many stories of attackers lurking in the back seat. Men heard the same tales--and figured it didn't apply to them. Which Jack had always found very convenient.
He'd been surveilling Forrest for the past hour, and when the man headed for the parking garage, there was little doubt of his destination. Jack had already located Forrest's SUV and broken in, searching for clues, so he hurried around and got in position.
He waited until Forrest backed the vehicle from its spot. Then he put a gun to his head. Forrest jumped clear off his seat. Didn't hit the horn, though. They never did, the shock of that gun barrel blasting through common sense.
"Drive," Jack said.
"T-take the truck. Just let me out--"
"Drive."
Forrest glanced in his rearview mirror. His gaze went straight to the gun, lowered but still pointed at his head.
Forrest let the vehicle roll through the dark covered parking lot. "Whatever this is about--"
"Mindy Lang. Albert Kim. Sara Atom."
"W-what? Did someone hire you--?"
"No one hires me, Mr. Forrest. Now drive."
Jack directed Forrest to a densely wooded spot. Tropical jungle, Jack guessed, and any other time, he'd have admired the beauty. Right now, though, he was kinda busy.
He ordered Forrest out of the SUV and made him walk into the dark jungle. Jack wore a disguise, but if he could add shadows, he always did. When they were far enough in, Jack walked in front of Forrest.
The man's gaze tripped over Jack and stuck on his biceps, which weren't overly intimidating, but they were a helluva lot bigger than Forrest's. Jack suspected, though, that it wasn't the muscles that gave Forrest pause. It was the scars. They were fake. Jack had scars, but he'd added more impressive ones to fit his look of the day. He'd blackened and gelled his hair. Bought jeans that were really too tight for comfort. The mustache might be overdoing it. The fake gold rings definitely were. It was a caricature of a middle-aged mobster. But a guy like Forrest, though--with his low-end luxury SUV and ill-fitting expensive suit--wasn't likely to have much contact with actual organized crime, and the look on his face said Jack's outfit worked just fine.
"L-look," Forrest said, his hands going up. "Whoever hired you, I can pay more."
"Hired me?" Jack let a Russian accent underscore his words. "Hired me to do wha
t?"
"I--I don't know."
"I said, no one hires me, Mr. Forrest."
"O-okay . . ."
"Do I look like I am for sale?"
Forrest hesitated and then gave a wary, "No?"
"I am the person who hires men who are for sale. And I want to hire you."
"Wh-what?"
"I need to take care of some . . . pests. Preferably with explosives. I have heard you are the man to see."
Forrest's eyes bugged. "I don't know what you're--"
"I would prefer explosives. Yet I can be flexible, and I have heard you are a very flexible man. Cars, bullets, things that go boom . . . Such talents are valuable in my business."
"N-no. You've made a mistake."
"Do not play this game. It does not become business men like ourselves." Jack took a wad of bills from his pocket. "Haggling is a waste of my time. The rate is, I believe, fifty thousand per pest. I have one I need taken care of. I will give you five thousand now, as a measure of goodwill."
"Fifty thousand dollars? To kill--"
Jack cut him off with a frown. "Please do not use that word, Mr. Forrest. It is unseemly."
"Who the hell told you I do that?"
"Shall I repeat the names? Yes, I know that was not work--it was personal. But you have been very clear that it was you, and yet you have not been charged. We are impressed. We wish to hire you."
"I don't--I don't do that. At all."
Jack narrowed his eyes. "Who have you been speaking to? Is it Wilhelm? Has he snatched you from under my nose?"
"No." Forrest backed up, both hands raised. "You have the wrong guy. Totally wrong. I've never . . . gotten rid of anyone. I just said that to scare my ex."
"It was a joke?"
"Sure, yeah." A ragged laugh. "A joke."
"It is not funny." Jack looked over Forrest's shoulder. "Do you think it is funny, Bruno?"
Forrest glanced back and saw Cypher standing right there behind him. Forrest let out a yelp . . . and a wet spot spread across the front of his trousers.