Dangerous (8 page)

“I’m on leave of absence,” Kilraven pointed out.

“Yes, but you still have a boss who won’t like your involvement in a case that isn’t connected to your present employment.”

“I have a great boss. He’d understand.”

“Sure he would, but he’d still fire you.”

“I’ve been fired before.”

“You’ve been reprimanded, too. Don’t pile up too many demerits, boy scout,” Jon teased. “You’ll get yourself kicked out of any federal work.”

Kilraven sighed and stuck his big hands in his pockets. “I guess I could be a small-town cop in Jacobsville for life if I had to.”

“You’d never manage it. Cash Grier told Marquez that he’s already one step closer to nailing you in a barrel and sending you down the Rio Grande.”

“He’d have to get me in the barrel first and drive me all the way to the Rio Grande. By the time he got there, I’d have extricated myself from the barrel, appropriated his truck and had local authorities arrest him for kidnapping.”

Jon didn’t say anything. He just smiled. He knew his brother well enough to believe it.

“That said, he’s a good man to work for. He goes to the wall for his officers.”

“So does Garon Grier, here.”

Kilraven nodded. “They’re both good men.” He frowned. “Don’t they have two other brothers?”

“Yes. One of them is also in law enforcement.”

“Like the Earp brothers,” Kilraven mused.

“There were five of them. There are only four Grier brothers.” He got up. “We’re still running down leads on the murder victim,” he said. “I’ve got Ms. Perry checking parole files to see if we can find a match there. Maybe the victim was just out of prison and between jobs when he was wasted.”

“If he has a rap sheet, he’ll be easier to identify,” Kilraven agreed. “And if they cheek-swabbed him, which I imagine they did, Alice Jones can use all that high-tech stuff at the forensic lab to discover his identity.”

Jon nodded. “DNA is a blessing in cases like this where the DB is unidentifiable under conventional means.”

“Makes our job easier,” was the bland reply, “but good police work still largely consists of wearing out shoe leather. Speaking of which, I want to have a talk with Marquez. He might have gotten a look at his attackers.”

“We’ve already asked. He didn’t.”

“I want to talk to him anyway.”

“He isn’t back on the job yet. He’ll be at his mother’s house in Jacobsville.”

“Thanks,” Kilraven said drily. “I did know that, living in Jacobsville myself.”

Jon’s black eyes twinkled. “I understand that you had a visitor recently at your house. A blond one.”

“Good Lord. You heard that all the way up here?”

“You were seen by a substantial number of uniformed people.”

“Who drove by my house just to spy on me,” Kilraven said with mock disgust. “What is the world coming to when a man can’t have a cup of coffee with a guest?”

“A cup of coffee at a picnic table, outdoors, in freezing temperatures. Something wrong with the sofa in your living room?”

“If people can’t see you, they guess what’s going on and they’re usually wrong. I didn’t want Winnie subjected to gossip,” he added quietly. “She’s an innocent.”

Jon’s eyebrows went up over twinkling eyes. “And how would you have found that out?”

Kilraven glowered at him. “In the usual way.”

Jon pursed his lips. “Imagine that!”

“It’s not serious,” came the short reply. “She’s a friend. Sort of. But I asked her to the house because I wanted to know why she painted that picture that was a dead-ringer for Melly’s raven drawing.”

Jon sobered at once. He remembered his brother’s visit that night with the painting. “And?”

“She said she started to paint a landscape,” Kilraven replied with a puzzled expression. “She didn’t know why she painted a raven, or those colors on the beads. She didn’t know how I knew it was her, either. I’ve never even told her that our ranch is called ‘Raven’s Pride.’”

“We have those flashes of insight because it runs in our family,” Jon reminded him. “Our father had a cousin who was notorious for his very accurate visions of the future.”

Kilraven nodded. “I wonder where Winnie’s gift comes from. She doesn’t know. Funny,” he added, “but Gail Rogers, the detective who’s helping me with our case, has those premonitions. She gets some gossip when she pegs a suspect that nobody else connected with a case.”

The intercom buzzed. Jon answered it.

“Agent Wilkes is on his way in with Agent Salton, and you’re all due for a meeting in ASAC Grier’s office in ten minutes,” Joceline said in a voice dripping with sugar. “Would you like coffee and donuts?”

Jon looked surprised, as he should have. Ms. Perry never volunteered to fetch snack food. “That would be nice.”

“There’s a Dunkin’ Donuts shop around the corner,” she reminded him. “If I were you, I’d hurry.”

“I’d hurry?” he repeated.

“Yes, because my job description requires me to type and file and answer phones. Not be a caterer,” she added, still sugary. She hung up.

“One day, so help me, she’ll drive me to drink and you’ll have to bail me out of some jail where I’ll be surrounded by howling mad drug users,” Jon gritted.

Kilraven patted him on the shoulder. “Now, now, don’t let your blood pressure override your good sense.”

“If I had good sense, I’d ask for reassignment to another field office, preferably in the Yukon Territory!” he said loud enough for Ms. Perry to hear him as he opened his office door.

“Oooh, polar bears live there,” she said merrily. “And they eat people, don’t they?”

“You wish, Ms. Perry,” he shot back.

“Temper, temper,” she chided.

Jon was almost vibrating, he was so angry. Kilraven smothered laughter.

“I’ll call you,” he told his brother. “And thanks for the information.”

“Just don’t go off half-cocked and get in trouble with it,” Jon said firmly.

“You know me,” Kilraven said in mock astonishment. “I never do anything rash!”

Before Jon could reply, Kilraven walked out the door.

R
ICK
M
ARQUEZ STILL
had his arm in a sling and he was like a man standing on a fire ant hill. “They won’t let me come back to work yet,” he complained to Kilraven. “I can shoot with one hand!”

“You haven’t had to shoot anybody in years,” Kilraven reminded him.

“Well, it’s the point of the thing. I could sit at a desk and answer phones, but oh, no, I have to be at 100 percent before they’ll certify me fit for duty!”

“You can use the free time.”

“Yeah? For what? Watering Mom’s flowers?”

Kilraven was studying the dead bushes at the front porch. “They look dead to me.”

“Not those ones. These ones.” He let Kilraven into the living room, where huge potted plants almost covered every wall.

Kilraven’s eyebrows lifted. “She grows bananas and coffee in the house?” he exclaimed.

“Now how do you recognize coffee plants?” Marquez asked with evident suspicion. “Most people who come in here have to ask what they are.”

“Anybody could recognize a banana plant.”

“Yes, but not a coffee plant.” Rick’s eyes narrowed. “Been around coffee plants somewhere they don’t grow in pots?”

Kilraven grinned. “Let’s just say, I’m not a stranger to them, and leave it at that.”

Rick was thinking that coffee grew in some of the most dangerous places on earth. Kilraven had the look of a man who was familiar with them.

“I know that expression,” Kilraven said blandly, “but I’ve said all I’m going to.”

“I know when I’m licked. Coffee?”

“I’d love some.” He gave Rick a wry glance. “Going to pick the beans fresh?”

Rick gave the red berries a curious look. “I do have a grinder somewhere.”

“Yes, but you have to dry coffee beans and roast them before you can use them.”

“All right, now you’re really making me curious,” Rick told him.

Kilraven didn’t say a word. He just kept walking.

They went into the kitchen where Rick made coffee and Kilraven fetched cups. They drank it at Barbara’s kitchen table, covered by a red checkered cloth with matching curtains at the windows. The room was bright and airy and pretty, like Barbara herself.

“Your mother has good taste,” Kilraven commented. “And she’s a great cook.”

Rick smiled. “Not a bad mother, either,” he chuckled. “I’d probably be sitting in a cell somewhere if she hadn’t adopted me. I was a tough kid.”

“So was I,” Kilraven recalled. “Jon and I kept our parents busy when we were boys. Once, we got drunk at a party, started a brawl and ended up in a holding cell.”

“What did your parents do?”

“My stepmother was all for bailing us out. Our father, however, was an FBI agent,” he added quietly. “He told her that rushing to our defense might make us think we could get away with anything and we might end up in more serious straits. So he left us there for several days and let us sweat it.”

“Ouch,” Rick said, wincing.

“We were a lot less inclined to make trouble after that and I only recall getting drunk and going on a bender once in my adult life.” That had been after he found his wife and child dead, but he didn’t elaborate. “Of course, we were really mad at Dad. But now, looking back at it, I’m sure he did the right thing.”

“Life teaches hard lessons,” Rick agreed.

Kilraven nodded. “And one of those lessons is that we don’t go alone to a meeting with a potential informer. Ever.”

Rick flushed. “First time it ever came down like that,” he said, defending himself.

“There’s always a first time. When I was just a kid, during my first month with San Antonio P.D., one of the detectives went to a covert meeting with a crime boss and ended up in the morgue. He was a friend of my father’s.”

“It does happen. But if we don’t take chances from time to time, we don’t get clues.”

“True enough.”

“Not that I mind the company—I’m going stir crazy down here—but why are you here?”

Kilraven glanced down at the coffee cup. “Two reasons. First, I want to know if you got a look at your attackers.”

“They blindsided me,” Rick said with disgust. “I don’t even know if it was one guy or two. I woke up in the hospital.” He raised his eyebrows. “Second reason?”

“I want to know what you know about Senator Will Sanders’s brother, Hank.”

“Him.” Rick sat back in the chair. “He was a navy SEAL. Decorated, in Operation Desert Storm,” he said, surprising Kilraven. “Since he got out, however, he’s made real strides in taking over mob territory in San Antonio. But his brother, the senator, is the real weird one.”

“Weird, how?”

Rick’s dark eyes twinkled. “Well, he’s about one beer short of a six-pack.”

“Crazy?”

Rick shook his head. “Stupid,” he corrected. “He doesn’t seem to be malicious, but he’s protective of his younger brother and it’s always a frame. The police don’t like Hank, that’s why they keep arresting him for things he didn’t do.”

“Give me a break!”

“From what I gather, the senator uses his brother for menial tasks like intimidating other politicians or enticing teenage girls to his house to meet the senator. The amazing thing is that he’s never been charged with anything,” he added, “except the one statutory rape offense, which was dropped.”

“Jon told me about that one. How is it that he hasn’t become a media feeding frenzy?”

“The senator employs an older former gangster who, in turn, employs professional bouncers. One was sent to make veiled threats about the journalists’ families.”

“That’s low,” Kilraven said coldly.

“Sure is, but it works. We’ve tried to cooperate with journalists to catch the guy at it, but it’s hard to find a journalist who’s willing to risk his family in order to put the senator’s right-hand man away. You might notice just recently what happened to that young woman who worked for Senator Fowler when she divulged information to Alice Jones about the Jacobsville murder victim. Nobody’s been charged in that case yet, and probably won’t be.”

“I heard that Senator Sanders was at that party at Senator Fowler’s house when Alice Jones asked the questions,” Kilraven said. “He probably figured what was going on. He may be stupid, but he’s also shrewd.”

“Most politicians are. I think we’re going to find that Senator Sanders’s younger brother is up to his ears in this case, somehow. What I don’t know, yet, is exactly how.”

“Winnie Sinclair’s late uncle has been mentioned as having some peripheral involvement.”

Rick nodded. His eyes narrowed on Kilraven’s bland expression. “I haven’t said anything about it. The detective we’re working with on the case mentioned it to me.”

“She came to see me recently.”

Rick’s face was thoughtful. “I hope she’s not in any danger,” he said. “She’s been closer to the investigation than I have, spent a lot of free time going over records, looking for clues. She’s angry that she was taken off the case and demoted to traffic.”

“Senator Fowler intervened to get her reinstated, to his favor,” Kilraven replied. “And he talked to his protégé, Senator Sanders, about the political dangers of trying to stifle a murder investigation, regardless of whether or not his younger brother was involved.”

“I just hope she doesn’t push too hard,” Rick said. “Gail’s a fine detective, with an honorable record in the department. She’s had a lot of personal problems, but it’s never affected her job performance.”

“We all have a lot of personal problems.”

Rick pursed his lips. “Yours seems to be blond.”

Kilraven glared at him. “She is not a personal problem. She’s a friend.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.” He sipped his coffee. “I’m taking some time off to work on the cold case. I thought I might go up to San Antonio and see her.”

“Give her my regards, and tell her I swear I’ll never try to meet with any more so-called informants in any alleys late at night,” Rick advised, indicating his arm in the sling.

Kilraven chuckled. “I’ll do that.”

5

Jon was in the middle of a long telephone call about a pending case when Joceline stuck her head in the door. Her blue eyes had some sparkle in them, rare for her these days, but when she saw that he was on the phone, she held up a hand and went back out.