Lie Catchers (13 page)

“Browne?”

“Sir!” Parker said, standing.

“Sit,” Newcastle commanded, charging into the tiny space. “I will, too.”

Parker lowered himself into his chair, unsettled by his boss visiting him. Against the norm; against protocol.

A big man with linebacker shoulders and thick thighs, Bertrand Newcastle always seemed uncomfortable in a suit. A sheen of sweat perpetually lay on his forehead below his crew cut, a sign of constant pressure on a region supervisor, Special Agent in Charge, Parker’s SAC for more than five years. Newcastle sat back, pretending to relax. “I saw you come in. Fresno weather a bit more to your liking?”

With a smile, Parker nodded. “110 inches of rain a year in Petersburg, sir. I think I experienced fifty inches in two weeks.”

SAC Newcastle chuckled. “Never been to Alaska. Lots of crime there, but not much of the big buck variety.”

“Until now.”

“You reported on the Seattle wits. A dozen fat zeroes.”

“Or pluses. Any one of them could have done in Olson sometime that week.”

“But we’re no closer to fingering one.”

“Correct.”

“You’re here to follow the money?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Nilson said he saw you at the airport.”

“Yes, sir.”

“He’s already interviewed the woman Olson attacked when she was young. Nilson called her a hostile.”

Parker sat forward. “Sir, Liv Hanson was shot and she’s on pain pills.”

Newcastle held up a palm. “Whatever. He’ll go after Olson’s so-called friend, next. The owner of the bar.”

“Definitely hostile.”

“Olson’s girlfriend?”

“Another tough one.”

“Nice, friendly fishing village.”

Parker leaned back and thumbed in the direction of his computer. “I’ll be done here in half a day and on a plane back to Alaska tomorrow, sir.”

With a shake of his head, Newcastle said. “Maybe not. Let’s see what Nilson can do.”

“Sir?”

“Nilson’s been on the street a long time and I know he was expecting a promotion until the cutbacks hit the department. Let’s give him some time to work alone and lick his wounds. And since you might be a target, let’s keep you out of harm’s way.”

“Sir, I don’t …”

Standing, Newcastle held out his palm again. “No need to get up, Browne.” He pointed to the computer. “Do what you do best.”

“Yes, sir.” As his boss left the cubicle, Parker thought about Nilson grilling Liv. Parker grabbed the hourglass and shook it like a barbell. “Dammit.” A memory of the last time he held the thing aloft roared into his consciousness. Two years ago, he’d been staring at the same computer, watching a satellite image of the massacre of his girlfriend and her crew. Parker had squeezed the hourglass, not caring if he crushed it in his fingers, driving shards of glass deep into his hand. He’d welcome the pain; he deserved the punishment. He’d sat safely in his Fresno office watching the woman he loved die at the hands of assassins. His intel had sent her there, into harm’s way. Once again, he sat cozily in an office while his father, Liv, and Ivor walked among criminals.

And the dreams had come back full force. He woke from nightmares, sweating and shaking. The scene in Sing Lee Alley, when he threw Liv to the ground and covered her body, replayed with horrible specificity.

Sometimes the event unfolded as it happened, but most of the time, when he pulled away from Liv’s body, he saw that she wasn’t breathing, eyes and mouth open in perpetual surprise while blood gushed from her neck, the shot that killed Bernie. In desperation, Parker would staunch the wound with his fist, tears of frustration falling when he couldn’t stop the flow of blood.

Half the time, in his dreams, when he lifted himself away from Liv’s body in shadowy Sing Lee Alley, it was Bernie who lay under him, icicle cold, her porcelain expression frozen in despair.

He’d leave his bed and pace, praying for the nightmares to stop, wishing that guilt wasn’t walking the carpet with him. Parker had left Liv in pain and in perilous Petersburg while he labored in the safety of Fresno.

His dreams and reality foretold: Liv was in as much trouble as Bernie had been. Parker had lost Bernie when she was a world away from him; he’d lose Liv the same way.

Setting the hourglass down with a thump, he replayed Oldshack’s points. True, if Parker returned to Petersburg, the shooter might try again. Also true: Nilson could crack the case in record time, especially if Parker could feed him the information that would pinpoint one or two suspects. But the scenario felt all wrong and, ironically, if Parker and Nilson did their jobs right, Parker would never return to Petersburg.

“Damn.” Liv stopped typing and worked the stiffness out of her bad shoulder. “And ouch.” She stared at her phone, watching the voice messages compound. “Probably more complaints about Anton Nilson’s Petersburg blitzkrieg. You suck, Nilson. I miss Parker;
everyone
misses Parker.” Liv toyed with her necklace, the same one she wore on November 6th
st
when she first met Parker. She’d accessorized with the yellow, black and white set this morning purposefully, on a wild notion that by wearing it, Parker might return.
Dumb bunny. Call him. Tell him he has to come back to Petersburg and stop Nilson from alienating everyone.

Parker’s cryptic e-mail message: “I’m working on the case from Fresno. Nilson’s on point. Help him, Liv. More important, hope you’re mending and writing again. Keep Chet with you at ALL times. Parker.”

No mention of Liv licking the rain off his face, humming with a desire so violent that she wasn’t sure the three-block walk to her place was physically possible. She remembered the yearning in his expression that night. Would he have acted upon his need when they got to her apartment?

Three bullets have a way of coldly interrupting desire. He’d covered her body in the alley, all right, but fear trumped sex in those few minutes they lay in the gravel.

She shivered at the memory, conscious of the flimsiness of the shield he’d offered her and aware of how vulnerable they were lying in the dark alley. The killer could have walked up to their prone bodies and shot them, a bullet exploding Parkerʼs heart then traveling to hers.

Liv tapped a key on her computer and re-read Parker’s clipped e-mail message. “Is he agonizing over our brush with death as much as I am? And isn’t it better that he’s safe in Fresno, rather than a target here in Petersburg?”

“Liv? Can I come up?”

Pulling in a breath, Liv rolled her chair back and rose, grabbing three copies of her chart. She yelled to be heard. “Sure, Tilly. You have Nilson with you?”

“Yeah.”

Liv poured three cups of coffee and put pecan sandies on a plate, knowing Nilson wouldn’t touch the coffee or the cookies. Every townie commented on his blatant refusal of food and drink. Did he think they’d poison him?

Tilly entered, chewing gum, her red-brown hair pulled back from her face, emphasizing her full mouth and big brown eyes. She pulled at the neckline of her sweater like it was itching her, but Liv knew Tilly well enough to understand this was a sign of irritation. Nilson had questioned Tilly once and she’d refused to speak to him again without Liv present. Of all the people in Petersburg, Tilly was a sworn enemy of SA Nilson. Out of spite, she nicknamed Nilson “Say,” a play on the abbreviation for special agent, and now most of the town used the moniker.

“Ma’am,” Nilson said, politely. A giant against Tilly’s wisp of a figure, his expression was grim, his shoulders slightly hunched and his curly blond hair in disarray from the wind and rain.

“S.A.” Liv set coffee, cookies, and her latest spreadsheet on the coffee table. “Sit and relax,” she invited, well aware that he wouldn’t do either.

He picked up the chart. “What’s this?” he asked, even though he could see what ‘this’ was.

Tilly smiled. “At it again, girl? What do you say to that, Say?” Tilly grabbed a copy and pointed to a column. “That’s me. My Seattle whereabouts for the seven days I might have offed Everett Olson.”

“I updated the chart I made for Parker.” Liv shrugged. “Thought it was the least I could do.”

“You’ve added a new section, I see,” Nilson said.

“I have. The night Parker and I were shot at. I figured you’d want a column for suspect alibis during those hours.”

“But they’re ‘home in bed,’ except for you and Parker.”

“Makes it tough, doesn’t it? Even Tuck went home early that night and asked the bartender to close. Might have had something to do with me.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, he’s no longer my dance partner. Maybe he preferred not to flaunt the situation by dancing with other women.”

Nilson put down the chart, shaking his head.

Tilly leaned toward him, coffee cup in hand. “Say, you have to admit our Liv is a smart one. That’s why I wanted her around the second time you interrogated me.”

Expelling a breath, Nilson said, “This is not an interrogation, ma’am. After I spoke with you two days ago, I had a chance to question several other Petersburg residents. I have some new issues to run by you, now.”

Tilly blinked and turned to Liv. “I miss Parker, don’t you?”

Smiling, Liv said, “I do.” She frowned at Nilson. “Do you carry a gun?”

“Ma’am?” Nilson appeared confused by the question. “All agents carry guns.”

“Do you have one on you now?”

“Yes, ma’am.” A quick movement of his left shoulder indicated he was wearing a shoulder holster.

Liv asked, “Do you wear it off duty?”

“Not usually.”

“So if you went to a bar at night to have a beer, you wouldn’t wear it, right?”

“Correct.” Nilson took a deep breath. “Special Agent Parker would not have been wearing a gun the night you were shot, ma’am. He’s wishing he’d packed it that time, of course, but—”

“Why hasn’t he returned, S.A.?”

“He’s working the case from the home office.”

“Will he come back?”

Nilson shrugged, his eyes on the pecan cookies.

Guessing what Nilson’s shoulder hitch meant, Liv said, “He won’t. His boss is keeping him in Fresno because of the shooting.”

“Can’t say, Ms. Hanson.”

“Won’t say,” Liv said, emphasizing ‘say’ to cover the verb and Nilson’s nickname.

“Correct.”

“Has he gotten anywhere with his research?”

“Nothing we can use so far.” Nilson glanced at the data sheet. “Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s get back to my questions for Ms. Grant.”

Tilly pooched out her full lips, took a wad of gum from her mouth and attached it to the side of her coffee cup. Daintily she picked up a cookie and took a tiny bite. Holding the food in her mouth she said, “This is as good a time as any to admit I’ve been sleeping with Tuck for quite a while.”

Liv nodded.

“Sorry, my friend. Easier to come clean once you and Tuck had a falling out.”

Another nod.

Pointing to the last column on the chart, Tilly said, “I was at Tuck’s the night Liv got shot. His bed. Let’s be sure to write that on the chart before we make copies for everyone.” Tilly picked up a pen. “I better add the times I slept with Tuck in Seattle, too, so this chart is completely updated.” She grabbed her copy and scribbled in several squares.

Nilson frowned. “I thought Josh Cameron at the Coffee Hüs was your boyfriend.”

Tilly popped her gum back into her mouth. “Only one official boyfriend at a time. Josh knows.”

“So let me get this straight. While you were waiting for Everett Olson to return as your official boyfriend, you had two unofficial boyfriends. First, Josh Cameron; second, Tuck Barber.”

Tilly grinned. “Say, you couldn’t have said it better.” She winked at Liv. “He’ll never be as good as Parker, but he
can
do the math.”

Nilson frowned. “Ev’s unofficial girlfriend was Susanna. Did he have a second unofficial?”

With a headshake, Tilly said, “I think Parker’s got a bead on that answer. Why don’t you ask him?”

The agent rose, chart in hand and frowning at the cookies, as if they might be the enemy. “I’m going to talk to Mr. Barber.”

“We don’t kiss and tell in Petersburg, Say.”

Under his breath, Nilson said “Fuck.”

Liv and Tilly smiled at each other. ‘Say it isn’t so,’ was on Liv’s lips, but she kept the words to herself. Parker’s e-mail message had asked her to help Nilson, which prompted her to revise the chart for the agent. She’d faxed the spreadsheet to Parker in case Nilson wasn’t in the habit of sharing.

No one needed to know that a five-page chart, three times more detailed, rested in the top drawer of her desk. She was sure the extra information wouldn’t help the case, and there was no doubt in her mind that if Nilson or Parker saw the original, they’d both call her crazy.

****

Liv shook off her umbrella inside the double doors of Petersburg’s general store, careful not to spray Chet. She winced at the sharp pain in her shoulder and stilled herself for a few moments until the ache went away. “It’s bad enough you have to babysit me in the family store. You’ll be bored out of your mind following me around on my errands.”

“Can’t fish,” Chet said, his eyes bright under bushy white eyebrows. “I mean if I were a die-hard, I could be out there trolling for salmon, but we’ve stashed six big ones in Jenny’s freezer, and it’s raining like hell, so I’m happy being inside. Restocking your shelves in the store is easy; reminds me of my teenage days working at the local grocer’s.”

She sighed. “It’s broad daylight and we’re standing in a busy store. It’s my town, Chet. Who could possibly hurt me here?”

He surveyed the customers pushing carts in every direction. “You never know, do you?”

Liv eased her hood back and gave him a measuring look. “Parker got his affable nature from you, didn’t he? It’s not a strategy.”

“A strategy?”

With a shrug, Liv grabbed a shopping cart and beckoned to Chet. “We’ll make this fast. Fifteen minutes here, about ten in the Wild Asparagus to get a wedding present, a half hour at the grocery store, and we’re done.”

Chet set his hand on the cart and took off his baseball cap, gently shaking away raindrops “You don’t need to rush, Liv. I’ve got all day to kill since I’m not fishing. I want to know more about Parker’s so-called strategy.”