Runaway Mistress (19 page)

He grabbed Paula and said, “Come on, we’re going for coffee with some fed who wants to talk to me about someone I ran through an interstate search. I guess I flagged them.”

“Who?”

“His name is Dobbs, but he can’t be from Vegas because I’ve never heard of him.”

“No, stupid,” she laughed. “Who’d you run?”

“Hell if I know. I ran a million people last month alone. How about Wollach? He had warrants all over the country.”

“You have absolutely no idea?”

He stopped walking. “Did you run someone that lit up the board?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“Dobbs told me not to bring my partner.”

“Then why are you bringing me?”

“Because you’re my partner. I don’t take orders from the FBI.”

She just looked at him for a long minute. She was little. Kind of cute. Only thirty and married six months. No one would think she could do much good in a fight but, oh man, if Paula’s job was to back you up,
game on,
as they liked to say. It was a high compliment if the guys liked working with a particular woman cop, and Paula was one of them.

She smiled at him. “I never give you enough credit.”

“Then you better start,” he said.

They didn’t bother to hash over all the suspects who’d come across their desks in the past month. The Fibbie would tell them who he was looking at, and they’d either work out a way to bring him in, or one or the other of them would let go of the case. Probably Metro would give it up. But then probably the feds would need Metro’s help….

“God,” Paula said when they arrived at Starbucks. “Do you think he could be more obvious?”

On the patio, as far away from the coffee-drinking crowd as possible, sat a man in a suit and a black trench coat. He was large, heavy, hair cut in a buzz that left him nearly bald, and he wore telltale thick-soled black shoes, white shirt and thin tie. The local FBI tended to fit in much better, actually looking as if they might be regular citizens. This guy looked as though he wanted to guard the president. In 1965.

Alex and Paula were not trying to hide their professions. They wore plainclothes—jeans and khakis with badges, guns and handcuffs on their belts. So as they approached the trench-coated man, he looked up and all parties recognized one another. It was seventy degrees outside and Alex desperately wanted to ask Dobbs if he was warm enough in that trench coat.

“Dobbs?” Alex stuck out his hand. “Alex Nichols. My partner, Paula Aiken.”

Dobbs had small blue eyes that slowly moved from Paula to Alex to Paula. “Have a seat,” he said. “Unless you want to get some coffee?”

“No, thanks,” Paula said. “It’ll keep me up.”

“Let’s get to it,” Alex said.

“Nick Noble,” Dobbs said.

Where do I know that name? Alex asked himself.

Paula elbowed him. “That missing person.”

“Oh, yeah. He reported a woman missing. A friend of the family, he said.”

“Not exactly. She was his mistress.”

“Was?” Alex asked.

“She’s
missing,
” Dobbs said tiredly. He sighed. It was obvious he disliked having to work with the local idiots. “You
ran
him. Why?”

“Oh, that. I found the missing-person flyers in my neighborhood.
My
neighborhood. I checked the case file. I ran the girl, too—in case I run into her. I took a look at the arrest record for Noble and decided she’s better off missing. What’s your heartburn?”

“We want the girl.”

“Oh, really? You want her for…?”

“Questioning.”

“Should we be beefing up our search for any reason? Has she done anything?”

“Noble says she stole money and jewelry from him.”

Alex laughed. “That’s why I
ran
her. Her record is clean. Totally clean. But his isn’t. Seems pretty obvious to me that he accused her of stealing to get a little professional help in getting her back.”

Dobbs was getting impatient. He was clenching and unclenching his fist on the tabletop. “We’d really like to talk to her.”

Alex tried to keep from rolling his eyes. The royal “we.” “Do you want a little help in finding her?” Alex asked as patiently as he could. “Is that why you invited me here today?”

“No, I don’t need help! Do you know where she is? Did you have a personal reason for running her and Nick Noble?”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Paula huffed. “What the hell’s the matter with you? We’re not working missing persons. He was just checking the status of the stupid flyer. You want something or what?”

“You were there?”

“There? You mean at the office while he was doing his search? Right there. We share a computer, as a matter of fact. I saw enough of the results to see we have way bigger fish to fry. We don’t need this missing person for anything.”

“Dobbs,” Alex said. “We could have done this on the phone.”

“I
need
this woman. She may be able to help us. Noble is guilty of multiple felonies ranging from conspiracy and trafficking, to fraud and money-laundering. He has dozens of businesses he runs drug money through. If she was his mistress for two years, she knows things.”

“According to his record, no one’s been able to make anything stick. He’s not wanted,” Alex said.

“He’s slippery.”

“Slippery isn’t illegal.”

“We’re going to get him. It’s a matter of time. Maybe you could help. Huh?”

“Is the DEA in on this?”

“Noble washes up money for drug dealers, but his trafficking is primarily in high-ticket stolen goods, so the DEA is just getting in my way. I was hoping you could take me to this woman.”

Alex sat back. “That was a stretch, Dobbs. I was just running a check. It’s what I do a hundred times a month.”

“Fuck.”

“Hey, don’t be upset. I’ll keep my eyes open. You have a card?” Dobbs fished one out of his pocket and thrust it at Alex. “Are you working out of this field office?” Alex asked.

“I’ll hang around a couple of days and see what they have, then head back to Florida. This guy. He’s dirty.”

Alex studied the card. “Dangerous?”

“Probably,” Dobbs said, standing. “And a regular guest here. Your casinos fly him in to gamble. He loves to gamble. Why they want crooks at their tables is beyond me.”

“Hey, I
ran
him, Dobbs. He has zero convictions. He’s a model citizen. Apparently with a ton of money.”

Dobbs inhaled sharply, his cheeks puffing out a bit. “Details.”

Alex remained seated. This guy was rough around the edges and there was no indication he was clever or canny or sensitive. Even if he didn’t know Jennifer, no way would he like turning her over to Dobbs. This was a guy who looked as if he couldn’t wait to just put her on a hook at the end of a line and use her for bait.

“Call me if anything comes up,” Dobbs said.

“You bet.”

He didn’t say goodbye. He left Alex and Paula at the table.

The patio sat right on a busy street. Birds picked at crumbs on the ground, cars drove by, people talked. Alex studied the card. There was a sudden splat of bird dropping on the table; it missed the card by millimeters.

“Where is she?” Paula asked.

“Where is who?”

“Alex…”

“Are you asking me in an official capacity?”

She leaned forward. “I’m a police officer. Everything I ask is official—eventually.”

Yeah, there was this little rule about withholding. But there was another small factor, and that was that police officers had
discretion.
The woman had not committed any crimes. Arresting her or turning her over was not an imperative.

“She’s obviously hiding,” he said. “And it sounds like she has good reason.”

“You’ve seen her,” she said.

He swallowed. “I have not met anyone who identifies herself as Jennifer Chaise, missing person.”

Paula waited a second and then said, “Shit.”

My dear Doris,

I’m completely unsentimental, so the fact that you’ve been kissed means as much to me as your seeing the bighorns. One thing, however, is very important to me, and that is Alex. He might appear to be tough and even cynical, but beneath that he carries a very tender heart. Be gentle with him. And for advice about men, see Rose.

Love,

Louise

There was a knock at Jennifer’s door in the evening. It wasn’t very late, but it was already dark and she had been yawning her way through a pretty good book. The old-fashioned house in an old and remarkably safe neighborhood meant there was no peephole. Alice went directly to the door, sniffed at the crack and wagged.

It was Hedda and her little brother, Joey. Just the sight of them scared Jennifer a little. Sylvia at her worst came instantly to mind, and she assumed they needed rescuing again. She tried to stay even, not show any alarm. “Hey,” she said. “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, tears in her voice.

“I told you—anytime. Tell me.”

“I need help.”

Jennifer swung the door wide. “Come in, come in. What is it, kiddo?”

“Advanced algebra,” she said. “I thought by now I’d get it, but I’m lost.”

Jennifer’s expression registered her panic, even if she was relieved to know Hedda wasn’t trying to escape some crisis at home. But advanced algebra? With all the drama that had surrounded her life lately, algebra should be good news. “I’m not sure you came to the right place. I don’t even remember having algebra, much less advanced. What about your boyfriend?”

“Max? Forget it,” she said. “He’s a great guy, but I don’t like his chances at veterinary college.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Up till now, I’ve been helping him.”

“Alice!” Joey announced, yanking out of Hedda’s grip and rushing toward the dog. He flopped down on the floor and began gently stroking her head, which she answered with grateful licks.

“Well, that takes care of him,” Jennifer said. “Let’s get a Coke and take a look at the book,” she invited. “I’ll see what I can do, but I warn you, it looks bleak.”

Joey rolled around on the floor with Alice while Jennifer and Hedda sat at the dining room table. They started out with Hedda explaining the parts she did understand, but the only reaction Jennifer had was “This isn’t even about
numbers!
” Indeed, it was about trains leaving their stations and moving toward each other at varying speeds and when would they meet. Three apples and two oranges is six dollars, one apple and two oranges is four dollars, how much is an apple? “Oh, my God,” Jennifer moaned. “I’d just pay the freaking six dollars!”

Then there were triangles and rectangles. “I get that,” Hedda said. “But these trains, barges and buildings are killing me.”

Within about thirty minutes, Jennifer was starting to catch on, but it was clearly going to take all night for her to learn the basics, and she’d probably never be of any help. She went to the list of names and numbers Louise had left her and placed a call to Alex, her best bet. But of course he wasn’t home. That would be too easy. So she left him a message asking if he could help with algebra. Then she called Rose, and though Rose didn’t have the first idea, she came straight over to see what the challenge was.

“Ptui,” she said. “This can’t be a good way to train a young woman’s mind. It looks like gibberish to me.”

“Here’s what I get so far,” Hedda began again, deciphering the problem so far, assigning letters to the unknown numbers.

Jennifer went to the living room, where she lifted a sleepy Joey onto the couch, told him to go ahead and close his eyes, and covered him with a throw. Just as she was returning to the table, there was a knock at the door. Alex.

“Any chance you know algebra?” she asked.

“Well, I
used
to,” he said.

“Advanced?”

“Now, there you’re getting into murky territory. But I’ll have a look.”

It turned out his memory of algebra wasn’t exactly fresh, but his resourcefulness was greatly improved since his algebra days. He went to Louise’s computer, looked up www.algebra.com. In one short hour he had not only gotten Hedda through her problems, but had a very good start on getting Rose and Jennifer on board.

It was after ten when Hedda pronounced herself up to speed. Jennifer’s head was on the table, eyes closed. She was not only tired, her brain was taxed.

“I say we celebrate,” Alex suggested. “I’ll go next door and get my tub of rocky road ice cream and then I’ll drive you home.”

“It’s okay,” Hedda said. “I can walk. It’s not that far.”

He stood and went to the door. “It’s too far for tonight. Poke Doris—wake her up and tell her to find bowls.” He was back in what seemed like seconds.

Poor Joey slept through the ice cream and he also slept straight through all the laughter.

Among them they were aged seven, sixteen, thirty, thirty-five and seventy. And, Jennifer realized, this was as close as she’d come to “family” since her mother and grandparents were alive. It felt very, very good.

Nine

J
ennifer bought four pair of shorts, three sleeveless Ts, a tube top that left her shoulders bare and a basket for the bike. She didn’t think Alex would mind about the basket at all. Then she bought a flat of seedlings. Flowers and vegetables. Pansies, snapdragons, daisies, tomatoes and zucchini. She’d have bought more if she could have gotten them home on the bike, but as it was she had to balance the awkward flat on the handlebars.

Minimum wage plus tips was below poverty level unless you had virtually no expenses. She had her breakfast and lunch at the diner and Alfonso usually forced something on her as she was leaving work—roasted chicken, a thick slice of meat loaf or an enchilada, taking care of her dinner. She paid no rent or utilities, bought very little food, and she was managing to buy only the most essential clothing. With Louise’s monthly stipend as well, Jennifer was actually getting ahead. Not to mention that little stash she had of cash and jewelry.

As much as she might have resented it at the time, Jennifer had learned how to manage on a shoestring early in life. There had been so many times when her mother had been on a mental bender and they’d had practically nothing, or they’d be waiting for help from Grandma and Gramps. If Jennifer couldn’t hold it together there was the threat of a visit from Children and Family Services or the equivalent, depending on the state. There was always a risk of being removed from Cherie’s custody. Jennifer might have been better off had she been taken from her mother, but not so for Cherie. Cherie couldn’t make it without her, and Jennifer had known that since she was in first grade.