Send Out The Clowns (Frank River Series) (21 page)

When Frank walked into the task force room, he was greeted
with friendly faces for the first time in months.

"Hey, Loo," Olivia Stanton cooed. "Got
anything new for us mere mortals?"

Frank grinned. "It's going to take me time to fit into
this new situation. Let's get to work and get this clown case wrapped up."

"You still like Rankin for this?" George Foster
asked.

Frank nodded. "Strangest thing. I had barely walked
into the lieutenant's office when Rankin called. He knew Barker had resigned
and I had been assigned her job, and that the first thing I would do was
request an arrest warrant for him. He agreed to surrender to me and me only, at
6:30 this evening."

No one said anything, as stunned as Frank was by this turn
of events. George Foster looked at his watch. "That gives us about two
hours to line up our evidence for his interrogation."

"Everything appears to revolve around Barker's
resignation. Let's do a data search on Sum Bitch and see what turns up."

"Okay, Frank." Foster nodded. "I'll put
Olivia on that. She's the best computer nerd in the department."

"Hey," Olivia shouted. "I heard that. I may
be a nerd, but I'll enjoy digging into to Sumbitch's file. I've always wanted
to get inside her head."

Frank smiled. Everyone was going to enjoy looking at the
bones in Barker's closet.

"I can help Olivia with that," Chad offered. Frank
and Foster both nodded.

"By the way, Frank," Foster reported, "we
still haven't heard back from Magruder in Galveston."

"Give him a call back. It might not show us anything,
but before I question Rankin, it would be good to find a connection, if there
is one."

Gerry stared at the door where Marsha Meyers had disappeared
and tried to keep her pulse rate normal. No way I'm introducing myself. It's
wrong. It's the principle of the thing. She yanked the door open and stalked to
Rankin's office. She knocked and got nix response. She tried the knob and was
surprised to find it unlocked. Her fervor for confronting Marsha and Gretchen
sank out of sight. Here was a chance to pry into a suspect's private office.
She looked behind her to ensure that no one was watching before easing the door
open and stepping inside. She eased the door closed behind her and placed her
ear near the panel, listening for any sound that would tell her someone was
coming from the bar area. Nothing. She turned the deadbolt and glanced around the
room.

A quick and thorough search convinced her there was nothing
to be found out of the ordinary, except, and unless, the family picture of a
youthful Rankin with a beaming young woman and two little girls she found in
the back of the bottom drawer in the desk could be considered unusual. Unusual?
Yes. Criminal, or new information? No.

She started to replace the picture in the drawer, and then
stopped. She had no idea who the woman was, but the two girls looked familiar,
particularly the older one! A gangly blonde that she guessed to be about twelve
with green eyes under narrow, nearly horizontal brows, long face with a slender
nose. Judging from Rankin's apparent age difference, she set the picture at
being somewhere around twenty years old. The younger girl was probably in the
terrible two's. Also blonde and displaying a defiant, "This is the last
place I want to be" look. Try as she might, she couldn't put a modern-day
adult with either youngster, but she couldn't shake the thought that she knew
them both. She considered taking the picture with her, but decided that would
be too risky and might undermine her undercover status. She took a last look
and returned the picture where she had found it.

She went to the switch on the wall and turned on the monitors.
Very effective for keeping tabs of what went on outside, but neither damning
nor useful to her. The only thing she found that she hadn't known about before
was a door located behind the desk that led outside. She hadn't noticed it
earlier because it was constructed to look like a panel in the wall and not a
door. It provided a convenient way for the boss to come and go without being
noticed by the customers or the work staff. There must be a button or lever
somewhere to open the door, but she had no time to search for such a release
now. She'd been in here too long. She checked the monitor to account for
everyone before turning it off and slipping out to the bar area. She headed
straight for Gretchen Sullivan, setting a stern expression and working up her
most indignant mood.

"Hey, lady. Marsha tells me I got to introduce myself
tonight. What's this all about?"

"Settle down, Bea. Everything's under control. Chuck
Wood called in sick, so we had to round up another emcee, that's all. Go on and
get ready. Everything's gonna be okay."

"Okay," Gerry responded, the wind completely
whipped from her sail. Why would Marsha say I had to introduce myself? Just
pulling my chain, probably. She turned and sauntered back to the dressing room
feeling The Clinch's eyes follow her every step.

Frank left HPD and drove Memorial Drive to Woodway and
turned south on the West Loop of 610 toward the Galleria and his favorite cafe.
He parked the cruiser in back, out of sight from the street and entered,
looking for Thelma. She waved from behind the counter and grabbed the coffee
pot and a menu. Frank took a seat in a booth and waited, his elbows on the edge
of the table and his hands clutched in front.

"Hi, Frank," Thelma smiled. "How's the case
going?"

"Hi, beautiful, what's on the special tonight?"

If Thelma noticed he hadn't answered her question, she paid
no mind as she poured coffee from a black, plastic carafe and recited the daily
special that Frank could have read on a chalkboard behind the counter.
"Brisket with our own secret sauce, choice of potatoes as long as it's
French fries, a vegetable medley, meaning squash and broccoli, and Texas
toast."

"Cherry cobbler for dessert?"

"What else?"

"Bring it on, but don't hurry. Let me enjoy my coffee
for a minute or two."

"You got it, big guy."

Frank watched her walk away. He'd never considered Thelma
anything other than a friendly waitress, but since his break up with Pauley, he
was looking at all women differently. That thought brought Sheridan Barker to
the fore. He grinned internally, rolling out his idea about why she had
resigned to look at it from every possible perspective. Whatever her reasons,
he would know the truth soon. He sipped the coffee and stared at a neon sign
advertising "Homemade Pies To Go." Has it only been a few days since
I sat here after the first clown murder, telling Thelma that Paulette and I
were 'sailin'?" Time passes fast when you're having fun.

Detective Lieutenant, Acting Lieutenant, actually, but the
job is mine for the taking. Holloman indicated I could write my own job
description, after a fashion. That has its advantages. I can choose which cases
I want to get involved in, and which ones I assign and monitor from the office.
The difference in salary is significant, a huge increase that affects me now,
as well as later when I complete this duty and wrap a shawl around my shoulders
at some home for over-used city officials. The position appeals to me. Besides,
it wouldn't be politic to turn the job down again. Holloman indicated that
also, not in words, but the threat was there. If I defer this time, I'll be
nothing more than another streetwalker looking forward to retirement.

He finished the coffee in the mug and poured another from
the carafe. He glanced toward the counter, and Thelma nodded and yelled his
order through the window to the kitchen.

So? If I want to be the lieutenant, why ain't I happy?

He thought about calling Pauley and telling her the news,
but decided against it. He could hear her saying "That's nice, so what
else is new?" His salary had never been a bone of contention between them,
and now Paulette was making enough to support them both and then some. He had
no one to share the promotion with.

Thelma arrived with his food, winked and offered. "You
need anything, just holler."

He took his notebook from his pocket and laid it beside the
plate, reviewing the case and thinking about his encounter with Rankin as he
ate. He barely tasted the food. It only served the "inner man" and
helped kill time until he went to pick up Rankin. He finished the meal, and
Thelma appeared instantly with the cobbler. He gorged it down, wiped his mouth
on a paper napkin and glanced at his watch. Time to go.

Gerry stood behind the curtain, stage left, as she watched
the young comedian finishing his routine.

She would be on next, as soon as the emcee introduced her.
She still didn't know what she was going to talk about. She hadn't had time to
prepare a monologue because her mind kept reverting to the photograph she found
in Rankin's office, trying to place where she had seen the faces of the young
girls. Tonight's emcee was a woman calling herself lona Carr. Maybe that weird
name would be good for a line or two in her routine.

Suddenly it hit her. She knew who that twelve-year old girl
was. Those green eyes. The way the eyebrows ran straight across the forehead.
Her mouth. How many times had she seen that mouth poised to read the riot act?
Rankin's oldest daughter was none other than Sheridan Barker. Lieutenant
Barker. No wonder Rankin had so much information about Frank's career and had a
pipeline into the clown case investigation. She had to tell Frank. Tell Roger.
Tell someone, but it was too late. She heard the emcee shout, "...and here
she is, ladies and gentlemen. Let's give her a big hand! Miss Bea Black."

Lord, Lord, how am I going to keep my mind on comedy now?

Gerry ran to the center of the stage and took the mike that
the emcee held out for her.

Here goes nothing.

"Hey, folks, you havin' a good time? Man, I sure am. I
ain't had so much fun since the last time I bathed my cats. Yeah, you know,
cats. My boyfriend, Tyrone, calls them the other white meat. That's one tough
job though, bathin' cats.... Do you know how long them little suckers can hold
their breath?"

She heard a few groans.

"Anyway, let me tell you about Tyrone. He just lost his
job...Yeah... He was working at that club down on Richmond that has all those
male strippers. Uh-huh, that's the one. He was doing pretty good. He'd get up
on that stage and dance around in that little g-string thingie, and the women
would stick money in it. He said he didn't mind that part too much, even though
the coins were a little cold sometimes, but when the club started letting the
customers charge, he quit. He said there weren't no way he was going to turn
around and bend over so them women could swipe their cards. He told me though,
it was the only job he ever had where his diggin' at himself turned out to be
an asset."

She couldn't keep her mind focused on what she was saying.
The audience became a blur. She heard them laughing, but whether it was
reaction to her jokes or her bumbling, became questionable.

Sheridan Barker and Reuben Rankin. My God.

Frank drove slowly, checking the back-up he had put in
place. Two uniformed officers in a patrol car sat waiting at the corner of
Memorial and Cohn and fell in behind him, following close enough to prevent any
car from wedging between the two police cars. One block from Rankin's house,
Olivia and Chad sat in an unmarked car. They waved as Frank drove past. If
Rankin had planned a trap, Frank would have sufficient back-up.

The second patrol car stopped at the street as planned when
Frank drove up Rankin's drive. Before Frank could get out of the car, the front
door opened and a young woman stepped out. She stood at the top of the steps,
looking radiant in a beige pants suit. Her hair, loose and long, touched her
shoulders. Her arms were crossed and she looked vulnerable, despite her attempt
to engage him with her stern expression. Frank had to admit that, although his
suspicions were confirmed, and he felt a wave of regret at being right, he had
never seen Sum Bitch look so provocative. He walked toward her and stopped at
the foot of the steps.

"You don't seem surprised to see me Frank."

He hesitated. "No. I expected you actually," he
stated, studying her face.

She nodded to the patrol car at the curb. "Good
procedure. It could have been a trap."

Frank glanced back. "Routine," he agreed.

"I asked Reuben to allow me to talk to you before you
take him."

"Reuben? Not Father or Daddy?"

"We dispensed with those titles years ago. He's still
my father, but we're more friends now than family."

Frank didn't answer.

"He didn't do it, Frank. I've finally put it all
together. If you give me one more day, I can solve this without Reuben having
to be dragged downtown and booked."

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. You know that wouldn't be
proper."

"You're the lieutenant now, Frank. Holloman would
understand."

"I'm not trying to please Captain Holloman. I have my
own code of right and wrong."

She squeezed herself tighter and glanced up at the sky. It
was clear for the first time in days, not a cloud in sight, a beautiful
evening. "What if you're wrong? Then Reuben will have been put through
this embarrassing ordeal for nothing."

"Am I wrong, Sheridan?"

She looked at him straight on, challenging his resolve.
"Oh, yes. You're wrong." Her features drooped, displaying a heavy
sadness. "Please, Frank, give me twenty-four hours."

Frank didn't answer. They both sunk into regret, their
professionalism swallowed up by the heavy silence. The mood was shattered by
Rankin's booming voice as he propelled himself out the door.

"Right on time as expected, Lieutenant Rivers. Let's
get this show on the road."

Frank walked beside Rankin as he maneuvered the chair to the
driveway, ready to help if required. He wasn't needed until Rankin was beside
the back door of the squad car. He waited for Frank to open the door and deftly
transferred his body into the back seat. Once settled, he held out his hands in
front of him, waiting to be handcuffed.