No Second Chance
Page 73“Last night, when I was sleeping, the phone rang.” She tried the smile again, but it was having trouble staying anchored. “I don’t know what time it was. Very late. I thought maybe it was you, Verne.” She looked at him and now the smile held. He smiled back. “But when I answered it, there was no one there. So I remembered something I saw on the television. Star, six, nine. You hit those numbers and it dials the number. So I did that. A man answered. It wasn’t Verne, so I hung up.”
She looked at us expectantly. Rachel and I exchanged a glance. Verne was still smiling, but I saw his shoulders drop. He let go of her hand and half collapsed onto the couch.
Katarina started toward the kitchen. “You need another beer, Verne?”
“No, darling, I don’t. I want you to sit here next to me.”
She was hesitant but she listened. She sat with her spine still ramrod. Verne, too, sat up tall and again took her hand.
“I want you to listen to me, okay?”
She nodded. The children were wailing with delight outside. Corny to say, but there are few sounds like the unimpeded laughter of children. Katarina looked at Verne with an intensity that almost made me turn away.
“You know how much we love our boys, right?”
She nodded.
“Imagine if someone took them away from us. Imagine if that happened more than a year ago. Think about it. Imagine if someone stole, say, Perry and for more than a year, we didn’t know where he was.” He pointed to me. “That man over there. He doesn’t know what happened to his little girl.”
Her eyes were brimming with tears.
“We have to help him, Kat. Whatever you know. Whatever you done. I don’t care. If there are secrets, you tell them now. We wipe the slate clean. I can forgive just about anything. But I don’t think I can forgive if you don’t help that man and his little girl.”
She lowered her head and said nothing.
Rachel ratcheted up a notch. “If you’re trying to protect the man you called, don’t bother. He’s dead. Someone shot him a few hours after you called.”
Katarina’s head stayed down. I rose and started pacing. From outside, there was another squeal of laughter. I walked over to the window and looked out. Verne Junior—the boy looked to be about six—shouted, “Ready or not, here I come!” It wouldn’t be too hard to find him. I couldn’t see Perry, but the hiding child’s laughter was clearly coming from behind the Camaro. Verne Junior pretended to look elsewhere but not for very long. He sneaked up on the Camaro and yelled, “Boo!”
Perry popped out still laughing and ran. When I saw the boy’s face, I felt my world, already teetering, take another hit. See, I recognized Perry.
He was the little boy I’d seen in the car last night.
Tickner parked infront of the Seidman house. They hadn’t put up the yellow crime-scene tape yet, but he counted six squad cars and two news vans. He wondered if it’d be a good idea to approach, what with the cameras rolling. Pistillo, his boss’s boss, had made it pretty clear where he stood. In the end, Tickner figured that it was safe enough to stay. If he was caught on camera, he could always opt for the truth: He had come to let the locals know that he was off the case.
Tickner found Regan in the backyard with the body. “Who is he?”
“No ID,” Regan said. “We’ll send in the prints, see what we come up with.”
They both looked down.
“He matches that sketch Seidman gave us last year,” Tickner said.
“Yup.”
“So what does that mean?”
Regan shrugged.
“What have you learned so far?”
“Neighbors heard shots first. That was followed by screeching tires. They saw a BMW Mini driving across the grass. More shots. They spotted Seidman. One neighbor said he might have seen a woman with him.”
“Probably Rachel Mills,” Tickner said. He looked up in the morning sky. “So what does it mean?”
“Maybe the victim worked for Rachel. She silenced him.”
“In front of Seidman?”
Regan shrugged. “The BMW Mini struck a chord though. I remembered that Seidman’s partner had one. Zia Leroux.”
“That would be who helped him get out of the hospital.”
“We have an APB on the car.”
“Yeah, probably.” Then Regan stopped. “Uh-oh.”
“What?”
He pointed at Tickner’s face. “You’re not wearing your sunglasses.”
Tickner smiled. “Bad omen?”
“The way this case is going? Maybe it’s a good one.”
“I came to tell you I’m off the case. Not just me. The bureau. If you can prove the girl is still alive—”
“—which we both know she ain’t—”
“—or that she was transported across state lines, I can probably get back in. But this case is no longer a priority.”
“Back to terrorism, Lloyd?”
Tickner nodded. He looked back up in the sky. It felt weird without the sunglasses.
“What did your boss want, anyway?”
“To tell me what I just told you.”
“Uh-huh. Anything else?”
Tickner shrugged. “The shooting of Federal Agent Jerry Camp was accidental.”
“Your big boss called you into his office before six in the morning to tell you that?”
“Yep.”
“Not only that, he investigated the case personally. He and the victim were friends.”
Regan shook his head. “Does this mean Rachel Mills has powerful friends?”
“Not at all. If you can nail her for the Seidman murder or kidnapping, go to it.”
“Just don’t involve the death of Jerry Camp.”
“There you go.”
Someone called out. They looked over. A gun had been found in the neighbor’s yard. A quick sniff told them that it had been fired recently.
“Convenient,” Regan added.
“Yup.”
“Any thoughts?”
“Nope.” Tickner turned to him. “It’s your case, Bob. Always was. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Tickner walked away.
“Hey, Lloyd?” Regan called out.
Tickner stopped. The gun had been bagged. Regan stared at it, then at the body by his feet.
“We still don’t know what’s going on here, do we?”