 
### FULL COUNT

By

Mike Helberg
Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Mike Helberg

Formatting and cover design by Caligraphics

# Prologue

Walter Anderson's wife of forty years died of pancreatic cancer two years ago. She fought valiantly for five months before succumbing to the terrible disease, and her fate exacted an awful toll on Walt.

His full head of jet black hair had grayed dramatically and his 68 year old face, which had looked ten years younger prior to her death, was now deeply lined, more befitting a man his age. His body had visibly deteriorated to sagging skin and bones. Living was touch and go for one year after her death, but he finally turned the corner.

Though he would never recover that younger look without cosmetic help, Walter Anderson was healing inside. His smile was, again, genuine. He was seeing family and friends more often and was back to reading two local and one national newspaper each day. He had started talking about doing some consulting work for the engineering firm he'd recently retired from and most important, the bounce had returned to his step, as could be attested to by anyone who had observed him that morning as he exited the home he and his wife had built so many years ago.

He turned right at the end of his drive and walked briskly down the hill to the end of his street, where it intersected a frontage road. Walt crossed the frontage road quickly, then followed a worn path leading into the many trees and thick bushes that populated a strip of land separating the frontage road from Highway 61, a major highway in this part of St. Paul, Minnesota. It is also a national highway that meets the Mississippi River just north of where he stood, then follows the great river all the way to New Orleans.

Walt entered the island of green that did, in fact, mitigate the highway noise for the residents who occupied the homes along the frontage road's east side. The trees would also shield him from the morning sun that promised another late summer scorcher.

He continued along the meandering pathway that split the dense foliage, and went about the business of gathering a never ending supply of trash, thrown out of passing automobiles by their inane occupants. Walt had begun this 'hobby' as part of his therapy to rejoin the world. It was now his passion and though no sign was posted to acknowledge his adoption of this two mile stretch of 61, he knew that his efforts had improved the highway's beauty.

Walt had been gathering trash, mostly aluminum cans, and depositing it in a bag attached to his back, for less than twenty minutes when he spotted a black object in the weeds, partially hidden by the broken branch of a lilac bush. He moved the branch, exposing a small briefcase, and knelt down to examine it.

Walt reached out and placed a thumb on the latch buttons, never giving a thought to the possibility of any negative consequences there might be from opening the case, and slid the buttons sideways. The latches popped and Walt took several deep breaths to calm his racing heart. It's probably nothing, he thought, and lifted the lid.

His eyes widened and at the same time his jaw dropped. There were stacks of money, each topped with a one hundred dollar bill. Walt raised his head to see if anyone was around. Nobody was. He closed and latched the lid, dropped the case into his bag then stood up and hurried towards home.

He came out of the trees ten minutes later and had started along the short path leading back to the frontage road, when he saw a car speeding towards him. It came roaring down the street he lived on and without slowing down, turned onto the frontage road. The tires screamed and the silver convertible slid toward him as it careened around the corner. Walt jumped back toward the trees, thinking he was a goner, but the vehicle straightened and raced north along the frontage road. Walt had just come from that direction and wondered if something had happened that he'd missed. The thought disappeared, as did the car, and seconds later he was hurrying up the hill.

Entering his two car garage through a side door, he slipped the canvas bag from his back then removed the case. He dumped the cans, at the bottom of the bag, into the recycle container. The rest of the trash went into another plastic receptacle and the bag and pick-up tool were hung on a hook. Walt was almost obsessive about neatness.

With case in hand, he went through another door that led to his kitchen. Walt set the case on top of the kitchen's large center island, then grabbed an ice cold Pig's Eye beer from the fridge and took a couple of hearty pulls. The result was fast and twofold; his thirst was immediately quenched and, within seconds, the spreading warmth of alcohol began to relax his tense body.

For a moment, Walt forgot about the money, and his eyes traveled over this warm and cheerful room where he and his dear wife had spent so many hours; cooking, eating, entertaining and most of all, enjoying each other's company. The heaviness made a brief appearance, but Walt had learned how to push it away and quickly did.

Gently, he placed his half empty bottle on the center island's black granite top and opened the case. He realized that if all the bills in each stack were hundreds, as the top ones were, then he had found a pile of dough. Walt fanned through every stack, and it appeared that each bill was, in fact, worth one hundred dollars.

Next, he counted the bills in each of the ten stacks and, at the same time, verified the amount of each one. There were two hundred and fifty, one hundred dollar bills in each pile. Multiplied by ten equaled $250,000.00. Yes sir, he thought, that's a lot of money and somebody would soon be looking for it. The speeding silver car flashed through his mind.

He turned his attention, from the money stacks to the small black notebook, unnoticed when he'd first opened the case, then removed it from a slot in the lid's soft lining. Walt opened the hard cover book and what he read scared the hell out of him so he slammed it shut and returned it to the slot.

Walt grabbed the phone from its base on the wall and quickly punched the memory dial then the one. The phone automatically dialed his son's number and, while he waited, Walt stared at the case. "Shit!" he yelled when the answering machine clicked on. Listening to his son's recording, he remembered that Don was out of town, in New York or San Francisco, he didn't recall which and he knew his lawyer son would not be home until Thursday, the day after tomorrow.

The machine beeped and Walt said excitedly, "Donny, I hope you're checking your messages regularly, because I need to talk to you as soon as possible! It's urgent, Son." He added, "Please hurry, Don." Then hung up.

There was no way he was going to the police until he talked to Donny. No telling what hoops the police would put him through when they saw the list and money.

Walt finished his beer then opened a second. He pondered the few options available to him, then picked up the phone.

# Chapter 1

I was in the middle of a liar's poker game, doing quite well I might add, when my cell phone chirped. Two of the other players glanced at their phones, realized it was mine and went back to studying their dollar bills. There were five of us sitting around the circular end of a long bar at my favorite hangout, The Red Rooster. It's a neighborhood bar where regulars, myself included, have been gathering for many years.

I've seen a few changes in the establishment: A kitchen was installed, many TV's have been added, there have been two expansions and several new owners. Fortunately, some things never change and I'm happy to report that drinking, sports and gambling are alive and well at this bar.

The phone rang again as Johnny, who is a carpenter by trade and a former Marine like myself, declared loudly, "3 aces."

My turn. The cell chimed a third time. I looked again at the serial numbers on the dollar bill in my hand and confidently bid, "4 tens." In the middle of its fourth jingle, I picked up the phone, opened the flap and said, "Jake Tanner." It's my business phone too.

I could hear the voice on the other end, but the din of Friday's happy hour made it impossible to make out any words. I slipped off the high stool and hurried down a hallway that led to the bathrooms. It was a bit quieter. I yelled into the phone, "Say again." Remnants of my Marine Corps' radio training.

The caller spoke again, but it was still difficult to understand him so I pushed open the back door and stepped into the alley. The transition from dark bar to brilliant sunlight always shocks me and I instinctively released the heavy, steel door to cover my closed eyes. "Did you say, Don?"

"Jake, it's Don Anderson."

"Don, how are you? It's been a while." I pictured the portly attorney, whose short black hair was showing signs of thinning the last time I'd seen him. I tried the door. Locked. "Damn!"

"What was that?"

"Nothing. What's going on, Don?"

"Jake, I need your help!" Before I could respond, he hollered, "My Dad's missing."

Didn't sound like the confident Don Anderson I'd known since childhood. There was a desperation in his voice that was nearing hysteria, so I said, "Calm down, Don." I took his silence to mean he was trying to. "Have you called the police?"

His answer came in a more controlled voice. "I did, but they won't do anything for 24 hours. Jake, I know there's something wrong and I can't wait 24 hours." It was a plea. "Besides, I'd rather have a PI that I know will work hard to find him. And I hear you're one of the best in the business, Jake."

He sounded extremely concerned, as most people would be in this situation, and I decided to forego any questioning over the phone. Why waste the time? I said, "I'll finish my business here and meet you at your dad's."

"I'm there now." He sounded better.

"I'll be there in thirty minutes." I closed the phone's flap and started for the side entrance of the bar.

Thirty seconds later I reentered the cool, smoky darkness and returned to the game. After pissing and moaning about me holding them up, the other players brought me up to speed on the bidding I'd missed. You have to be a good liar to be a consistent winner at this game and if called upon to do so, I am one of the best. Stretching the truth is a necessary skill if your livelihood depends on finding solutions to difficult problems.

I made a show of concentrating on my dollar bill and finally bid, "Eight aces." There was immediate laughter and challenges from all four, so now it was time to show the numbers. Each of them had one ace and I had four, giving me a total of eight. The groans began. Dollars were thrown in my direction, and their groans grew louder when I announced, "Nice doing business with you, ladies," and I pocketed my winnings, "but duty calls." I could still hear the griping as I headed back out to the late afternoon sun. It wasn't necessary to mention that I'd see them tomorrow.

# Chapter 2

The 2007 Hyundai SUV I'd owned since its birth was radiating heat like a bonfire. The dark copper color captured and held every ray of sunlight that shone on it, but I have a habit of leaving my windows open and the cloth seats don't retain much heat so it wasn't too unpleasant when I eased my six foot two inch frame into it. Within minutes, I was heading east on I-694, warm air blowing on my face and tunes cranked. I use the air conditioner infrequently. Hell, in Minnesota we don't thaw out from the previous winter until September ends, which was still two weeks away. Traffic was moving well considering it was five o'clock on Friday afternoon.

As I drove south on the beltline that surrounded Metropolitan St Paul and Minneapolis, images from my fairly happy childhood zipped through my mind. One of them was Walt Anderson, the missing father. He'd taken Donny and me on countless hunting and fishing trips and always treated us like grownups; a strange experience for many kids. I had always thought he'd be some part of my life, just as I had thought Donny would, but things change. They always do.

I joined the Marine Corps and soon after, my parents sold our house and moved to Florida. There hadn't been communication with either Donny or his dad during my four year hitch, so I never had a compelling reason to return to the old neighborhood. Last time I'd seen Walter Anderson was at the funeral for his wife, and he had looked to be on his last legs. I was surprised to hear he was still alive. Then again, maybe he wasn't.

I got off the interstate at Lake Drive, worked my way over to Mcknight, then down Springer to the Anderson home. A blue Cadillac was parked at an angle in the driveway, leaving no room for my SUV, so I parked on the street.

From this vantage point, halfway up one of many hills along the Mississippi River's east side, I could see part of the river that nearly split the country in two. Standing outside my car I did a three-sixty of the old neighborhood and a wave of nostalgia curled over me. It was amazingly unchanged. Sure, there were superficial changes; some of the homes were painted different colors, some of the oak and elm trees in front of many houses had gotten huge and the cars were newer, but this was definitely where I'd grown up.

I stared at the two story house to the right of the Anderson home. It used to belong to my family. I couldn't decide what was different about it, but it would come to me before long. I wondered if the people who lived there would let me look inside.

My thoughts were interrupted when the front door of the Anderson house opened and a thin, older looking version of my childhood friend emerged. It was hot, probably in the upper eighties, but Don Anderson was wearing dark slacks, oxford loafers and a long sleeved shirt. The rolled-up sleeves and loosened tie were his only concessions to the heat. Always the fashion plate, as opposed to my own summer fashion formula; sandals, shorts and some sort of golf shirt, with or without logo. My fashion motto has always been: "Whenever possible, dress down."

Donny hurried down the cement steps to greet me. I walked toward him and extended my hand, but he was having none of that and threw his arms around me.

I'm not into the touchy, feely, hugs-all-around thing, but I patted his back until he broke away. He looked me up and down then said, "You are looking great, Jake. Wish I could get into the shape you're in." Then he stepped farther back and gave me another once over. "I can see that your wardrobe hasn't changed much."

I laughed. In addition to his fashion fetish, Donny was the world's biggest ass kisser and wise guy which seemed paradoxical, but he made it work. At least by the accounts I had heard. He was a partner in a medium sized law firm that advertised on television and it was rumored that politics were in his future. My response was somewhat less diplomatic then his opening lines. "Jesus, Donny, you look like shit!

What happened to all of the meat on your bones? And where did you get all that hair on your used-to-be-bald head?" Truth is also important in my business.

Shock momentarily registered on his face. Then he remembered my less than subtle ways, chuckled tentatively and answered, "Hey, I run every day, don't eat fat foods and a lot of money was invested in this hair." He grabbed my hand, put it on his head and said, "Pull."

So I did. Not hard, but he yelped, "Easy, Jake. It's real!"

A closer inspection showed the neat rows of plugs. "I'll be damned. Did it hurt when they put them in?"

"Bet your ass it hurt, but the improvement in my sex life more than makes up for it." He laughed then asked, "Want a beer?"

"Dumb question," was my response, and I followed him into the house.

He opened two beers, handed one to me then led the way to a large, redwood deck off the dining room. I dropped into a wrought iron chair that rocked and watched as he attempted to open a blue umbrella that had pink flowers all over. It wouldn't have been my choice, but if it kept the late afternoon sun out of my eyes it didn't matter what color the flowers were.

While he wrestled with the umbrella, I gazed out at the large spruce, oak, maple, and cottonwood trees that stretched behind all the homes along this street. The wooded area wasn't as impressive as I'd remembered, but it still provided a bit of privacy in the middle of a noisy city. Donny finished adjusting the umbrella and sat down. I asked, "What's going on?"

Don was also staring at the trees, maybe thinking about our childhood and the games we used to play in there. A full minute went by and I was about to repeat myself when he began, "I flew in from San Francisco late last night, too beat to do anything but hit the sack. I didn't listen to my phone messages until this morning. Dad had left one on Tuesday. He sounded upset, but didn't say why. Only asked that I call as soon as I got the message." He took a swig of beer and went on, "I hurried over here and it was obvious that he'd been gone for some time because the mail box was full and several newspapers were on the front steps. After searching the house, I went down the hill to look for him."

I interrupted, "What do you mean by 'down the hill'?"

"I mean down the hill, to the median between the highway and the frontage road. At the end of the street out front. Remember, we practically lived down there one summer."

I remembered. We climbed all the huge oak trees, sneaked smokes in the lilac bushes, and talked about everything from cars to girls, especially girls. Both of us turned twelve that year. "It was a great summer, Donny. We had it made in the shade. Sometimes I wish we could have stayed there forever. So, why would you look there for your dad?"

"He started collecting trash last spring. 'Cleaning up America,' he said and that's where he goes to do it." A pause, then, "I checked the trails on both sides of 61. No luck."

He seemed to be finished with this part of the story, so I said, "Maybe he's visiting someone or collecting trash in another area."

Donny shook his head immediately, "No way, Jake. His car is in the garage, as is his collection bag and the tool he uses to pick up trash." After a long pull on his beer he set the empty on the table and continued, "Dad and I talk to each other every day except when I'm out of town. If he goes anywhere he leaves a message on my machine. This is very unusual, Jake, and I'm sure you know that the police won't even list him as missing until tomorrow afternoon, which is when the 24 hour "wait-and-see" period is over." He was definitely worried.

I gulped the rest of my beer, grabbed his empty and went in for two more. A pit stop was in order so I set the bottles on the counter and found my way to the head. On the return trip, I stopped in front of the bay window in the spacious living room and checked out the street.

I had a good view up and down the street and the silver convertible was still parked in front of the third house up the hill, on my side the street. I'd noticed it as I was doing my spin for nostalgia. The driver, who looked young and was wearing those damned mirrored sunglasses that bug the hell out of me was still sitting there, top down and occasionally moving his head to whatever was coming out of the headphones he wore. The shade of several trees had not yet Reached him and it must have been hot as Hell sitting there, waiting. For what? Given my paranoia and the fact that Walt was missing, it wasn't too difficult for me to figure out. He was waiting for Walt Anderson to appear. Or was it just a coincidence? I didn't think so.

Back on the deck I said, "We've got two hours of daylight left, Don. Let's take a stroll down memory lane."

He asked, "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about checking out the place where your father collects trash."

Without looking at me he said, "I told you I've done that. He wasn't there."

"I understand that, but maybe you missed something. After all, you were looking for your father, not clues to his whereabouts. I'm not fond of missing person cases, but I've found a few in my time. If you want my help, let's go look."

"Sorry, Jake. I wasn't doubting you."

# Chapter 3

Within minutes we were inside the tree line at the bottom of the hill. I looked back to see if the young man in the convertible was interested in us. It appeared he was. He drove the convertible down the hill, onto the frontage road then slowly past the point of our entrance. Then he sped up and the car disappeared over a small hill. I didn't think he'd seen me watching because the thick foliage I was hiding behind would have made it difficult. The punk would be waiting for us farther up the road and that's when I'd find out why he was following us.

We started along the trail, moving in the same direction as the car had, and began our search for something that might give us a clue about Walt's disappearance, or so Donny thought. I didn't expect to find anything and even if we did, it probably wouldn't help find Walter; unless it was a note telling us where he'd gone. Fat chance of that. Besides, the whole idea of coming down here was to see if the convertible followed.

During the first fifteen minutes of our search, we passed through three areas that would have allowed 'Glasses', as I now thought of the guy in the convertible, to catch a visual of us from the road. He wasn't waiting at any of these and I was beginning to doubt my suspicions. Foolish me.

Five minutes later the foliage thinned out and there was the convertible. It was parked thirty yards away, on our side of the frontage road and the driver was sitting in the passenger seat. I figured he'd moved to get a better view of the woods as it would have been difficult to see us from the driver's side. We were in a valley and the road be was actually above our heads. His headphones were noticeably absent and he appeared to be staring straight ahead, but the shades and distance between us made it impossible to be sure. I stopped and waited for Donny to reach me. "Let's rest for a minute."

"What's the matter, Jake? Getting a bit soft in your old age? You should try running. Nothing better for the lungs and heart." I'd forgotten his sanctimonious part.

It wasn't worthy of a response. Besides, my mind was already working on the answer to a question I had posed to it. Why, unlike the other clearings we'd passed through, had this one been stripped of small vegetation for twenty feet in every direction? The ground looked ready for seeding or sodding. It was weird. Add it to the list, I thought, then said, "Donny."

"Yeah, Jake."

"Why don't you look around the fringes of this cleared area. I'm going up the trail to take a leak."

There were no questions. He said, "Okay," and began searching.

I walked out of the clearing, into the trees, then took off running. Thirty seconds later I came out of the trees, crossed the frontage road and doubled back. The neighborhood was surprisingly quiet; nobody walking their dog, no joggers or bikers, and only an occasional car drove by. Hopefully it would remain that way until I was finished.

I was almost directly across the road from our watcher and looking past him, down the hill, I could see the top of Don's head as he walked about, searching for something that would lead us to his missing father. The man who was following us continued to stare out the windshield, occasionally turning his head to watch Donny. He didn't seem to be concerned about my disappearance and that suited me fine. It made my next step easier.

The sun was below the treetops and it should have been cooling off by now, but it felt as though it had gotten hotter. Maybe the upcoming confrontation had something to do with that. I slipped my sandals off and waited for him to turn and check on Don. When he did, I sprinted across the blacktop, which was still soft from the afternoon sun, toward the open convertible. I reached the car, ran up and over the trunk, then dropped onto the back seat. Not a bad performance for a guy who, two years ago, had spent several months on crutches because a .38 round had slammed into my right femur. Better that then my head, which is what the asshole had been aiming at. The doctors told me I'd be using a cane forever. Fat chance of that. Never did need one.

The kid turned the instant my butt hit the leather seat and his eyes nearly popped out when he saw me. His eyes shifted down to the front seat and he reached for something. It didn't matter what it was because I knocked him silly with a clean blow from my clenched right fist to his left temple. He toppled onto whatever he was after and would, I knew, remain there for several minutes. It wasn't the first time I'd rendered someone unconscious.

I called to Don and he came running up the small hill, quite surprised to see me in the car. When he saw the inert body, his eyes opened wider and he asked, "What are you doing in there?" He was shaking his head in bewilderment. "Who is that?" pointing at the body.

Don was talking about calling 911 when I climbed into the driver's seat and started the car. That stopped his chatter. I said, "Don, my sandals are across the street. I'd appreciate it if you would take them back to your dad's place. I'll be there shortly."

He said nothing when I put the car in gear and drove away. A block later I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that he'd started across the street, hopefully to retrieve my sandals.

# Chapter 4

My left hand controlled the wheel while the right explored beneath the newspaper that the unconscious man was laying on and I found what he'd been reaching for: A rusty pistol that looked like a .38. I put it on the floor beneath me in case he woke up unexpectedly. I had tagged him hard, but a good right had a different effect on each individual. Likely he'd be out for several more minutes. I was happy the lack of traffic allowed me to keep an eye on him.

Several blocks past the spot where Donny and I had entered the woods, the blacktop on the frontage road changed to gravel and the road began its steep, winding journey to the top of the hill on my left. The tires spewed rock as I sped along the twists and turns, through uninhabited woodlands that gave way to a grassy meadow covering half the plateau on top. The view would have been magnificent were it not for the trees that filled the western half. I drove toward them, along two ruts that split the field, and we bounced through the high grass until the tracks disappeared, well inside the trees. End of ride.

The kid groaned and attempted to sit up, but I reached behind his neck and pushed him back down. "Stay," I barked. Gun in hand, I got out and walked to the passenger side. "Out," I ordered and he complied, slowly. His cowboy boots, dark jeans, with beer belly hanging over and sleeved shirt looked uncomfortable and hot, but I wasn't wearing them so what did I care, as long as he obeyed.

He stood and asked, "What the fuck is going on?" His stare seemed unfocused and he wobbled continuously while rubbing the side of his head.

I didn't bother to answer and instead waved the pistol in the direction of the car's trunk and commanded, "Assume the position." He knew the drill and walked to the back of the car where he leaned on the trunk. I searched him for weapons, found none, then extracted his billfold. Inside was a Minnesota driver's license, a couple of credit cards and several hundred dollars.

According to the license he was Charles Hayden and he lived on the east side of St Paul. He was no kid, as I'd first thought. In fact, the man was thirty-seven, two years older than me. Must have been the long hair that had thrown me. I'd have to be more astute in the future.

Charles looked at me over his shoulder and asked, again, "What the fuck is goin' on?"

I kicked him in the ass with my bare foot, which probably hurt me more than him, but I felt better. "First things first, Charles. Or is it Chuck?"

He was resting on his elbows and answered, "It's Charlie." Then he looked at me again, his pockmarked face filled with arrogance, and asked, "Who the fuck are you, anyway?" He sounded like a 1940's movie gangster.

I kicked him again. It was better than last time. "What are you, a fucking parrot? I'm the one who's going to ask questions, Chuck." He had no response, so I asked, "Who sent you, Chuck?"

"Nobody sent me. I was just hangin' out, man!" "Sure thing, Chuck." I glanced at my watch. It was 7:30, which meant there was a half hour of daylight left. A funny thought entered my mind: If only my dental hygienist were here, sharpening her tools with that excited look on her face, this guy would be singing loud, clear, and quickly. Unfortunate she wasn't here, but the mosquitoes were. And they were becoming unbearable, which gave me a new idea. "Here's the deal, Chucky. I'm a private investigator. My friend calls me, tells me his father is missing and I offer to help him. During my initial investigation I notice that a certain someone seems to be watching either us or the house we're in. What I need to know, Chuck, is why you are hanging out doing nothing and the sooner you tell me, the sooner we can get on with our lives."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm not watching anyone or any house." Still the tough guy.

"Okay, off with the clothes." I demanded.

Still resting in his elbows, he looked back again, gave a half-hearted chuckle and asked, "You gay or somethin'?"

Fuck it. I pulled the hammer back, pointed the pistol to the right of his foot, and fired a round into the dirt. Chunks of earth splattered his legs and he screamed. We were in the middle of an undeveloped county park, blocks from the nearest residents, so I wasn't worried about anyone reporting a gunshot to the police. "If shoving the barrel of this shitty looking pistol up your fat ass would be considered gay, then I'm guilty. Now get your clothes off."

His attitude changed drastically. "Shit, man. What are trying to do? You almost took my foot off." The arrogance had changed to fear and he said, "Look, I'm doing a favor for a friend."

"That's better, Chuck. Tell me who your friend is and why he wants you to spy on my friend and in return you can keep your clothes on."

"His name is Butch. I don't even know his last name, but he pays good money and the jobs aren't difficult."

"What kind of jobs are we talking about."

"He's into a lot of things: Drugs, money lending, prostitution and anything that will make a good buck. Sometimes people don't pay him back or they fuck over one of his girls, things like that. My job is to make things right for Butch, so he can concentrate on his business. Once in a while, he gets requests from legits who don't want to dirty their hands.

"What do you mean by legits?"

"You know, man. Politicians, business leaders, and other types of upstanding citizens."

"What's the job you're on now?"

"Last Tuesday a car rolled over on 61. The driver was injured and taken to Region's hospital. Butch called me and asked me to find a briefcase that was left in the car that rolled. I've been looking for it since."

The mosquitoes' blood hunt intensified as darkness began its descent on this part of the world. Chuck's quick movements to defend himself against them were a bit worrisome, but he was cooperating so I let him continue to swing away. If he decided to try and squash me instead of a bug, I was ready. "So why are you watching us?"

"Like I told ya. I couldn't find the briefcase in the car. It wasn't along the road or in the trees either. I remembered driving past an old guy coming out of those trees earlier and the neighbors were very cooperative in my search for him. I knocked on the old guy's door but there was no answer so I parked up the block and watched the house until midnight. There were no lights on in the house, no sign of life, so I broke in."

"There was no sign of a break-in or organized search. You must be a very neat person, Chuck."

"No sense inviting trouble, man." He was swatting like crazy.

So was I for that matter. Time to end the interview. "I'll make you a deal, Chuck. When the missing father is found, and if he has your case, I will personally deliver it to you." I pocketed his license. "Meanwhile, stay out of my way."

"Hey, man. I don't think my boss is going to wait for you to deliver. He'll want to know what's being done to recover the case. Sitting on the sidelines is not what he does and he won't like the idea of you meddling in this."

"I don't particularly care what he likes, as long as he doesn't bother me with the likes of you or any of his other gofers. I can only imagine what would happen if you people find the old man first. Are you any better at torture than you are at surveillance?"

He didn't respond to the question, but did say, "I'll try to work it out with Butch."

"Then take me back to my car." I hopped into the back seat, still holding his pistol, and he took the driving duties. The bugs tried to stay with us as we drove out, but with the top down they were quickly blown away. We saw Donny half way up the hill to his dad's and when we pulled even with him I told Charlie to stop. I shoved the pistol into the waistband of my shorts and climbed over the side. Without a word Chuck screeched off. I waved and said quietly, "Adios, motherfucker."

Donny asked, "Who the hell was that guy, Jake?"

"Thanks for picking up my sandals." He handed them to me and, after putting them on, we started up the hill. "He's been watching the house, waiting for your father to show up. Seems his boss thinks your dad might have found something of theirs on one of his daily walks. Last Tuesday, as a matter of fact."

We were almost to the house and he asked, "Did he say what Dad found?"

I answered as we turned into the driveway, "Said it was a briefcase, but he didn't know what was inside."

Don was silent as we entered the house and walked to the kitchen. He opened two beers, handed one to me then said, "It must have been something important, or valuable, if they had someone watch the house."

"Oh, you can bet it was valuable. I made a deal with the guy, but I don't expect him to carry out his end of it."

"What kind of deal?" he asked incredulously.

I told him. He asked, "Why don't you think his boss will honor the bargain? It seems reasonable to me."

"You're a lawyer, Donny. Deals are a lawyer's life blood. Some people don't make compromises and it sounds like Charlie's boss is one of them. You don't have one of your guys sit on something for three days unless it's important." I thought about that for a second then said, "Charlie will be back and this time he won't be alone." I motioned him to follow me.

"Let's go buy some more beer."

"But," He started.

I quickly put my index finger to my lips. He understood and followed me out. We took my car. Once we were on our way I said, "If these people are heavy hitters, they probably bugged the house. Maybe not, but it's a precaution we need to take when we are discussing the possibilities of your father's whereabouts or my plans to find out who these people are."

I waited for something from Don and he soon asked, "What makes you think the house is bugged?"

"It came to me a bit ago. When I watched Chuck through your front window he was wearing headphones and acting as though music was coming out of them. You know; moving his head to the music. When we saw him parked down on the frontage road he wasn't wearing them. I have surmised that the head moving was a ruse, and he was actually listening to what was going on in the house. The device, or devices, probably won't transmit to where I caught him, but even if they did, why listen to an empty house." He gave me a skeptical look and I said, "I know it's a stretch, but it's possible. They've had since Tuesday to set it up and I'm betting they did. In fact, I am going back to your dad's this evening to confirm my suspicions." I finished with, "My feeling is that there were a lot of holes in Charlie's story and I intend to fill them."

We bought some beer and I outlined my plan as we drove back to his dad's.

# Chapter 5

I dropped Donny off and I drove to my townhouse, which is located a couple of miles away in the thriving suburb of Woodbury. The house was a two story job with tuck-under garage, some cute little shutters and fake cedar siding.

I went upstairs and change into dark jeans, a purple T-shirt that had a small Minnesota Vikings' logo in front and dark sneakers. In the top drawer of an end table, next to the king-size bed, were two pistols; a 6 inch .357 and a snub-nose .38 caliber. My .38 went into my back pocket and I put Chuck's .38 in the drawer. If I needed more firepower, there were additional weapons in the trunk of my car. 'Never come up short' is another one of my mottoes. I left the master bedroom and went downstairs to the kitchen.

The place was new when I bought it, two years ago, and I had done nothing to change its appearance. A couple of paintings on the wall, dining room table with four chairs, a couch, chair, TV and stereo. The refrigerator was stocked with beer, orange juice and sandwich fixings. What more did a guy need? Oreos, washed down with another beer would suffice for now.

In the garage I sprayed myself with mosquito repellent, grabbed a small device used for locating hidden electronic equipment and left for Walt's. I wanted to investigate his house to see if anyone had hidden cameras or listening devices and I didn't want anyone to know I was looking. The plan was to sneak in the back way, under cover of darkness.

I made two passes along the street in front of Anderson's and saw no suspicious vehicles. Of course, anyone sitting in one of the cars would simply duck when I drove by so who knew. I made a mental note of the phone company van that was parked several houses away from Anderson's, but I figured it belonged to an employee who lived there. Maybe there was a phone being repaired. There was no silver convertible.

I parked two blocks away, in front of a wooded area where I had played many years ago. The trails were still there and ten minutes later, night vision goggles in place, I was staring at the back of Walt's house. Silhouetted by a single street lamp out front, it posed an eerie sight. Actually, anything seen through the goggles posed an eerie sight.

I hoped Don had remembered to leave the basement entrance open because my lock picks were back in the car and I didn't want to back track to get them.

Don and I had agreed that we wouldn't be coming back to this house until we found Walt, so why bother looking for bugs? Curiosity. What else. I wanted to know if my assumption was right. And, if I was right I'd know how important this house was to the people watching it. Having a bum like Chuck sit on a house was one thing, bugging it was another. I wanted to know just how dangerous this case was and knowing the opposition's abilities might prove to be the difference between living or dying.

As I started out of the trees, the door that led into the basement opened and I stopped just short of entering the yard. A large figure exited and hurried around the side of Walt's house, heading for the street. I ran after him. Not to catch him, but to see where he was going. When I reached the corner at the back of the house I stopped and cautiously peered around it. No one. I crept up the small hill, keeping to the side of the house, and moved the goggles to my forehead. The street light would probably blind me if I kept them on.

When I reached the corner of the house, I saw the man get into a dark sedan that was parked on this side of the street and several houses down the hill. In moments the car started then sped away without benefit of headlights. There was not enough light to see the plate as it pulled away. What the hell had he been doing? He didn't seem to be carrying anything so he wasn't a burglar. Not that I thought he was. The man was mixed up in this case and if he'd left anything behind, like a listening device, I'd find it. Things were getting more interesting by the hour.

I turned and walked back to the basement door where I lowered the goggles to cover my eyes. The door was unlocked and after entering I worked my way to the stairway. Everything was green, but it was better than groping my way. I didn't want to turn on any lights because someone else could be watching or the man who'd just left might come back. Wouldn't he be surprised? But I was also being cautious in case there were others in the house.

At the top of the stairs I opened another door and entered the kitchen. So far, so good. I removed the bug finding device from my pocket and held it in front of me. It had a lighted meter with a needle that moved up the scale if there was anything transmitting from or into the house. I kept one eye on the meter as I crept across the linoleum floor in the kitchen, bypassing the garage which I didn't think would be bugged.

The kitchen and dining area were clear and I moved through the archway into the living room. Circling the room I held the monitor near the walls and moved it from top to bottom as I went. Nothing. I thumped the little machine a couple of times to make sure it was working. The needle jumped each time then settled back to its resting position. So the needle worked when I thumped it. Hopefully that meant it would work when it was near a bug. I made another pass at the living room. Zilch.

Disappointed, I started down the hallway. My disappointment was replaced by shock when I turned into the first bedroom. The double bed, extending into the room from the wall on my right, was occupied. It looked like a women lying on her stomach with her head at the wrong end. I crossed the room in two steps and pulled the shade then backtracked and closed the door. There was a small light on the dresser to my left and I switched it on right after removing the goggles from my eyes.

She was wearing tight fitting blue jeans and a short sleeved shirt. A black sandal was on the floor and it matched the one still of her right foot. I felt her neck for a pulse, but there was only stillness and warmth. She hadn't been dead long. The cause of her death was not immediately apparent and I wasn't going to stick around long enough to find out.

There was a bulge in the back pocket of her jeans and I pulled out a nylon case that held a Drug Enforcement Agency ID with what could have been her picture. Was the ID real? Why wouldn't it be? I thought. I cleaned off any prints with my shirt and put it back in her pocket. No reason to move the body and there was nothing else of interest on or around the bed, so turned the light off and put the goggles back in place. It was time to leave.

I'd gotten as far as the kitchen when an idea popped into my head. I returned to the body and found a set of keys in the left front pocket of her jeans. Then I left for good.

I used the same route to get back to my car and that's when it finally hit me. The enormity of it all. A dead DEA Agent. Holy shit! I thought of Chuck's remark about not inviting trouble. Well, I thought, killing a DEA agent was one of the quickest way to invite trouble that I could think of. I was assuming that the hulk I'd seen leaving the house was the murderer and I also assumed that he worked for the same man Chuck worked for. If not, then someone else was interested in this case. That would make four interested parties: Me, Chuck's boss, Butch, the DEA and the guy who did the murdering. This had gone from a missing person to a dead DEA agent in less than four hours. I could really pick them.

I opened the trunk and returned the NVG's and bug detector to my case. After retrieving a pair of latex gloves from the same case, I put them on and closed the trunk. I headed straight for the telephone van that had seemed so innocent. Now I was almost positive it belonged to the dead agent. I reached the van and pulled the keys from my pocket, picked one that looked like a car key and inserted it into the lock on the driver's side door. It didn't fit. Three more keys and I had it open.

I slid behind the wheel and found the front seat as empty as a new vehicle. It certainly didn't belong to a working phone repair person. A metal wall, with window, separated the front seat from the back of the van. Since there was nothing in the front, I got out and walked to the back. I repeated the key routine, but this time it only took two tries to find the right one. Then I was inside.

This was definitely not a phone company truck. On one side was a bench that held some electronic equipment. The equipment was working, at least it was on, and it took up most of the bench. The remainder of the rear compartment was empty except for some large cushions, a purse, and an empty fast food bag.

I grabbed the purse and was about to exit when I spotted the laptop. It was connected and the screen saver was on. No time to check it out here, so I reached behind and disconnected the cable. As I stepped onto the street, I wondered what had caused the lady to leave the van? I left the door unlocked, hurried back to my car and threw everything, including her keys, into the trunk.

I could have turned around in the street and headed home, but for some reason I needed to drive by the Anderson home. Some kind of last rites or something. Who knew. As I drove by, I thought about the woman lying on the bed. Sadly, she would have no more worries, but mine were just beginning.

# Chapter 6

There's a hotel, bar and Italian restaurant at the Century exit off I-94, about four miles from Walt Anderson's home. The restaurant serves excellent pizza that tastes even better with beer. What better way to relax and ponder the mysteries of the world; like why the agent was murdered, what was in the case that was missing and where was Walter Anderson.

The bar was nearly empty and I sat at one of the high, wood tables along the windows at the front. I put the laptop on the table and when the waitress came, I ordered a Pig's Eye Beer and a small cheese pizza. The Twins were on the TV in this part of the restaurant.

I fumbled with the laptop, which was fast becoming another frustrating experience in the evolution of my computer skills. I had never used a laptop before and my beer arrived before I even got the damned thing opened. Since I hadn't turned the computer off when I disconnected it was still on and there was a dialogue box asking for the password. "Shit! Now what?" I muttered to myself. At this rate, I'd be in the bag and unable to understand anything I managed to get opened.

I had no idea what the password was and I wasn't going back to Walt's house to search. Maybe there was something in her purse with her password on it. On a whim I lifted up the laptop and what do you know. Taped to the bottom of the computer was a number. I removed the paper from the bottom and tried the number. The screen changed to a desktop half filled with icons. Talk about living right.

I clicked on an icon named 'Watch Log' and the screen that appeared listed dates, times and events. I scrolled to the first entry: 11:00A.M.- Wednesday- September 13-This begins the log of activities at the residence of one Walter Anderson, who seems to be of interest to the Davies' bunch. No Activity at this time.

For the next five hours the entry 'no activity' was entered every half hour. Then: 4:00 P.M.-Charles Hayden arrives. Tries front door, no answer. Went around back. Looks like intelligence was right about this one. 4:21 P.M.-Hayden just came out the front door, returned to his car and left.

The next three entries showed no activity. Then:

6:16 P.M.-Charles Hayden is back. He's parked three houses up the hill from Anderson's and looks like he's settling in-continue the watch.

The log became a drudge of no activity, changing of the guard, on both sides, and there was some information on Walt Anderson. The men who relieved

Chuck were noted, but either the DEA didn't know who they were or their names were not worth mentioning. I found it interesting that they knew who Hayden was and that they did mention him frequently.

On Friday the fifteenth, the log recorded the arrival of Don Anderson, along with information about him. His phone call to me was also noted, as were others he'd made. Guess I was right about the bugs.

Then I arrived on the scene: 5:30 P.M.-Male, white, driving a Hyundai. Run license plate; 5:45 P.M.- Name of new arrival-Jacob Ross Tanner--age 35--address 3789 Forsberg Road--Woodbury, Minnesota--Phone-661-875-8880--Private investigator. These people worked fast.

The remaining entries recorded Donny's and my movements, parts of our conversations, and mentioned the fact that Charlie followed us when we left for our walk. Our return from the walk, the brief absence in my car, dropping Donny off and our departures were all duly noted. There was no mention of my conversation with Charlie. So they hadn't followed us after we'd left the house. Apparently the house was the focal point for the DEA. That would change when they found the body.

The last entry was: 7:30P.M.-Operation canceled--going in to remove bugs. Well, she would be making no more entries, ever. I wondered why they canceled the operation.

The pizza came and I ate most of it before I made the call to Don. We had agreed that I would call him at 11:00 and arrange another meeting for tomorrow. I was also going to bring him up-to-date.

I picked up my cell phone and called the number Don had written on the back of his business card. He'd also written the name and address of the person he'd be staying with. It had been a tough argument, but I convinced him to stay away from his house until we figured out what was going on.

"Hello." A female voice.

"Hi. Is Don there?"

"Is this Jake?" All very hush-hush like.

"Yes, it is."

I waited, thinking she was summoning Donny, but she continued, "Don found his father and left an hour ago to meet him. He said he would call you in the morning."

I hesitated for effect, then responded, "Gosh, I'm so happy to hear that, Mary. Thanks for the info."

"No problem. Glad I could help."

I hung up. And they all lived happily ever after, I thought. Three things bothered me about the call I had just completed. Specifically, Donny was to answer the phone, he promised not to leave, even if he found his dad, and his friend's name was Heather, not Mary. Great! Now I had two missing persons on my hands.

# Chapter 7

In the six hours since Don had called me, I'd roughed up a two-bit hustler, found a dead DEA agent who was tracking the comings and goings at the Anderson home, my client was now missing and a woman had just lied to me about my friend's whereabouts, or so it seemed.

I thought about going home and catching a little shut-eye since it was already an hour past my normal bedtime of eleven o'clock, but I decided now was the time to take some positive steps toward cleaning up this mess. Don had assured me he would be staying with a friend, so maybe the woman I talked to was Heather and she simply ignored my purposeful use of the wrong name. Maybe she thought I'd gotten the name wrong when Don gave it to me. Whatever the reason, I intended to find out tonight.

Before leaving the restaurant, I used their pay phone and made an anonymous call to the St. Paul Police Department, giving them the location of the dead agent. I hung up and headed for the address Don had given me.

It was in Oakdale, another eastern burb of St Paul, and when the numbers I was looking for reflected off a wooden mailbox, I slowed and parked several houses past it.

Apparently they don't put sidewalks in front of homes anymore so I walked in the quiet street of the upscale neighborhood. Most of the homes were dark, but a light was on in the back of the house I was going to visit. I went around the side to the back yard and up several steps to an enclosed porch. I knocked loudly on the door.

Throw caution to the wind and let the chips fall where they may. I can't help it. You hear this stuff all your life and it comes to mind automatically. Impossible to stop.

There were footsteps approaching from inside then instant brightness from large spotlights on the garage behind me. The door I'd knocked on opened, slightly, and a woman's voice asked, "You're Jake, right?"

"I am indeed. And are you Mary?"

She stepped from behind the door and into my view. Wow! "No, I'm Heather. Why do you insist on calling me Mary?" She almost sounded hurt.

Because she was several inches shorter, my shadow completely enveloped her. I moved aside, exposing her curious, blue eyes to the bright yard light behind me and making it difficult for her to see me. This was another one of the many tricks I had in my bag, but it wasn't the reason I'd moved aside. I wanted to verify that she was as stunning in the light as she was in my shadow and guess I didn't want her to see my eyes because of the lust that was surely there.

Heather was obviously braless under the bright orange tank top that stopped just above her white shorts and exposed a portion of her tanned midriff. She tilted her head to the left, her face now showing a don't-fuck-with-me look that I interpreted as real. Her blonde hair hung just past her shoulders, touching the upper part of her left arm. She was waiting for a response and I said, "Let's talk about it inside."

She thought about that for a second, stepped aside and said, "After you, Jake."

It was an effort keeping my eyes, and mind, on the difficult task of walking by her and into the kitchen. I tripped over the threshold on my way. God, what was happening to my normally cool self? I took a deep breath, told myself to calm down, then turned around and leaned on a white Formica countertop.

She walked to the refrigerator, opened it then turned to me and said, "I understand you like beer, Mr. Tanner."

My hand slipped off the counter, which added greatly to a total lack of composure, and I answered, "I've been known to have a few." Real smooth.

She smiled. Small crow's feet at the corner of each eye and nearly invisible lines on her forehead added character to her youthful beauty. It wasn't getting any easier for me. "Bud or Pig's Eye?"

I have never stuttered in my life, but my answer came out, "P-P-Pig's Eye."

She removed two from the top shelf, closed the door and walked to the round, oak table directly across from where I stood. Heather sat in one of four wood chairs and opened both beers. "Sit down and take a load off." She pushed one of the bottles across the table.

It was a fairly large kitchen, maybe fifteen by fifteen, but it seemed much bigger as I wobbled the five or six steps to my designated chair. Get a grip, I ordered, to myself. "Thank you," was as good as I could muster up.

"You must have had a rough night, Jake. You're acting kind of weird." Then added, much to my chagrin, "Or, this is the way you always are."

She was being sincere and I was acting like a fool. This shyness, if that's what it was, simply took over my whole being. Pull it together, Tanner. "Sorry if I've worried you. After we talked on the phone, I was convinced you were lying to me. I came charging over here hoping to confront someone who knew what was going on. When you answered the door and told me who you were, it confused me." Doing better. "I guess you could still be lying. I doubt it, but maybe you would show me some ID. You know, leave no stones unturned and all that." You're reverting, Jake-man. Settle down.

Without a word, she left the dimly lit kitchen and walked through a doorway into the darkness of the adjoining rooms. Moments later she returned, purse in hand, briefly rooted around in it then produced a driver's license. She handed it to me then returned to her chair while I studied the piece of plastic.

Her name was Heather Rossini, address was where we sat, and she was only two years younger than me. The remaining statistics read: Blonde hair, blue eyes(the brilliant whites were not mentioned), five feet-six inches, one hundred and twenty pounds and she was an organ donor. Oh, the thoughts in my head. Knock it off, Jake. "Okay, so I'm a suspicious guy. I have to be in my business."

"And just what is your business, Jake. Maybe I should see your license."

"Which one?"

"How many do you have?"

I couldn't pull my eyes from hers, which were locked on mine. Hell, I didn't want to. Without blinking I answered, "Driving, fishing and PI."

She held my gaze. "Donny said you were a PI. I'd like to see all three, just to be on the safe side."

I fumbled in my billfold for a minute before producing the three items. She perused them for a bit then handed them back. "I noticed that you're an organ donor."

I kept my composure and we discussed the selfishness of those who were not willing to donate their organs in the name of science or to help those who might need one. We had another beer and talked about other world problems, until I remembered to ask about Donny. It was midnight, where had the time gone, and I said, "Not to change the subject,"

"Then don't."

She was still ogling me, at least that was my take, but I forged on, "What happened to Don?"

Heather got up and went to the fridge for more beer and I mentally flogged myself for ruining what I imagined was the moment. She answered, "I told you on the phone that he found out where his dad went and was going to meet him."

"He didn't hint at where he might be going?"

She opened the bottles, with the help of a towel, and returned to her chair. Her eyes returned to mine and I wondered if this was really happening to me. In addition to having a small buzz from the alcohol, I was tired and chose to believe it was love at first sight. I listened attentively when she said, "Don said it would be better if I knew nothing. He said he'd call me in the morning, but he didn't give me a specific time."

I looked into the dark room behind her, trying to decide what my next move would be, when she suggested, "Why don't you sack out in the guest room and you can talk to him when he calls." She added, coyly, "Besides, you've been drinking and shouldn't be driving."

She was absolutely right and I thought it was a great plan. Her smile indicated that she thought so too. What the hell, it was her idea. I had to ask, "How do you and Don know each other?"

Her blue eyes widened, anticipation of my reaction already showing on her face and she said, "We're law partners."

I nearly spit up the beer that had begun its journey to my belly. I coughed for a bit and by the time I'd regained my composure, or what was passing for it, she was laughing. Like I said earlier, Don and I don't see much of each other, but I know the town and I know the name of his law firm: Anderson, Marstadt, and Rossini. I'd never been to his office and I'm not a chauvinist pig, but I had always assumed that Rossini was a man. It was too late to retract the surprised look on my face. Trying to sound only mildly surprised, I said, "Well I'll be." God, why didn't I add, "Now don't that beat all."

She continued to stare into my eyes and after a period of silence said, "I've been with the firm for ten years. Four years ago I threatened to go on my own and Don made me a partner. I do a lot of corporate work, but once in a while I help Paul, the other partner, on criminal cases."

She drank from the bottle, giving me a chance to jump in, but I was worried about saying something stupid, again, so after she'd set the bottle down the one sided conversation continued. "They have been good to me and I no longer feel the need to strike out on my own."

"What do you mean by, 'good to me'?" Just couldn't possibly keep my mouth shut.

"Well, I mean," and she stopped. A quizzical look appeared, briefly, on her face and just as quickly disappeared. "Tsk, tsk, tsk." She shook her finger at me. The smile remained and, in fact, she had started to laugh. Much to my relief it seemed that I'd gotten away with another blunder. Her laughing slowed and she said, "You're thinking I might have been involved with Don or Paul."

I couldn't tell if it was a statement or question because she raised the tone of the last words of the sentence. Drives me nuts when people do that, but it didn't seem to bother me coming from her. I wasn't being completely honest when I said, "I was thinking they must be paying you well and giving you exciting cases to keep you from leaving." It would set a bad precedent to lie outright at our first meeting, so I bit the bullet and admitted, "The idea of you being involved with one of them had crossed my mind, but I had no intention of insinuating that you got your partnership by anything other than honorable means." I was hurt.

She laughed harder. "You could be a comedian, Mr. Tanner," then drained her beer. My kind of gal. She stood, motioned me to follow her and gave me a quick tour of the downstairs which included the living room and formal dining room. Then she led me upstairs where the bedrooms, including the very sensual master bedroom, were located. The small bedroom, where I was going to sleep was across the hall from hers; it was nicely furnished and looked over the front yard.

Both of us yawned as she turned down the covers on the queen sized bed. I thought about suggesting a closer look at the master bedroom, but figured it would be a bit premature to suggest it. Maybe she would. Heather finished with the bed then walked, floated would a better way to describe the movement, out of my room and across the hall to the doorway of her bedroom. She stopped and turned to me. Looking pleased with herself she said, "Good night, Jake. I'll wake you when Don calls," and she closed her door.

Poof! Just like that. Well, what had you expected, Jake? That she'd fall all over you? What the hell, I was too tired anyway. It didn't matter that my ego had been flattened, and besides, it was for the best because the case needed my full attention. I completed my bathroom duties, then crawled into a waist high, four poster bed. Out.

# Chapter 8

She was sinking fast. Her beautiful, naked breasts were about to disappear in the quicksand and my legs would not move as quickly as my brain ordered. My toes scraped the ground as I tried to reach her. Heather was going down faster, up to her chin now, and I was still thirty feet away. She was yelling, "Jake, help me."

I yelled to her, "I'll save you, Heather!" Toes dragging deeper into the hard dirt.

"Jake, Jake, Jake," she cried desperately.

But there were two voices calling me, one of them from somewhere else, and as I floated out of my subconscious state I became aware that the real

Heather was shaking me and repeating my name. I sat up instantly, "What time is it?"

"It's five. Don's on the phone."

It was still dark outside, but some of the street light's glow shone on her as she sat on the bed's edge, holding the phone. I was intensely aware of her closeness, and the intensity increased when I reached for the cordless phone and our hands collided, causing the phone to drop between us. We both laughed nervously while she retrieved it then handed it to me. I licked my lips and swallowed several times to moisten my mouth and finally spoke into the phone, "What's up?" Before he could answer I said, "And don't tell me where you are."

"I hadn't planned to. After everything that's happened since yesterday afternoon, only my barber will know."

That Donny's a clever guy, ain't he? "You sound like a man with a plan."

"Very perceptive, and it won't take long to explain." He cleared his throat and started, "You remember where Dad would take us after a morning of deer hunting?"

Of course I remembered. Some of the best times of my early years happened in that place, but I asked a simple question to make sure we were on the same page. "Are the bears still alive?"

"I'll meet you there at noon."

It wasn't necessary to bullshit about anything else so I responded, "See you there," and handed the phone back to Heather.

She put the phone to her ear, listened then pushed the off button. "Well?"

"He wants me to meet him at noon. Didn't say much else." I fluffed up the pillow and plopped my head down, ready for more sleep, but my eyes remained open. I couldn't take them from her lovely face.

"What else didn't he say?"

I yawned and said, "I am really tired, Heather. Would you mind if we discussed it in a couple of hours?"

She actually slapped me on top of the head, not hard, but I got the message. She followed the slap with, "Don't push me out, Mr. Private Dick. Don brought me into this and I'm here to stay. So set that mouth of yours in motion and finish the story."

Never heard a better speech! And speaking of motion, Mr. Private Dick was awakening. I was smiling when I retorted, "Of course you're here to stay. Even if it wasn't my decision, I wouldn't have it any other way." In a serious tone I said, "Heather, there are devices in this world that can read sound wave vibrations as they hit the glass in these windows." I sat up and faced her, "I doubt if anyone is listening, but there's no reason to be careless. We'll talk on the way to meet Don."

"Okay, Jake. Just so you understand that I'll be hanging out." She stood and walked to the doorway, where she stopped and turned toward me. Her mischievous grin was barely visible in the diminished light. She asked, "When you do decide to get up, what would you like for breakfast?"

I couldn't pass it up, "You, of course."

She never missed a beat, "That would only be our third date, honey. If we get past ten, I'll think about it." God, she was doing Mae West. The silky gown she wore was draped to mid-thigh and I almost bolted from the bed before she turned and walked away.

The hint of a hangover had disappeared in the excitement and it took me some time to drift off.

# Chapter 9

I woke to the smells of a greasy, Saturday morning breakfast. I showered, brushed my teeth, donned the previous evening's wear and hustled downstairs. I was famished. Heather was slaving away in the kitchen, which, unlike last night's light-bulb dimness, was now brilliant with sunlight that flooded through a huge, paned window above the sink. "Anything I can do?"

She turned quickly, obviously she hadn't heard me come down, and yelped, "Jeez', you scared the hell out of me. This whole thing has got me skittish as ever, then you come sneaking up on me," but there was the beginning of a grin when she turned her attention back to the sizzling bacon and sausage.

I walked up behind her and leaned over her shoulder. Just inches from her right ear I spoke in my most apologetic tone, "Sorry, honey."

She laughed and said, "The paper's on the table. How do like your eggs?"

"Scrambled," I answered and walked to the table and sat down. It amazed me how this room had changed since we sat here at midnight. Some other things were amazing me too, but I pushed them to the back so I could concentrate on the day ahead.

My butt had just hit the chair cushion when she said, "Who's that?" And I watched her step quickly to the back door and close it hard.

Her voice and quick action made me bolt to the window she'd been looking out and I saw the back half of a man disappear onto the porch. Heather gave me a 'what now' look, so I grabbed her arm and headed for the stairs. A bell chimed at the same time someone knocked on the back door. I could see a shadow through the front door's window so I knew that there were at least two men outside. "Upstairs," I urged, "I want to get my pistol before we answer the door." No sense taking unnecessary chances.

She ran back to the stove and turned off the bacon then she ran back to where I stood, at the bottom of the stairway, and said, "I don't like burnt bacon." Then pulled me behind her as we ran to the top of the stairwell. Halfway down the hall she ducked into her room saying, "I'll get mine too."

I went into the room I'd stayed in to retrieve my pistol. Pistol in hand, I left the room, but she pushed by me, carrying her weapon, and hurried to the open window that overlooked her front yard. Heather leaned on the window sill and spoke loudly, through the screen, "Who's there?"

I watched, over her shoulder, and soon a man appeared. He looked up at Heather. It wasn't who I thought it would be, but now I knew who was at the back door. The silver convertible, parked in front of the house, was the same one I'd driven yesterday.

The guy below pulled a leather billfold from the back pocket of his jeans, which matched his sleeveless, denim shirt, and opened it so we could see the badge inside. He said, loud enough for the neighbors to hear, "Detective Brown, St Paul PD, Ma'am. We'd like to talk to you about one of your business partners."

"Which one?"

"Don Anderson."

"Is this about his father?" She was working him.

"Yes," came the instant reply. He said something into the microphone on his collar then looked back up and asked, "Could we discuss this inside, Ms. Rossini?"

I don't think she liked the 'Ms. Rossini' because her voice sounded harder when she said, "Yesterday the police said Don would have to wait twenty-four hours before an investigation could be started." She lifted her left arm and checked the watch on her wrist, "That leaves about eight more hours before you can officially begin the search, so I'm a little suspicious about this visit."

The man responded, but I couldn't understand what he said because I was halfway to the stairs, on my way to intercept the person at the back door. I was confident it would be Chuck and also confident he would be trying to open that door this very second. As I started down the steps I heard her reply, "I'll be down when the real police arrive. I am going to call them now."

I was on the last step and could hear the man out front mumble further, but the sound from the kitchen area had my full attention. I stopped, held my .38 at the ready, and when Chuck peeked into the stairwell I put the end of the barrel inches from his left eye and said, "Hi, Chuckie. You're really starting to piss me off."

He moaned. I thought he was going to faint, but he surprised me and jumped back towards the kitchen. The pistol, with me right behind, followed as though his head was magnetized. We were toe to toe, his back now against the door he'd recently jimmied, the business end of my .38 jammed against the softness underneath his chin. Chuck grunted, "What the fuck are you doin' here, man? I was hopin' you'd be handled by now."

I didn't know exactly what he meant by 'handled', but I didn't like it one bit and he soon knew it. My knee came up, hard, between his legs and he went down. Watching him writhe on the floor, then curl into the fetal position, put me in a good mood-I'll show him who's handling who!

Heather appeared in the doorway that Chuck and I had just come through and asked, "Do you want me to call the police?" She looked down at my prisoner and continued, "Let me guess. Another policeman."

"An old friend." I answered, keeping my eyes on Chuck. When I looked up again she had already turned her back to me and was aiming her pistol at the front door. It was apparent, looking at her stance, that she had been trained to use it. I had no doubt that she would shoot Sgt. Brown if he came, uninvited, through the front door. I said, "We'll call the police later, Heather. Why don't you invite the other guy in."

Heather walked to the door and unlocked it. She yelled, "C'mon in, Sarge," then moved behind the door as she pulled it opened.

He wasted no time and walked, cockily, into the house, but the phony policeman stopped cold when Heather warned, "Drop your weapon on the floor and put your hands behind your head, now!" He hesitated and she ordered, "Do it, before your brain is unable to comprehend the order."

Great line. I stepped in front of the doorway between the living room and kitchen and saw him standing there with his hands behind his head, awaiting further orders. His eyes lit up when he saw me and came forward when I waved him to me. When he was in the kitchen I motioned him to the floor, next to his partner. Heather was right behind him, smiling nervously, gun still pointed at the man's head.

When he was lying on the floor I leaned down and said, "Nice day Officer Brown." I grabbed the weapon from his waistband. "Sorry, I didn't catch the name of your friend."

Pain and disgust showed on Chuck's face. Before Officer Brown could answer, Chuck grunted, "You know who I am, asshole." He was still in pain.

I stood up and ordered both men onto their stomachs. "Keep your hands out in front of you like Superman when he flies," I said.

Heather was still pointing her gun at the two intruders and it was starting to shake. I asked, "Do you have something I can use to tie these joker's arms and legs?"

It took several seconds for her to respond, "Got just the thing," and she disappeared through a door that I assumed led to her garage.

She was back in a flash, clothes-line, duct tape and razor knife in hand. I said, "Beautiful! Watch these two while I do the honors?"

Heather took the pistol and immediately turned it on our prisoners. She asked, "If they get out of line, which one do I shoot first?"

I gave her a quick smile and proceeded to tie their hands behind them and duct tape their mouths. I asked Heather, "What kind of car do you have?"

"Chevy Blazer."

"Perfect. You mind driving this garbage a short distance?"

She thought for a bit, I think it was mostly an act, before answering, "I suppose I could." There was a resigned sound to her answer, again part of her act, then she continued. "We are taking them to the dump, aren't we?"

From shaking gun to that kind of response was fast recovery. I was impressed. I said, "That is definitely where they belong, but it costs money to dump so we're taking them elsewhere." We herded them to the garage and into the back of the Blazer. I ordered them to lie on the floor and, after closing the hatch, I hopped into the passenger seat.

# Chapter 10

Heather drove well considering the circumstances. The heavily tinted windows of the Blazer kept prying eyes from the scene inside and helped ward off the sun's rays that were already hot at mid-morning. She asked, "Where are we going?"

We'd traveled a few blocks and I looked to see where we were. I was not familiar with the neighborhood, even though it was only a couple of miles from my townhome, and I was keeping an eye and the .38 on the baggage so I said, "Head for the frontage road on the east side of Highway 61." I wanted to drop them at the field where I'd questioned Chuck. Could it really have been only last evening? Seemed impossible, but it was true. Heather's .38 was in my hand and mine was in my pocket, ready for use if our captives caused any trouble. Their weapons were on the floor in front me.

After further directions, she soon turned onto the road that wound upward and when we reached the meadow on top I said, "Drive to the trees on the other side." I kept my eyes on the bound duo as we bounced across the meadow.

When the vehicle came to a halt, I jumped out and opened the back door. "Come out slowly and walk ten steps into the trees." They did as ordered, except Chuck, who walked eleven before realizing his mistake. He took one step backward and ended up next to the Sarge. Heather moved alongside of me and I handed her the pistol. As I walked toward the prisoners I said, "If either of these boys tries anything weird, don't even hesitate to shoot."

Several feet to my right was a large oak tree, its trunk about three feet in diameter, and I said, "Why don't you slugs have a seat on opposite sides of this tree trunk." I pointed for them to see where I meant and they complied. They sat down with their backs against the bark. "Not that way. I want you facing the tree with your legs around the trunk."

There was some grumbling, but they did as ordered and when each was in position, I took the remaining clothes-line from the front seat and proceeded to bind their ankles together. With hands tied behind their backs, they were now securely tied. I stood and said, "If you're lucky, someone will come along and release you before the police respond to an anonymous call about two police wannabes tied to a tree."

Before leaving I made sure both men had the phony police ID's and empty pistols on their persons, then we left them to the bugs. They would probably be thankful when the police showed up, even though most of the remaining day would be spent answering questions downtown.

When we were back on the blacktop, I explained, "Don wants us to meet him at a bar north of St. Croix Falls, over in Wisconsin. It's a place his dad hung out when the family was at their cabin. When he took us deer hunting we got to go to the bar with him. Hell, we played video games, shot pool, ate burgers and had a great time. The last time we went was our senior year. After high school Don and I went our separate ways. It'll be fun to see the place again."

Heather stopped my rambling, "I don't mean to be rude, but which way do we go?"

I laughed, which I had been doing a lot of since meeting her and said, "Back to my car, but I want you to drop me a couple of blocks from your house. Then I asked, "Do you have a pen and some paper so I can write the name of the bar and draw a map to the place? Just in case I get held up."

"What do you mean by that? Why do we need to go back to your car? And why do you want me to drop you a couple of blocks from my house?"

"Heather, if someone is watching your house I want to know. We're temporarily rid of Larry and Moe and now I want to see if the Feds have caught up. They've got to be looking for anyone remotely related to the circumstances surrounding the murder of a federal agent. I'm in their data base because of the stakeout at Anderson's and you are a law partner of Don's. If they are watching your house and get lucky enough to catch me and take me in for questioning, you can go meet Don and find out what this is all about." I thought a second about that and added, "If Chuck and his buddy were looking to you for answers, it seems reasonable that the Feds would be, too."

"That's fine reasoning, Jake, but why do we have to go back to your car? Why not just go meet Don in my car?"

"My car has a lot of the equipment that I use in my livelihood." Before she could say more I added, "We'll meet at that Mexican restaurant over by the Woodbury water tower?"

She seemed to be readying herself for an argument, but must have changed her mind. "There's a pencil and some paper in the glove box." After a pause she added, "Please be careful."

I couldn't stop myself. I placed my hand on the back of her long, sensuous neck and said, "Heather, I'll see you at the meeting place" She gave me a quick 'you better be right' look then returned her attention to the road. I proceeded to draw a map to the bar.

I was almost finished when she said, "We're almost there, Jake."

I asked, "How far?"

"Three blocks."

"OK. I'll get out at the next corner."

She pulled over and pointed in the direction of her house and I handed her the map. She seemed to understand what I'd drawn, asked how far it was, then pushed it into her purse. Heather's stare burned into my eyes and she said, "But I really won't be needing it because you will be meeting me shortly and I can follow you, right?"

Why argue. "I'll see you in the restaurant's parking lot. Fifteen minutes max."

She leaned over and kissed my cheek than pulled away and replied, "Be there or I'm coming back to find you."

# Chapter 11

I watched her car disappear around a curve then started down the street in the direction she'd pointed. I didn't get my bearings until I'd gone a block and had reached the street Heather lived on. Her house and my car were a block and a half to my left but one of those telephone company vans was parked on the street between me and my car. There was a good chance that it was a federal stakeout vehicle, so I crossed the street Heather lived on and walked to the alley that would take me behind Heather's. I walked past her house until I could see my SUV, then walked through the neighbor's yard and directly to my car. The van was on the other side of the street, facing the opposite direction. I got in my SUV, started it up and eased away from the curb. I looked in the rearview mirror when I turned at the first intersection. The van remained where it was.

Two blocks away I pulled over because I figured they'd put a bug on the car, which would allow them to follow me unobserved. It didn't take me long to find and remove the little bug which was attached behind my rear bumper. I threw it on the grass then hightailed it out of there.

I was pretty confident that no one followed me to our meeting place and pulled alongside Heather's Blazer. I noticed that her back-up lights were on. I got out and walked over to the driver's side door and opened it. "Going somewhere?"

"I was on my way to save your sorry ass."

I chuckled. "Open the back door, would you? I need to put a few things back there."

She reached down and pulled a lever on the floor then got out and walked around the back to open the hatch. I walked to my car, opened the trunk and grabbed a medium-sized, hard-shell valise that I go nowhere without and transferred it to the back of the Blazer. I closed the back hatch and went back to my trunk for the DEA agent's purse and laptop and put them in the back seat of Heather's car. I said, "That's everything I need."

"What's next, Big Boy." She was doing it again. Mae West.

I answered, doing my W. C. Fields imitation, which is terrible at best, "Why don't you follow me, little lady, and we'll find a place to park this old jalopy." I walked over and patted the SUV, "Afterwards we'll take a ride in the country, maybe find ourselves a nice watering hole and partake of some deliciously wet concoction."

Mae was still there, "Let's get this show on the road, big guy. My throat's parched and my legs are getting weak, which can only be good for you." She threw me a kiss, flashed me a lewd smile then stepped into the Chevy.

I went back to my car and got behind the wheel, a huge smile plastered on my face. I'd done a fair Field's imitation and, if I was reading Heather correctly, I wouldn't have to wait for the eleventh date. That would be another time, however, because now it was time to get serious. I backed out and waited for her to follow me out of the lot.

Three blocks away was a 'Park and Ride' lot used by commuters who either take the bus downtown or hook-up with another driver. I left my car there because no questions would be asked if it was parked overnight.

Hopefully, we would pick it up later today, but one never knew. She had moved to the passenger seat and I slid into the driver's seat.

Minutes later we were heading north on I-494. Two miles later we exited onto East I-94, drove to Hudson, Wisconsin, then followed Wisconsin 35 north through Somerset, Osceola, Dresser, and on into St. Croix Falls. There we hooked up to State Highway 87 and followed it north to County G and headed west. County G ended four miles later at East River Road, which was one block north of our destination: Wolf Creek Saloon.

I turned left and drove past the saloon to see if anything unusual was happening. Then I turned around and drove back to the bar where I parked between two pick-ups in the back row of the lot. We sat in silence while we waited for Don.

Before leaving town I had called 911 from a pay phone and told the operator about a couple of guys who were impersonating police officers. I told him where they were located. He said someone would be investigating.

While I drove the seventy-five miles to Wolf Creek, Heather had played with the laptop that belonged to the DEA agent. I kept my eyes on the rearview mirror to make sure no one was following. I'm good at spotting tails and as far as I could tell, there wasn't one.

The files that the agent had downloaded to her hard drive proved to be accessible and quite interesting. Heather read them to me and I thought about the dead agent, Marta Wilton, and what she'd written.

There was my detective application with the state, my permit to carry a concealed weapon and my work reviews for the two years I was with the St Paul Police Department. Don Anderson's law school records, both of our military records (Donny was in the Army), and other interesting tidbits from our lives. There were no records on Walter. They either didn't have any or didn't want his information. My guess was the former because he was a primary player in this matter and the information would be here if there was any to be had.

Heather seemed rather miffed about not being mentioned in the synopsis that Agent Marta Wilton had written, until I reminded her that the computer had been taken last night, before she had entered the picture.

Marta's synopsis lacked any useful details. It read: Marcel and I were assigned to this case at 0700 on Wednesday, September 13. Our primary mission is surveillance of a home, owned by Walter and Rose (deceased) Anderson, located at 2684 Springer, St. Paul, MN. and the people who began watching his house yesterday. This watch is an extension of Operation 'Fishbowl' which is running in other parts of the Twin Cities Metropolitan Area. Great, I thought, I'm involved in an operation entitled 'Fishbowl'.

The entry continued: Walter Anderson has not appeared at this point (Friday evening, September 15), but his son, Don Anderson, showed up late this morning, and at 1730 another man, Jake Tanner, according to the license plate report, visited and the two have now left the house and are walking toward the river. Our hidden microphones did not transmit anything other than 'catching up' talk. Nothing was heard regarding the whereabouts of the missing father.

Marcel should return soon from his surveillance of another target and maybe he can find out where they went. Butch's boy is following them, but I can't leave my post. Tried to call Marcel, no answer. I'll keep trying.

Hayden just flew by in his car and is no longer watching the house. The other two birds have now returned to the house. They left briefly and returned. Tanner dropped Anderson off and left. Anderson left five minutes later.

That was it for the synopsis. Soon after she wrote the last paragraph her life would be over. The vision of Marta lying on the bed returned. Up to this point, I'd been content to find Walt, return the package he might have then move on to my next case. But Heather was now part of the equation and I wasn't about to leave her stranded in the middle of unfinished business. The entire matter had to be finished before I was convinced that she was safe. That meant finding the murderer and the person who hired him.

"Earth to Jake." Heather was shaking my arm.

I looked at her and asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

She rolled her eyes and pointed to the pick-up truck that had pulled in front of the Blazer. Upon closer inspection I could see Donny at the wheel and he was waving for us to follow him. "Do you recognize him?" Then she added the real hurt, "I'm glad it wasn't one of the bad guys or we'd have been dead meat before your ship landed."

"I knew it was Don. Anyone else would have felt my wrath and been gone, one way or another." I nodded to Don and we followed him out of the lot.

She was still yukking it up as we started down the highway and I was having a hard time hiding my smile. Though it was difficult for me to admit it, I offered, "Okay, I drifted a bit. I was mulling over case history, trying to make some sense of things, but I stand behind the wrath thing."

She laughed harder then said, "I believe you, Jake. Now watch the road, please."

I turned my attention back to the road and deftly steered us back to the blacktop, avoiding the embarrassment of going into the narrow ditch that ran alongside the road. I knew we weren't going to the Anderson's cabin because, as I remembered, we had always turned north when we left the bar. I thought about how easily the Feds, or anyone else with connections, could find the property owned by Walt or Don. The hardest part would be sorting through all the Walt and Don Anderson's they would find.

We turned right onto a gravel road. Through the trees on our right we caught glimpses of the St. Croix River, which is a large part of the boundary between Minnesota and Wisconsin. To our left the tree covered earth rose several hundred feet, providing the hillside homes a breathtaking view of the river and the hills of Minnesota on the other side. The driveways leading to most of these homes wound their way up and usually disappeared in the thickness of the woods, which allowed only an occasional glimpse of a house. It was into one of these driveways that Donny turned and we followed.

# Chapter 12

The place was halfway up the hill, completely hidden from the road below, and it offered the beautiful view of Minnesota that I'd mentioned earlier. The driveway circled back on itself and we parked behind Don.

After getting out, Heather said, "I don't know why, but I always figured you had to be in the mountains to find a view like this!" She was thrilled.

"Hey, everyone."

We looked up at the elderly man and woman waving at us from the second story deck. Heather and I waved back as Don walked from his car to greet us. The old couple disappeared. I guessed they were coming down to meet us.

Donny and I shook hands then he turned to Heather and asked, "How did you finagle your way into this trip, Rossini?"

She wrapped her arm around mine and pulled it hard against her left breast. Quite dramatically she said, "We couldn't bear to apart, my Dear Donald."

I'd never heard anyone call him Donald. It sounded strange and for obvious reasons I pictured the duck, which caused a bigger grin than the one I'd started for Heather's play acting (hopefully it wasn't all an act).

I looked at Don, who was now returning my glance, and said, "She told me you said she could come. Who was I to argue?"

That elicited a soft punch from her. "That's not true, Jake."

Just then Walter and the woman with him walked from the house. Heather finished her plea. "I've been very helpful and it is my opinion that you need me to help you solve this case." Very official.

The couple that had been on the deck had joined our little gathering and Walter Anderson reached his hand out and I shook it. He said, "Nice to see you again, Jake."

"It's a pleasure, Walt. You're looking great."

He thanked me, then hugged Heather and whispered something in her ear. Then introduced us to his friend. "This is Brenda Wakefield." We said our hellos and Walt continued, "I've known Brenda for a long time. Her husband passed on about the same time as Rose. I'm grateful for her invitation to hold this pow-wow in her home, no questions asked. She's satisfied knowing I'll tell her all the details when the time comes."

Everyone thanked her, then Don said, "Follow me."

The view from Brenda's deck was awe-inspiring. Not the mountain awe-inspiring view, but just as pleasing to us Midwest folk. We sat at a large, wooden table with all the fixings for a picnic; potato salad, beans, chips, and condiments for the brats that were smoking on the grill. The cooler was filled with soda and beer. Someone passed me a cold beer, which I consumed in short order. Then I proceeded to fill my plate.

Heather sat across from me, her knees occasionally brushing mine, and everyone seemed to be enjoying the beautiful, but hot, weather. Walt had turned the game on, Twins Vs Oakland, and it reminded me of those Saturday and Sunday afternoons when twins' games blared out of half the homes in our neighborhood. This was my kind of Saturday. Unfortunately, it wasn't going to last.

We were still sitting at the table, one hour later, and waiting for Don to return with what I'd been so anxious to see. The large umbrella over the table kept the sun's rays off of us, but the heat was relentless. Four beers had produced no buzz or urge to use the bathroom. I had sweated all of it out of my system.

The table had been cleared, except for our drinks, and Donny reappeared, carrying a black briefcase that he put on the table in front of me. I moved my beer aside and pulled the case closer. Heather got up and quickly moved behind me, her chin almost resting on my shoulder. She wasn't going to miss a thing. It was my hope that she liked being close to me. The latches popped easily and, with little fanfare, I raised the lid.

Heather and Brenda gasped louder then I, so it saved me a bit of face, but not much. As shocked as I was at seeing the money, ten piles by my quick count, it was the black, hard cover book that intrigued me most. I removed it from the slot and skimmed the pages until they went blank. Speaking to no one in particular, I asked, "How much is here?"

Donny answered matter-of-factly, "Quarter of a mil. It matches the amount that will be paid to the five people listed in that book."

I opened the book and turned the pages, slowly. Every other page had a name at the top, along with a large amount of money written in next to it. The amounts were different for each person; from one hundred thousand to three hundred thousand.

Dated entries under each name showed smaller amounts and each had thus far received different dollar amounts. It didn't take a genius to figure out that this was a list of payments made to the individuals and that eventually they would equal the amount shown next to each name. All of the people listed were politicians. Why was I not surprised?

"What are you thinking?" It was Don.

I took a few seconds before answering, "The machinery is just starting to churn so it will take a while to catch up to you and Walt. Why don't you tell me what the two of you have worked out."

"Dad, do you want to tell him?"

"Go ahead, son. I'll interrupt if you get it wrong." He winked at Brenda. An inside joke, I guessed.

Don began, "Dad found that case in the trees alongside Highway 61, just like you said, Jake. When he got home and discovered the enormity of his find he decided it would be best to disappear until I returned from my trip so we could talk about it." Don walked behind Jake and pointed to the case's contents. "There's a quarter of a million dollars there and five names on the list. You can see that payments have been made to each person shown, and it appears that more are going to be made. If we're correct in our assumption, then two million five hundred thousand dollars are going to be paid to this group before it's over."

Don paused and walked back to where his beer was, drank some and said, "I've had last night and this morning to think about Dad's theory and I'm convinced he's right. Hopefully, the two of you," he looked at Heather and I, "will see the folly in our thoughts and come up with a better idea, because I don't like what I'm believing."

He took several more slugs of his beer. I was getting pretty impatient and said, "Get to the point, Donny."

"Sorry." Then he said, "Is everyone familiar with the controversy involving the proposal to build a toll road outside the beltway that now surrounds Minneapolis and St Paul?" Everyone nodded and he went on. "Public funding is the only way it will become a reality. Without it the company that wants to build and operate the road cannot get additional financing to complete the project. The people on that list," and he pointed to the briefcase, "are state legislators and Dad has assured me that each of them has been exceptionally vocal about his or her opposition to using state funds for this project. As you may or may not have heard, the vote is close. It is possible that if these people changed their vote to yes, the bill would pass and the state would be partners in the toll road business." He looked at Walt, "Is that about right, Dad?"

"Except for the fact that you sound dubious about the whole matter. I've given this a lot of thought and it's the only thing that ties these people together. Hell, their politics are all over the board and every last one of them has been against public funding of this road for several years." Walt was worked up. "That's the way I see it and I'm not changing my mind."

He stared hard at Don. The two men had obviously been at odds over this situation, so I jumped in, "I haven't followed the issue closely, but it appears that you have, Walt." He was looking hard at me now. "What I do know is the toll road issue is going to be a big one in the legislative session that starts in January. Apparently it is going to be resolved one way or another. If Walt is right and these five votes could be decisive in the decision to spend millions, probably billions of dollars, then the two and a half million paid for the votes is small change."

Don spoke up, "If we believe the evidence that Dad found, and I see no reason to do otherwise, then this gives new meaning to the time honored practice of lobbying."

"Don is absolutely correct." I had their attention. "But this money is part of a larger plan. It has to be." I hadn't told anyone about the dead agent in Walt's house. It was time. "Much larger when you consider the fact that I stumbled across a dead DEA Agent in Walt's house last night." Let them chew on that for a while.

Don said, "My God! A dead federal agent? In Dad's house?" Shaking his head he continued, "Jake's right. This thing is bigger than the toll road bribes. Has to be." He picked up his beer and carried it to the railing, several feet away. Everyone waited for him to say more.

He turned and continued, "We need to ask ourselves, why risk killing an DEA agent? Think of the manhunt for the people responsible." Don took several more swallows of beer then looked at me. "Have you found out what happened after you reported the body?" Before I could answer, he asked, "You did report the body, didn't you, Jake?"

He acted as though he didn't want to hear my answer. "Of course I reported it." I shrugged my shoulders and watched him visibly relax. "It was an anonymous call." I ran my fingers through sweat-soaked hair then finished my beer. Don stared at me in disbelief so I asked, "What's wrong with making an anonymous phone call?"

Heather jumped in and asked Don, "Did you know that one of the people on the list is a client of ours?"

"Collette Raymond. I know."

Heather said, "Wouldn't it be ironic if we ended up representing her in court."

"Not funny, Heather. If this book turns out to be fact, Ms. Raymond will no longer be on our client list. I'll guarantee that!" He wasn't smiling.

Heather finished transcribing names and dollar amounts from the black book into her own notebook, while Brenda and Walt sat quietly and watched Donny peel the label from his beer bottle. I had a plan and said, "I think it is time we went to the authorities." Everyone nodded and I continued, "Specifically the FBI. Certainly they were called into this last night after the body was found. I'm not wild about traveling with the evidence and I think it would be best if I brought them here. I have a good idea where there might be an agent or two."

I had everyone's attention and Don asked, "Where would that be?"

"The FBI has probably found your family's cabin. You still own it don't you?"

Walt answered, "Certainly. Wouldn't want my grandchildren to miss out on the great outdoors." He stared at Don, "That is, if I ever get any grandchildren."

There was no response from Don so I said, "If I remember correctly it's several miles north of here."

"About nine miles north." Walt turned to Brenda and asked her to get a map, then continued, "And one mile west, on County O. Can't miss the red barn mail box. It'll be on the right." He finished with, "Got my name on it."

"Okay." I picked up where I'd left off. "Don, you call the FBI in the cities. I imagine that would be the closest office. Tell them that we have evidence regarding the murder of the dead agent. I'll drive up to your cabin and see if they're watching it. If they are, I'll bring them here and we'll be rid of the money and list that much sooner." Nobody said a word. I turned to Heather and asked, "Can I use the Blazer?"

"You can if I'm driving."

I didn't see any room for argument. "Let's do it."

# Chapter 13

Heather returned her notebook and pen to her purse. She'd apparently copied the names and dollar amounts into her own book for reasons known only to lawyers, then returned the other book to its slot in the briefcase. She closed and latched the case before handing it to Don. "All yours, partner." To me she said, "I'm ready, Jake." She looked excited.

Everyone gathered near the Blazer as we prepared to depart. While I waited for Heather to start the engine and get the air going, it had to be close to one hundred degrees, I talked with Don. "Call the FBI as soon as we leave. Hell, they might fly up in a helicopter and be here before we get back. Try to relax. Listen to the game." I patted him on the back and said, "Hey, you found your dad. Another case solved."

Don tried to smile, but it didn't work. "You two be careful. The people who killed that agent are still out there."

"Thanks for the reminder." I opened the door and slid in. The artificial air was hotter than the outside stuff but it was starting to cool. Everyone waved good-bye as Heather turned the vehicle around and more or less coasted down the driveway.

Brenda had given me a topographical map and I studied it as we headed up East River Road, both of us silent for the first few miles of the trip. Heather asked, "Do you really think there will be someone watching the Anderson place?"

"I'd guess there is a fifty-fifty chance. If they aren't, we've wasted an hour. Big deal. We go back to the group and wait for the FBI. I would expect a speedy response considering what we have to show them and the probable relationship to the dead agent."

I could sense that she was nervous about this side trip. She said, "If you want my opinion, and you probably don't, I think we should have stayed with the other three. I don't like leaving them alone while we go on this iffy trip."

I was wrong. She was angry. "You should have stayed with them if it was going to bother you so much. We can turn around anytime." Our first fight.

Her face showed visible signs of the wrestling going on inside her beautiful head. Suddenly she relaxed and, in a more peaceful tone, she said,

"Sorry, Jake. This whole thing is happening so fast and if anything happened to those three I would feel terrible, not to mention guilty as hell."

Now I felt a twinge of guilt. "Let's go back."

"Jake, I was only expressing my feelings about this entire mess. It seemed like the appropriate time. I'm not going soft or anything like that and we're not going to turn around because of my life long tendency to worry." She glanced, quickly, from the narrow road to me. Her look said, 'I hope you understand because it is real important that you do'.

I put my hand on her shoulder and said, "We'll be at Walt's place in a couple of minutes, take a quick look around and hurry back. Half hour tops. Nothing is going to happen to them."

She forced a tiny smile and asked, "How far to County O?"

We had just crossed Beltline Road. I checked the map and announced, "Three point five miles straight ahead." I moved the Anderson's and Brenda to the back of my mind and thought about the cabin. It had been years since I'd been there. I remembered that it sat back in the woods that ran along County O. The gravel driveway curved through the pines and birches as it wound its way to the cabin, which was hidden from the highway.

Heather interrupted my thoughts. "What is the plan once we arrive at Walt's?"

"Here's County O. Turn left then pull over onto the shoulder." She did as I'd asked and I answered her question. "When we get to the cabin, you will pull into the driveway and stop immediately. I'll be in the back with my binoculars scoping out the area. The tinted glass will keep me hidden from anyone watching and you can pretend to check the map; a lost soul trying to find her way in the world."

I stared out the windshield and must have gotten lost sorting out the possibilities because she asked, "And?" I looked back at her. She was rolling her fisted right hand, as though it was cranking something. Meaning? Let's keep the story rolling.

I said, "The map shows several trails across the road from the cabin that could be used to park a vehicle. It would probably be hidden from passers-by. A close look, which I will get while we're parked, should expose anyone watching for visitors." Heather did not respond so I went on. "It won't be hard to tell if it's the Fed's because their car will give them away. If it's a dark sedan, I'll approach it and ask for some ID. Then I'll explain the situation and we'll all go back to Brenda's. Sound good?"

"Sounds too easy, and I'm surprised you seem so confident. I mean, I've only known you a short time but you don't seem to be into simple solutions. There must be other scenarios dancing inside that handsome head of yours and maybe I should be privy to them. Like, what if it's not a dark sedan?"

"Heather, odds are good that things will go the way I described. Sure there are other possibilities: Nobody will be there, only the bad guys will be there or the FBI and the bad guys will both be there. But I'm thinking positive about this. If the bad guys are there, you will put your map away, back out of the driveway and head on down the road." I added, "We are armed and will be able to defend ourselves if it comes to that."

She mumbled something unintelligible then asked, "Where is my pistol?" I reached under my seat, grabbed the .38 and handed it to her. She laid it on the floor in front of her then waited for me to climb over the console and around the middle seat to the back, where I settled on the floor. Facing out the rear window, I opened my travel case and removed the binoculars and .357 Ruger. "I'm ready."

Heather responded instantly and I almost bumped my head against the rear window as the rocks flew from beneath the spinning tires. "Sorry, didn't mean to do that, Jake." The vehicle slowed then gradually picked up speed and it wasn't long before she announced, "Driveway coming up."

I braced myself for the turn, all the while watching the trees to my right for a hidden car or person. Nothing. Heather turned into the drive and the Blazer came to a stop. I heard the map rustle as Heather began the ruse we had talked about. The binoculars were already in place and I was scanning the woods across the way. After several sweeps I returned the glasses to their proper place in my customized case and said, "You can put the map away. Nobody is watching that I can see." I closed the case and said, "Might as well continue up the driveway to the cabin" I uncoiled my body and returned to the front seat. I laid the .357 on my lap and fastened the seat belt.

Heather was trying to refold the map and mumbling about its refusal to co-operate, as maps are wont to do. I started chuckling, but she gave me a "stop that' look and I did. "You drive, I'll fold the map, okay?"

I held out my hand, she thought about it for one second then gave it to me.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Go for it." I worked on the map as she drove the Blazer along the driveway and almost went through the windshield when she hit the brakes. Fortunately the seatbelt worked as advertised.

The map flew out of my hands and my head jerked downward as she exclaimed, "Shit!"

My forward motion stopped. I lifted my head and looked through the windshield to see what had caused the sudden stop. We were fifty yards from the cabin, which would have just come into Heather's view as we rounded the last curve, and there, partially hidden by a stand of birch trees along the circled drive, was a dark blue sedan with its front door open and a body lying next to it. "Son of a bitch!" I countered.

I looked at Heather then back at the man. I didn't think he'd fallen while getting out of his car so it stood to reason that someone had rendered him unconscious or dead and the person or persons responsible could still be around. There were lots of places to hide, but since there was only one car, I suspected the perpetrator had fled the scene. Only one way to find out. I said, "Let's see what this is all about."

She asked, "Should I drive up or do we walk?"

I thought about it, then answered, "Pull up behind the car. You check the body and I'll watch for any surprises." The .357 was in my right hand.

I stopped my constant surveillance of the cabin and trees long enough to glance at Heather and see if she was agreeing with me or was in total shock over my idea. Her eyes locked onto mine. "We could always back out of here and call the police." She knew what my answer would be, but had to ask.

After several seconds of quiet she sighed and lifted her foot from the brake where it had been since we'd stopped. She turned her attention to the matters in front, as I did, and the car began to roll forward.

I was out of the car before it came to a complete stop, weapon pointed to my front, and I moved quickly, around the back of the vehicle, searching for company. No one. I joined Heather, who was crouched over the man. He was clothed in a red, short sleeved shirt, khaki slacks, and deck shoes. No socks. "Any signs of life?"

"He has a pulse," she said excitedly. The man's head was turned to the side and blood was visible on the back of it. "I'd say he was hit from behind. No other bleeding is visible so he might be okay." Heather sounded relieved.

We checked his backside for other wounds. There were none and I said, "Let's get him out of the heat." We pulled him up and laid him across my shoulders, in the 'fireman's carry' manner, then I transported him to the van and set him in the two person back seat. Heather had placed a cushion on one end and I eased his head onto it. I said, "Keep your eye on him while I check the cabin for something liquid. The cool air might help his recovery." I closed the door and Heather got back into the driver's seat to watch our patient.

The door to the cabin came open with two kicks and I went in with my piece leading the way. A quick search turned up nothing. In the kitchen I tried the faucet but the water had been turned off. The fridge, however, was on and I found several bottles of water. It gave me a nice feeling knowing the Anderson's still visited this cabin that held such good memories for me.

I grabbed a towel and two of the bottles then returned to the Blazer, where everything remained as I'd left it. I opened the rear passenger door and asked, "Any action?"

Heather sat behind the wheel and was turned to the back seat. She answered, "Pulse is still good, but he hasn't moved. Probably got a serious concussion from the blow." She sounded concerned. "Who do you think he is, Jake?"

Standing outside the vehicle, I poured water on the towel then folded it and placed it under the man's head. "Most likely a Fed. I'll go check the car for any ID." I started to close the door, but stopped and said, "Honk if he moves."

The heat was unbelievable. Humidity and temperature both above ninety and not a cloud in the sky. This type of day is bearable if a storm's brewing in the west and you know it will cool off after the rain. No such luck today. I took a quick walk around the cabin to be sure the person who popped the guy in the van was gone. I didn't find anyone so I figured he or she had found what they wanted or we had scared them off. Or, they were watching from the trees. No matter, I wouldn't be letting down my guard anytime soon.

I slid behind the wheel of the blue sedan, leaving my feet outside the car in case I had to move fast. A laptop on the passenger seat was open and in the shining light I could barely make out the screen saver. There were two fast food bags on the floor and a couple of Pepsi's in a holder between the seats. I raised the lid of a compartment behind the cup holders and found, among other things, a leather billfold. It was an ID case. There was a picture of the guy in Heather's van, accompanied by a name and the statement that he was an FBI agent. Somebody had it in for federal agents. It looked like this one would live.

Next to the laptop computer was a cell phone and underneath were several sheets of paper, which I pulled out. My eyes were immediately drawn to Heather's name, followed by mine. It was a bulletin informing the reader that we were wanted for questioning regarding the dead DEA agent that I'd found in Walt Anderson's house. "I'll be damned." I said aloud, at the same time Heather honked her horn.

I ran to the Blazer and opened the back door. Heather was pointing her pistol at the man. She said, "He's coming around."

"He's an FBI agent, Heather. I think you can put the gun away for now." The agent moved his right hand to the his forehead. I asked, "Can you hear me?"

There was a moan and the eyes blinked. He mumbled, "Head hurts."

Heather grabbed her bottle of water from the holder and handed it to me. "Here, hold this while I get some aspirin." She rummaged about in her purse until she found a small bottle from which she took several pills then handed them to me.

The agent, eyes now open and on Heather, tried to sit up, but dropped his head immediately with a loud groan. I asked, "Aspirin, anybody?"

He raised his right hand from his forehead then dropped it back. I reached under the towel, behind his head, and used my left hand to raise his head so he could take the medicine. He found his strength and continued the upward movement until he was almost sitting. He took his gaze from Heather and looked in my direction, eyes blinking quickly as he tried to focus, "I'll take the whole bottle."

The agent held his left hand out and I handed him a bottle of water, which he emptied before Heather gave him the aspirin. The aspirin disappeared into his mouth and he grabbed the bottle of water I'd given

Heather and drank it as fast as the first one. The guy was thirsty. Watching him gulp the water reminded me of my thirst, but that was the last of our water. "More water," he demanded, sounding out of breath.

"Wish I had more to offer," I said.

He handed the empty to Heather, touched the back of his head gingerly, and asked, "How bad is it?"

"You might need a stitch or two," I answered.

He was coming around now, looking from me to Heather and back again, trying to decide if we were the ones who belted him or not. We waited for him to ask the question. Finally, "You two didn't do this to me, did you?"

He was looking at me so I responded, "No. I doubt we'd stick around after knocking out an FBI agent."

"How..." He obviously remembered the ID left on the car's front seat and changed his question to, "What are you doing...." and other bits of information must have returned to his consciousness because he dropped that question and said, "You're Jake Tanner, aren't you?" Before I could answer he looked at Heather and announced, "And you must be Heather?"

The young agent smiled, obviously happy that his memory was returning. I had seen no picture of Heather and I in the agent's car and was impressed with his powers of reasoning so soon after the incident. I said, "You are correct Agent MacKay."

Heather jumped in, "That should take care of the introductions and now I think we should get you to the nearest hospital."

"You're probably right." He didn't sound happy about the decision, but knew it was the right one. "I should call my boss first." He turned in my direction and tried to lift himself off the seat, but he didn't make it. I grabbed his right arm and held him in an upright position, which kept him from slipping to the floor, then guided him back to the prone position.

He was out again. I checked his pulse, which seemed a bit fast, then closed the back door and walked around to Heather's side. She had rolled the window down and I said, "How does this sound. There is a hospital in St. Croix Falls, which is twenty miles south. I'll drive this vehicle and take Agent MacKay to the emergency room. You drive his car to Brenda's house, which we will pass on the way, and you can bring them up to date. Then come to the hospital and we'll inform MacKay of our situation."

"Sounds fine, except I don't know where the hospital is."

"Brenda, Walt or Don will know. If not, stop at the first gas station in St. Croix Falls and ask. It's only a block or two off the main drag." Heather got out of the Blazer and I moved into the driver's seat. She got into the sedan.

I pulled the SUV around the sedan and led Heather out of the drive and onto County O. She followed at a distance because of the large dust cloud behind me. We soon turned onto River Road, which was blacktop, and she closed the gap. I kept the speed at sixty, faster than I should have been driving on this road, but she stayed with me. MacKay sat up, startling me, and asked, "How far is the hospital?"

"Less than twenty miles." My heart slowed down. "You feeling any better?"

He ignored my question and asked, "Why are you doing this?"

"We're good citizens, Heather and me." Sounds good, I thought.

"I know you are a private detective, Mr. Tanner, and you know my name, so I assume you were doing a bit of detecting in my car." He reached behind his head then winced and continued. "You must have seen the order to hold you and your friend for questioning."

"Sure I did. So ask away." I had slowed to fifty since he'd awakened. It was too hard to hold the thin, no shoulder, road and watch my passenger in the rear view mirror.

"I'm not the one who wants to ask the questions. My job is to bring you in for questioning."

He kept playing with the wound and making faces that showed pain and I said, "Why don't you leave that alone. There will be plenty of pain when the nurses and doctor get their hands on you."

His hand came down and he asked, "Were you involved in the death of Marta Williams?"

"I thought you weren't the one who wanted to ask questions."

In the mirror I saw him smile. A good sign. He responded, "An order to hold you and your friend for questioning regarding the murder of an DEA agent makes me curious about your role in this case. Inquiring mind, you know."

"My 'role', as you put it, in this case has nothing to do with the murder. What I have discovered, as a result of working on a missing person's case, probably has everything to do with it."

He leaned forward. I thought he was going pass out again and took my foot off the gas, but he only wanted to be closer so he could hear the answer to his question. "And what would that be?"

There wasn't much to think about. Here was an FBI agent, albeit a bit damaged, who could verify the incriminating evidence and call other agents in. A five minute stop wouldn't hurt. Might as well get the show on the road. "Okay, Agent MacKay. If you feel we can delay your trip to the hospital for five or ten minutes, I'll show you the reason behind your agent's murder. At least some of it."

With no hesitation he said, "I'm more than willing to delay our trip." He leaned back on the seat, his serious face reflecting in the mirror. "Where are we going?"

"The evidence is at a house that happens to be on our way to the hospital."

"Who's house is it?"

An innocent question. "It belongs to a friend of the man I was hired to find. He, his son and the woman who owns the house are waiting for us to return with the law as a matter-of-fact. I was betting we'd find someone from law enforcement watching the cabin."

"Why would you have thought the cabin was being watched?"

A logical question. "The dead agent was watching my missing person's house. It seemed reasonable to think the FBI would find out that he owned the cabin and might be hiding there."

I could see him mulling that over. He then asked, "You said a woman owns the house we're going to."

"Yes."

"What is her name?"

An illogical question. "Brenda Wakefield." I'm good at remembering names. "Why?" I asked.

He was leaning forward again and answered, "Her house was going to be my next stop if I found nothing at the Anderson place. Her name and both of her addresses were in Anderson's personal phone directory. We're checking every place in that book."

The alarm bells were ringing and I asked, "Did you have this information written down anywhere?" The speedometer was back to sixty and going higher.

"It was on a report like the one you must have looked at to find out you were wanted for questioning. Why?"

Sixty-five and rising. This road was not made for speed. My answer, "Because that report was not with the papers on the front seat. I would have noticed it."

I glanced at him, quickly. He was leaning back again. This time his hand was on his forehead. He realized what the significance of the missing paper was and asked, "How far to the house?"

"Couple of miles." And that was the end of conversation.

# Chapter 14

I needed to concentrate on driving. Seventy-five was as high as I dared go on this road. In the mirror I could see Heather had dropped way back. She must have thought I'd lost it. The blacktop ended and we were within sight of Brenda's driveway when a black pick-up truck came flying out of it, slid onto the gravel road then straightened. It was heading away from us and the cloud of dust it kicked up it was immense.

"Who the fuck was that?" Mackay shouted. I hadn't noticed that he was sitting up.

"Damned if I know." And right this moment I didn't care. My concern was for the three people in the house above. I turned, too fast, into the driveway, clipping the bushes on the right, but quickly straightening out and speeding up the incline. I stopped the Blazer inches short of the garage door, threw the shift into park then jumped out of the truck and ran full speed to the front door. As I pulled the screen door open I heard a car skid and turned to watch Mackay's car slide to a stop ten feet away.

Not waiting for Heather, or the agent who was getting slowly out of the Blazer, I turned back and hurried into the house, .357 in hand. I hollered,

"Don, we're back." There was no response and once inside I knew why.

To my right was the 'Great' room, overlooked by a loft, with a fireplace at the opposite end. It was filled with several soft cushion chairs and sofas. The light was dimmed by curtains that covered the large, south facing bay window, but it was not dark enough to hide the three people who occupied the couch that was turned at an angle to the fireplace. I could see their faces. They looked so peaceful. Donny's head was against one of the large, upright cushions behind him, as though he was taking a nap. Next to him, Walt, with his arm around Brenda, their heads resting on a similar cushion. I started toward them saying, "Don? Walt? Brenda?" knowing there would be no answer. The paranoiac fear that had plagued me from the outset of this case had been realized. Please wake up, I thought, as I reached the sofa and stood in front of the trio.

I could see the blood on the cushion tops. No other signs of violence were visible. They had been shot in the back of the head, execution style.

The screen door opened. Heather yelled, "Jake, what is going..." stopping in mid-sentence. Then she was beside me, gripping my arm with both hands. She asked softly, "God, tell me they're not dead?"

Without replying, I eased my arm from her hands and checked for a pulse in each of them. A sadness swept over me, covering my anger for the time being. I didn't know these people well, one of them not at all, so I was surprised by the emotion I was feeling. It wasn't like me to let those types of feelings loose, especially when it might interfere with my reasoning. And, of course, it could detract from my tough guy image.

Fortunately my act was saved by the banging of the screen door. I looked up from my search for Brenda's pulse to see the agent standing, rather unsteadily, in the doorway. "What the hell is going on?" he asked, gun hanging from his right hand. He must have gotten it from his car because he didn't have one when I carried him to the Blazer. Maybe he had one of those leg holsters.

I stood, my anger returned, and answered, "Agent MacKay, I'd like you to meet Don Anderson," I pointed to Donny, then to Walt and Brenda, "Walt Anderson and Brenda....." Shit! didn't even have the decency to remember her last name, I thought, then continued, "We left these people thirty minutes ago and they were alive and well. When you check, I think you will find they have been shot in the back of their heads, execution style, and I'm betting the killer or killers were in the truck we saw tear out of the driveway." It didn't take a private detective's license to figure that out.

Head wound forgotten, the agent rushed to the couch, tucking the pistol into the back of his pants, and checked the bodies for himself. Then he went around the couch and, without touching, viewed the backs of their heads. "Where is the phone?" he asked, his eyes still on the death scene.

"There," I said, pointing to an end table next to the cushioned chairs near the window.

As Agent MacKay hurried to the phone and I hurried to Heather, who had collapsed into another chair. I knelt beside her and put my hands on hers, which were resting on her lap. She was staring at the scene on the couch, tears streaming down her down her face. They landed softly on the back of my hands. Heather appeared to be in some far off place and I shook her hands with mine. I said, "Heather, are you all right?"

After several seconds, she took her eyes from the deadly scene and looked at me with the saddest eyes I've ever seen. She nodded then looked back at the people on the couch.

I couldn't wait any longer. It was terrible timing, I admit, but I had to go. It's not that I'm so used to seeing dead people, especially people I know, but it was important that I keep my cool if I was to catch the killers. I said, "I'm going to try and catch up to that truck."

"What?" She looked at me with those teary eyes, the meaning of what I'd said sinking in. "Jake, how can you leave at a time like this? Anyway, there long gone by now."

Agent MacKay interrupted our conversation, "Nobody is going anywhere until I say so." He didn't have his gun in hand, but it sounded like he would take it out if necessary. Someone had answered his call. "This is Agent William Mackay of the FBI. I am calling to report the death of three people at," He stopped and looked at us.

My memory came back, but not before Heather's. She responded, "338 East River Drive. We are north of St. Croix Falls, Wisconsin."

'Good, girl,' I thought and squeezed her hands. Agent Mackay repeated the information and added, "These deaths appear to be murder and I believe the suspects are driving south on East River Road, toward St. Croix Falls." His facial expression told us the operator was asking what he thought was a dumb question, but he answered with civility, "I have no ID of the perpetrator, or perpetrators, no license number of the vehicle, it was too far away, nor do I have any idea where they were going."

I interrupted, "They will be heading towards the Cities, probably crossing to Minnesota at Taylor's Falls." I figured the killer or killers would follow the shortest and fastest route. They didn't get hired in Duluth. Whoever did the killing was going back to Twin Cities to report the results their mission. There were three a half million people in the St. Paul/Minneapolis metropolitan area; no need to go out of town to find thugs, I thought.

He was listening to me, and his mouth opened to repeat my suggestion, but before anything came out he collapsed into the chair he'd been standing in front of. The phone dropped to the floor. I went after it and Heather went for Agent MacKay. Into the phone

I said, "Agent MacKay neglected to tell you that someone, probably the same person who did the killing, cracked the back of his skull. He just passed out. I would advise you to send an ambulance along with the hearses."

The woman on the other end said, "Please stay on the line." I heard her muffled shouts, ordering people into action, then she was back. "Do you know where the suspects were headed?" I repeated what I'd told MacKay, then she asked, "What is your name?"

The next question would have been, "How are you involved in this matter?" I didn't have time for that one, so I hung up.

# Chapter 15

I looked down at Heather who was holding MacKay's arm and checking his pulse rate and asked, "Is he alive?"

Heather didn't look up, "Of course he is. His pulse rate is fast, but he'll be fine." She sounded more hopeful than confident.

I placed my hand on her shoulder and asked, "Are you okay?"

She looked up at me and responded, "No one could be okay under these circumstances, but I'll handle it." She turned her attention back to MacKay, who was stirring, and asked, "Did the operator say how long it would take for the ambulance to get here?" She was worried.

"Not to me she didn't." I stared at the unconscious agent, then at the dead bodies and said, "I'm going to look for the briefcase." I removed my hand from her shoulder and began my search.

It was a fruitless, but necessary, mission. To me it was simple. The killers, and I believed firmly there were at least two, barged in, demanded the case, and got it. They didn't want any witnesses who could identify the contents of the case or themselves. So, bang! Just like that. Three dead people. The assholes who did this were probably congratulating each other on their fine work and speculating about getting a bonus for it. They were going to get a bonus all right, but it would be from me and it wouldn't be what they were hoping for. Unless they had death wishes.

I finished the upstairs, with its two bedrooms, bathroom, and deck in minutes. The downstairs, consisting of a kitchen, bathroom and the great room took two minutes more. Another minute to check outside then I was back, "Nothing but quiet, inside and out." That wasn't entirely true, there was a siren in the distance. Presumably it was heading in this direction.

The agent was still unconscious. Heather said, "I take it you didn't find the case."

I nodded. A thought struck me and I headed to the kitchen, waving her to follow. She did. In the kitchen I leaned close to her ear and said, quietly, "Where is the list of names I saw you copying?"

"In my purse. Which is in the car." She brightened, remembering the list of names that were tied to these murders.

The siren was getting closer and there was a second one coming from another direction. Mentioning a downed cop will do it every time. "Let's get it."

I ran, with her on my heels, and when we arrived at the sedan she quickly retrieved her purse, rooted around, found the list and handed it to me. "Are you going to give it to the police?"

I said, "I'm taking it with me," and walked to the Blazer. The sirens were close and I would be lucky to get out before the police arrived. But I had to. There was still a chance I could catch up to the truck if they played it cool and observed the speed limits back to the cities. If not, I had some other ideas. Before she got the words out I said, "Sorry, Heather, but you have to stay here and try to square my leaving. Tell them I had a lead that had to be followed up immediately," and I got behind the wheel and started the vehicle.

I moved the shift to drive, foot still on the brake, and she asked, "Where will I meet you?"

"Find a way to the City Inn and check in. I'll call you there." I released the brake and the vehicle began to roll. "Don't go home," I finished. Then I was speeding down the winding drive and onto River Road, seconds before the police arrived. Good luck, Heather, I thought, and punched the accelerator to the floor. I passed two police cars in the first mile and two more before I reached St. Croix Falls.

# Chapter 16

The traffic wasn't bad and I made great time at fifteen to twenty miles over the limit, but I never caught up to the black pickup. So I proceeded to Plan B and drove to the Rooster. I needed a beer. The parking lot was more crowded than usual on this Saturday afternoon. Must be the heat. I saw the car I was looking for and shut mine off. Jesus, Martha Rae, it was hot.

I was breaking a sweat before I reached the door, praising the blast of air conditioning that greeted me. The regulars, including Jimmy "The Answer Man' Paronsa, were at the opposite end of the bar playing pool. Three ball was my guess. I ordered a cold one and walked down to join them.

"Hey, Jake Man," hollered Johnny.

It was pretty much the same group I had been playing liars poker with less than twenty-four hours ago. Didn't seem possible. I said, "What's up?" and found a spot between John and Jimmy. They were playing three ball and this game had just ended so I threw my dollar into the pot. Always time to gamble.

I was the new player so it was my turn to rack, which I did, then went back to my beer and continued the banter with everyone in the game. Counting me there were seven players. The more the merrier in three ball.

Heather would have been shocked to see me acting so casual after what we'd witnessed, but I needed to talk to Jimmy and this was how it had to be done. I hadn't forgotten the scene at the cabin and if anything it inspired me to get the job done. I turned to Jimmy and asked, "You hear anything about bribes being paid on this future toll road?" No reason to dance around the subject.

Jimmy is an automobile broker. In fact, I bought a car from some years ago. Before the automobile websites were big, a person could go to Jimmy, tell him what kind of car was desired, and within hours he would come up with the best price around. Jimmy got a cut and you got a good deal. He now has his own website. Before he could answer my question someone shouted, "Your turn, Answer Man."

He lifted his tall, thin body off the stool and ambled over to the table. Jimmy did everything with deliberation. He brushed his dark hair back and picked a cue stick from the rack, then turned and placed the cue ball on the right side of the kitchen. He got one ball on the break and took two shots to get the remaining two. Three shots in all. A winner if nobody tied or beat him. Back on his stool he asked, "You in for the big Super Bowl board this year?" Jimmy was also the local bookie.

"Of course I am. And speaking of money, do you have an answer to my question?"

Jimmy knows what I do for a living so his answers are not always free. "I gotta eat," is the usual response if it is going to cost me. He turned to me, his eyes looking for a clue that I was joking. He found none and said, "You can't afford the answer, and you don't want to get involved." He turned his head back to front, searching for more answers. At least that's what everyone thought.

We've known each other for fifteen years. I guess 'known' is not the correct word for our relationship. We see each other in the bar, solve the world's problems, and go back to our lives. Jimmy and I have seen each other three times outside the bar; I ran into him in three other bars. So, acquaintance would be a better word. However, he knows that I have been involved in several high profile cases and have always paid his price. His answer threw me. I said, "What the fuck does that mean?"

Without looking at me he responded, cigarette dangling from his mouth, "It means the information is not for sale." He took a large drag from the cigarette then turned to me. With smoke pouring from his mouth he said, "Jake, I know you can play with the big boys. I've seen the press reports. But the rumors I hear hint at a mob connection and even you don't want to tangle with them." He eyes drifted to the game.

Someone yelled, "Jake, you're up."

"How about we sit the next game out and you tell me all about these rumors you are hearing?" I pushed away from the bar and waited for his answer.

"Let me think about it." He turned back to his thinking position, cigarette still hanging from his lower lip.

I walked over to the cue rack and picked out a heavy stick. Four shots later the balls were gone. Not good enough. Jimmy was declared the winner. The money glass was emptied on the bar where his drink stood and we all anted up for the next game. That is, everyone except Jimmy. He had disappeared.

In three ball the winner always starts the new game and everyone waited patiently for Jim to return. Several minutes passed before someone went to check the bathroom. Nothing. The bartender hadn't seen him leave, but I went out to the parking lot anyway.

His car was gone. Back inside I informed the game participants of his departure so the guy who had been shooting after Jimmy started the next game.

Back at my spot I made small talk with Lanny, who had moved into Jim's spot. No waiting around here. You snooze, you lose. He had pushed Jim's drink and money aside and the party continued. If Jim came back, Lanny would move. That simple. But he never returned and after two more beers and a hamburger I left. Jimmy wasn't coming back tonight. The bartender would put Jim's winnings in an envelope and the next time he was in, most likely tomorrow, whoever was slinging suds would give it to him. That's the way things worked around here. Real neighborly like.

# Chapter 17

I had told Heather to meet me at the City Inn, so that's where I headed. In the lobby, I asked at the desk if Heather had checked in. She hadn't so I walked over to the bar and seated myself at the same table I'd had last night. It was 6:00 PM and the bar was packed. I sipped on my beer and watched for Heather's arrival.

Who knew when the police would release her from the lengthy question and answer session that would have followed the arrival of more police and FBI agents. She was a lawyer so I figured she'd find a the quickest way out. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, like arresting her for murder, she should be arriving in the next couple of hours.

Jimmy's abrupt disappearance bothered me. Not only did he leave after winning the three ball game, which was unheard of, but also because he left immediately after I had questioned him, which made me extremely curious about the information he had. I knew where he lived and would pay him a visit if my other plans didn't work.

I waited until seven. Three murders would indeed involve a great deal of questioning. She might not show until tomorrow. What if they arrested her? Anything was possible and I felt horseshit for leaving her in that situation. I kept telling myself, 'She's an attorney. She can handle herself'. It helped, a little. At least there would be no argument about what I was going to do next. I finished the beer, walked down the hallway to the motel's front desk and left a message.

I pulled into the guest parking area near the row of townhouses that contained the address on the driver's license I had taken from one Charles Hayden; hood, fake cop and all-around loser. This time around would be no cake walk for Chuck. He would tell me everything or there would be hell to pay. The loss of my friends, the dead FBI agent and the fact that I was probably wanted by the FBI all added up to a non-paying, giant pain in the ass job. I was going to transfer the agony of that pain to Mr. Hayden if he didn't cooperate completely. If he wasn't home, I'd go in and help myself to any information that might be available. A small crime compared to the ones committed in the past twenty four hours.

I walked to the back of the Blazer and removed several items from my case. Hayden's home was an end unit that faced south and overlooked a county park. His front door was recessed and when I stepped up to it I was hidden from any nosy neighbors living in the row. The doorbell chimed with each push of the button. No one answered. He was either out or watching me through the peephole in the door. I made a face at it and reached in my pockets for the picks, but they would not be necessary. 'Check to see if the door is unlocked' is another motto of mine. I slipped a pair of latex gloves on and turned the door knob. What do you know. Unlocked.

I pulled the snub-nosed .38, exchanged for the .357 because it is easier to carry and conceal, from my pocket and entered the house. The setting sun shone through the west facing windows, into the living room on my left and through to the kitchen and dining room to my right. It was a two story affair with the stairway also to my right. There was no relief from the sweltering heat because the air conditioning was not on. It was hotter inside than out. In addition, there was the smell of car exhaust which brought on that sinking feeling you get when the phone rings late in the night.

I didn't bother with the upstairs, just charged through the kitchen toward where the door leading to the garage was most likely located. It was, and I opened it slowly. The silver convertible, top down for better fume exposure I guess, was facing the double wide garage door. In the dark I could see the lights on the dash. The car had been running but no longer was. My guess? It ran out of gas.

With my left hand, pistol still in my right, I found the light switch and flicked it on. I approached the driver's side cautiously, even though I was positive there would be no threat from inside the car. The door automatically closed behind me and caused me to turn quickly, gun pointed in that direction. Calm down, Jake. I turned and walked to the side of the car.

Chuck was lying on his side, along the front seat. In the shadow of the seat back it was too dark to see his face clearly, but it was him. There was no pulse in the man's wrist. I'd met him twice, which was two more times than I cared for, but it wouldn't happen again. Good riddance, I thought. Unfortunately there would be no more information forthcoming from this source.

It struck me. Five dead people in twenty-four hours. Who the fuck were these goons who killed with impunity and caused, maybe, the suicide of another? It seemed likely that this was about much more than a list of names, two and a half million dollars and a toll road.

In my mind a challenge had been made and I would be the avenger for the wrongful deaths caused by these assholes. Woe be unto them, I thought, which reminded me of my fifth grade teacher who used that phrase to alert those who had done wrong in her classroom. The pieces of shit responsible for all of this misery would laugh at such a seemingly innocuous phrase. He who laughs last, I thought.

I left the garage and returned to the kitchen, which was as good a place as any to start. There was a small, built-in desk next to the refrigerator with a phone, pad of paper, and glass of pens and pencils on top. Very neat was Chuck. I opened the desk drawer and started to reshape my initial opinion of his neatness, but it was probably the requisite 'junk' drawer so he could be forgiven. And junk is exactly what was in there. There was nothing that would help my investigation.

The other kitchen drawers held nothing more than you would expect to find. A quick search of dining and living room produced similar results, so I moved upstairs. Halfway up the stairs was a landing and next to it, at waist level and directly above the entrance, was a large area that Chuck had used to place pictures. I took a moment to look at each one. Mom and dad, sister and brothers, dog, probably grandma and grandpa, aunts and uncles, and, maybe a wife and baby. Hard to think of Chuck being a father.

I finished the trek up and found myself in a loft area overlooking the living room. It was void of furniture, as was the first bedroom, which was the first door on my left. Well, there was a bare mattress on the floor.

The next doorway led to a bathroom, which also yielded nothing, so I moved through the third doorway, directly across from the stairwell. Like the rest of his house, this room was uncluttered and neat. Another door, inside the room, led to a second bathroom. The king size bed was covered by a brown and green striped bedspread, with sham covered pillows to match. Pretty fancy for a hood. There was an end table, with lamp, on the left side of bed and a large dresser and mirror to my right. I started with the dresser.

As I examined each of the drawers, which contained clothing that was carefully folded and neatly arranged, I wondered about the scene; the open door, obvious suicide, sterile living quarters, and nothing that even hinted at the occupant's lifestyle, except for the pictures. This was not the dwelling of the loser I'd met. At least not the one I had pictured; clothes strewn about, empty beer cans and glasses covering every surface, broken down furniture, a week's worth of dirty dishes in the sink and so on. You get the picture.

And, after searching the dresser and end table, with no startling discoveries, I was convinced the whole thing was staged. Hell, there wasn't even a drawer full of canceled checks and old bills. Nothing.

Chuck had fucked up and he'd paid for it with his life. His death was made to look like a suicide and his life had been 'cleaned' up. End of story. Or, Chuck was, indeed, a neat freak who had committed suicide to avoid severe punishment from his boss. I probably would never know.

A quick check of the bathroom yielded nothing but more tiresome cleanliness so I headed downstairs and returned to the garage. I hadn't noticed before, but the garage was spotless. Holes were appearing in my cleansing theory. I had seen Chuck this morning, playing cop, and the idea that someone had wasted him then cleaned his house and garage in that short time period seemed less likely than it had only minutes ago. Theory number two, avoiding severe punishment by his boss, had moved back to the number one spot on my hit list.

The shelves to my right held several boxes of books. There was a shovel, trash cart, camping gear, and some car care products. Unbelievable. That left only the car to be searched.

The trunk held a box of tools. That was it! No rags, golf clubs, first aid kit, or whatever else people carry in their trunks. The back seat was empty and the glove box contained several maps and insurance papers. This guy was not real.

Time to check the dead man's pockets. Not a job I cared for, but it had to be done. Nothing in the shirt or pants pockets except a wallet which I extracted. Credit cards, a few dollars and some business cards. I'd seen it last night.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out his driver's license. After wiping it off, I put it back in one of the plastic picture holders and returned the billfold to his back pocket.

It was time to get out of this death house. Besides, I think the remaining gases were starting to affect me. I was getting a headache and didn't feel totally alert. In fact, I bumped the kitchen counter on my way to the front door and nearly fell over. I was greatly relieved when I walked outside and breathed in the fresh, albeit steamy, air.

After closing the door I took off the latex gloves and walked to the Blazer. The heat inside the truck was devastating and I nearly passed out, again, before starting it and turning the air on.

I left the door open and leaned my head against the headrest, closing my eyes for a second. Which must have been a bit longer because when I opened them again the cold air was blasting away at the outside heat. I slammed the door and leaned my head forward and right of the steering wheel to get closer to the rush of cold air.

A minute later I sat back up and put my seat belt on. Engrossed in deep thought about the house across the street, I automatically put my foot on the brake and shifted the SUV into gear. I lifted my foot off the brake and began to move it toward the accelerator when I noticed the black pickup truck coming down the road toward me.

Returning my foot to the brake I waited to see where it was going. My stomach was actually getting butterflies. Could it be the same truck I'd seen speeding from Brenda's house, only hours ago?

# Chapter 18

Son of a bitch! It turned at the corner and cruised slowly along the row of townhomes. There were no passengers. At the last home, which was Chuck's, it turned and parked in the drive. Would you look at that. Come to Papa!

I watched as the driver got out, scanned the surrounding area, including the Blazer, then turned and walked to the door. A hundred degrees, with almost the same humidity, and this guy is wearing a sport coat. I wonder what he's hiding, I thought, as I slid further down in the seat.

I figured the tinted window was dark enough to hide me from where he stood, but why take chances. According to the clock on the dashboard it was 7:25.

From my vantage point across the street and at the other end of the row that Chuck's townhome was in, I could see his backside as he stood in the recessed doorway. His shaved head moved continuously, eyes darting in all directions, while he waited for someone to answer the door.

After several knocks and rings he reached into a side pocket of the coat, pulled something out and went to work. It wasn't too difficult to figure out what he was doing. The same thing I almost did, but I had followed the cardinal rule; check to see if the door is unlocked. It was, but he forgot the rule.

I had several ways to go here; call the police, sit here and follow him when he left, or move on him while he was trying to unlock the door. Since Chuck could no longer help me find the evil behind all of the trouble, I decided to ask the gent working the door. Not to mention the fact that I wanted a chance to confront the possible killer.

I slipped off my sandals as I opened the door then took off running across the street towards the pickup. This was becoming a pattern in my investigation. My eyes were glued to his back as I moved on the balls of my feet. The asphalt was hotter than Hades. I might have to think about wearing tennis shoes on future cases.

I came to a halt behind the pickup, which had a camper attached to the bed, and peered around the corner. He was still busy with the lock. I approached slowly, .38 hanging at my side, and was within feet of my prey when the door opened.

He stood and turned, probably to see if anyone was watching, and jumped when he saw me. "Who the fuck are you." It's a popular question.

Obviously he didn't see the pistol. I raised it a bit and ordered, "Hands on the head and walk into the house. I'll tell you when to stop." He did as instructed and I followed through the doorway. "Stop," I said and closed the door behind me.

He was a big man, probably six four, two hundred fifty pounds, so I kept my distance. I had the .38 pointed directly at him now and demanded, "Down on the floor, hands above the head." Again, he did as I'd ordered, no questions asked. A real pro.

I walked to his left side and knelt, cocking the hammer when I'd settled. He heard it and quickly spoke, "Don't shoot me, please." Not very professional sounding.

"If you cooperate, I won't." I pulled what looked like a .9 MM pistol, maybe the one that had killed my friends, from the shoulder holster beneath his jacket. A quick check of the remainder of his body yielded no more weapons. I got up and told him to do the same, then directed him through the kitchen and into the garage where I turned the lights on and said, "Get in the back seat."

He started forward then stopped when the body came into his view. "Is that...?" he left the question unasked, shrugged his shoulders, then stepped over the side and into the back seat. He slid down in the corner behind the passenger's seat and waited for whatever was in store for him. He'd changed his demeanor, no longer appearing to be scared. Acting, instead, like the cocky killer he probably was.

I stepped to the driver's side and his eyes followed my movements. He was sizing me up, trying to decide if and when he was going to make his move. With two guns, one of them his, pointing directly at him he gave me a resigned look and placed his left arm on the back of the seat while his right rested on the top of the rolled down window. He let out a loud sigh. I said, "I need some answers and I'm betting you have all of them."

"Who are you?" he asked, sounding bored.

"I'm not the police, just an interested party." I glared into the cold eyes and added, "And a good friend of the three people you killed today."

His face registered surprise for the briefest moment then returned to its mask of boredom. "You're the detective." Not a question, simply a known fact.

"And you are a genius," I remarked, as the meaning of that statement sunk in. I had been right to worry about Heather's and my safety. This killer, and I was quite sure he was one, knew who I was, which implied he had an interest in me. A killer would only be interested in me if I was on his hit list. Call me paranoid, again, but I've been right all along in this case. "Who ordered you to kill my friends?"

"I didn't kill anyone."

"Let me ask the question in another way." I leaned in his direction, which moved both guns closer. "If you had killed my friends, who would have given the order?"

He thought about that of a second, apparently deemed it not worthy of an oral answer and, simply, shrugged.

I cocked the hammer of his pistol, aimed between his legs and pulled the trigger. What the hell. It had worked before. The bullet must have gone through the seat and floorboards then ricocheted to somewhere in the garage, but the deafening roar of the round being fired covered any other related noises. My prisoner scooted halfway out of the car, his face an open book of fear, then dropped back down and yelled, "Okay, okay!"

The din was dying. I hoped that the neighbors were all inside enjoying their air conditioning, but if someone heard the shot they might think it was a backfire. Surely there wouldn't be gunfire in this neighborhood. I was counting on my scare tactic to work as well on this one as it had on the last. "Okay, what?"

"Butch. His name is Butch."

"I've heard the story. Do you guys all have a standard answer for this question?"

"What are you talking about?" He looked at me like I was crazy then went on, "I was sent here from New York to help out with a course correction. The guy I reported to is named, Butch."

Course correction? Did I hear right. The guy's a murderer and he uses new millennium, corporate-like, jargon. And he came in from New York. What the fuck did that mean, I wondered? But first things first. "Where can I find, Butch?"

"He owns a house in St. Paul, on Summit Avenue."

Summit Avenue is for the rich. It starts near downtown, ends at the Mississippi River and offers some of the best house browsing around. From railroad baron castles to modern day extravaganzas, all the beautiful homes were on Summit Avenue. Got to be big time to live on Summit Avenue. "Where on Summit does he live?"

"I don't know the exact address. It's a couple blocks from downtown." He thought for a second then added, "It's made of red stone and has two stone lions in front." Rather than sounding reluctant he seemed proud of his answer.

I actually knew the house he was talking about. "Does Butch have a real name?"

"Butch is all I know."

I had to be wary of this guy. Answering all these questions without further prodding suggested he was trying to lull me into a sense of superiority, getting me to relax my guard. My paranoia, again. "Tell me about the bribes."

He appeared to be in deep thought for several seconds before asking, "What bribes?"

"That's not the answer I was looking for," I said, raising my left arm to a shooters position, pistol aimed directly at his head.

He ripped his arms from their relaxed position, which almost got him shot, and he pushed his arms out in front, his hands spread as though they would stop a bullet from smashing into his face. He pled his case. "I don't know about any bribes. I was brought in to take care of the heavy stuff if it was necessary. I don't ask questions."

I was genuinely angry, no game now, and pulled the hammer back. "You Fuck head. You killed my friends and never asked why? Just shot all three because you were asked to do it?" I raised the other pistol in my right hand and cocked the hammer.

His hands went to his face and he screamed, "Jeff did it, man. I guarded them while he did them from behind." Never fails. The biggest bullies are the biggest babies. They can dish it out, but can't take it.

His begging had taken on a phony tone, unlike the initial plea, and I readied myself for the next act. He'd been moving his legs slowly into position and even though I had noticed his efforts he was fast enough to kick the .38 out of my right hand. It skittered across the trunk and onto the floor as his other foot lashed at the remaining gun. He wasn't that fast. I moved his gun away from the next kick and by the time I had retrained the pistol on him he was starting to rise up from the seat. I didn't miss this time. The bullet tore through his groin area and he screamed.

It was time to leave. I wiped the grip of his gun with my shirt, placed it on the floor then picked up mine and shoved it into my front pocket as I hurried through the kitchen. The screaming had quieted. Maybe he had passed out. Maybe he was dead. I didn't think so, but I also didn't care. The scum deserved whatever fate awaited him.

Once outside I walked, casually, to the blazer. It was still running and I was gone in seconds. I drove to the guest parking area at the end of the next row of townhouses and waited. It was twilight, which would make it difficult to see any action that might occur, but I would know if he left on his own or if someone had called the police after hearing the shots. I decided to wait ten minutes. If nothing happened I would call for an ambulance then head back to City Inn to see if Heather had arrived.

# Chapter 19

Five minutes later he came out holding something, probably a towel, in front of his crotch area. He was bent over and had a difficult time getting into his truck. He backed out then drove slowly past me to the stop sign at Lake Drive.

I followed him down Lake Drive and across the freeway where he turned left at the large hospital sign. I knew it was two blocks away. He stopped in front of the emergency room entrance and I watched from the parking lot as he stumbled inside. I would love to hear his explanation. I scribbled his license plate number on Heather's dash pad and left.

It was less than two miles to the City Inn, but, first, I stopped at a public phone, one of those drive-up kind, and called nine-one-one to report a murderer. I told the operator that a wounded man was being treated in the Woodbury Hospital and that he was responsible for three murders in Wisconsin. That should keep him tied up for a day or so.

I hung up and drove to City Inn where I found a parking spot at the far end of the motel. I walked around back and entered the restaurant through a side door, in case someone might be watching the front. Careful is my policy. The earlier crowd had diminished in size. I guess everyone was at the movies. I slid into a dimly lit booth, ordered a beer from the same girl who'd waited on me earlier, then asked if the bar had a phone that connected to the motel. She pointed to one at the end of the bar.

I followed her to the bar, picked up the phone and punched zero. "City Inn."

"Please connect me to Heather Rossini's room."

"One minute, sir." I was put on hold for a short period, then the lady came back on and said, "I'm sorry, but we do not have a Heather Rossini registered."

I tried every fifteen minutes and at nine thirty decided to move to the table I'd occupied several hours earlier. From there I could see the front entrance of the motel, which meant I didn't have to keep calling to see if she was registered.

The cab arrived a short time later. She got out soon after it stopped under the portico in front. God, she was lovely to look at, but I immediately turned my attention to the cars that entered the service road behind the cab. One went to the gas station next door and two others parked in front of the bar and restaurant where I was seated. Both held couples and they came into the bar.

I watched the incoming traffic for fifteen minutes. Everything appeared normal so I decided to make the call. The phone at the end of the bar was not in use so I picked up the receiver and touched zero. "City Inn. How can I be of service?"

Who thinks these greetings up? "Would you connect me to Heather Rossini's room, please."

"Yes, sir."

She must have been standing next to the phone. Before the first ring was complete she answered, "Jake?"

"How are you doing?"

"I'll tell you when I see you." She sounded relieved to hear from me. Before I could respond she asked, "And when will that be?" More mad than happy.

I answered, "I'm in the bar next door. Why don't you join me when you're ready." No mistaking the tone in my voice. I was happy as hell.

She mellowed immediately and said, "Sorry, Jake. It wasn't a pleasant day. Give me ten minutes."

Relieved I said, "See you then," and hung up.

I went back to my table. God, I couldn't believe what this woman was doing to me. Here I was, in the middle of a murder, slash, bribery, slash, whatever kind of case, and falling head over heels for a woman I had met less than twenty four hours before. Ain't love grand? I could see that it might be, but love would have to wait its turn. This case needed all of my attention. It was not at all presumptuous to think that Heather and I were on the minds of the murderers, especially one who I hoped was in police custody. Lost in thought, while watching the cars come and go, I never saw Heather approach, and jumped when she touched my arm. She asked, "Is that seat taken?"

I couldn't help myself. I got off the high stool and wrapped my arms around her. She responded in kind and we stood like that for several seconds until she leaned back and said, "I guess that means yes."

We separated and Heather lifted herself onto the chair opposite me. She was smiling and said, "I'm going to sneak up on you more often."

"Please do." I was lucky to get it out considering the state of my brain and groin, which had been pressed against her all of three seconds. Shake it off, Jake.

The waitress brought me back to reality. "Would you like a drink?' she asked Heather.

"I'll have what he's drinking and bring him another."

The waitress left and I said, "Thank you."

Heather said, "You seemed to be a bit preoccupied with your thoughts."

"I was, but we'll discuss that at a later time." Two deep breaths and relax. "Right now I would like to hear about what happened today."

She sat up very straight, pursed her lips, and stared into my eyes, "Yes, sir!" The perfect soldier. "Where would you like me to start, general."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "Okay. Please tell me what happened at the cabin, after I left."

Relaxed now, she covered the details of the police arrival, the ambulance taking Agent MacKay to the hospital, the arrival of two FBI agents who had helicoptered from Minneapolis to the St. Croix Falls hospital then hitched a ride with the local police. They had questioned her incessantly, mostly about me, until she called a halt. She demanded they release or arrest her. The FBI chose the former. Then they asked her if she wanted protection until the murderers were apprehended. Heather had declined.

Surprisingly, one of the new agents drove her to St. Croix Falls in MacKay's car, and since they were going to stay until Mackay was released, the agent sent the helicopter back to its base with her in it. She had caught a cab at the airport, took it to the Mall of America, and proceeded to lose anyone who might have followed. She caught a cab at one of the other mall entrances and came directly here. I was impressed and told her so.

We finished our beers and ordered two more. While waiting for the waitress to return I asked, "What did they say about the missing briefcase?"

"I told them about the money and list of names. I also told them I couldn't remember any names."

"Did they ask you if any of the names were familiar, even though you couldn't remember any specific names?"

"No. The agent who was questioning me had a conference with his partner, out of earshot, of course, and when he returned he went on to other lines of questioning."

"Hard to believe they skipped over that subject." I thought about it, then asked, "Were the police there when you told the FBI about the money?"

"The police questioned me about what happened when we first arrived and discovered the bodies, then they turned me over to the FBI. As far as I know the police know nothing about the money or list of names."

The expectant look on her face told me she was interested in my take on why the Feds didn't question her further about the names and money. I said, "It's obvious the feds don't want the police to know about the investigation we stumbled into. They will be visiting you tomorrow, but they won't find you in."

"And where will I be, Mr. Tanner?" She seemed to be making the best of a bad situation.

Brave soul, I thought, but wait until she hears about my day. Actually, it can't get much worse than finding three dead people, so maybe it wouldn't have that much of an effect on an already dazed mind. That could wait until I had heard everything she had to tell. "You'll be with me until we get this resolved."

She raised her eyebrows at that then asked, "And what did you accomplish after leaving me in a lurch?" A bit of anger had returned.

A group had taken the table behind Heather plus the noise level in the bar had risen considerably so I asked, "What do say we continue this discussion in your room?"

She leaned toward me and said, "What's wrong with right here?" She took another pull of beer.

One and a half beers and she was already on her way. Even more reason to get out of here. Who knew what kind of effect the alcohol would have after a day like she had been through. I said, "It's gotten too noisy. I don't want to recount my day in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear."

Her head nodded. I couldn't believe the beer had hit her so quickly. "Have you eaten anything today?"

She thought about it and answered, "Not since breakfast," and giggled.

I said, "Let's have a pizza sent to the room. We can talk while we wait for it."

Heather agreed. Suddenly she looked very tired. I made a sign for the waitress and when she came over I paid for the beer and pizza that would to be delivered to the room. We left by the side entrance.

It was the typical motel room layout; bathroom and bed on the right, dresser and mirror on the left, with easy chair and table in the corner. But it was clean and more colorful than most with its flowery orange and yellow bed spread, lime green chair and deep purple carpeting. The motel had recently been remodeled so I guess this was the latest in sleep accommodations. Heather flopped onto the bed and laid out spread-eagle. "I feel like I've been drinking all day. What did I have? Two beers?"

I had settled in the chair, which was a recliner, and leaned back. "The buzz will go away as soon as you eat some pizza." I stared at the ceiling, enjoying the comfort of the chair. She had not responded so I looked over at her and asked, "Heather, are you okay?"

She mumbled something. I laid my head back and closed my eyes until there was a knock on the door. It wasn't too difficult to get her up with the smell of pizza permeating the room.

She had some change in her purse and I got some pop from the machine at the other end of the corridor. Twenty minutes later she was back on the bed with her head propped up on the pillows. I was back in the chair comfortably reclined. We didn't talk much during the feast; mostly we mumbled about how good the pie was.

"Now can I hear about your day?" She was wide awake, her eyes glued to mine, waiting for my story.

As I told it, her eyes got wider. By the time I was finished she was sitting, cross-legged, at the end of the bed. She probably had a ton of questions, but waited for me to finish.

When I did she immediately asked, "You shot the guy in the balls?"

"I said that I shot him in the groin area. Whatever I hit hurt the hell out of him."

"And he was one of the killers?"

"I'd bet on it. He more or less admitted it." I wondered where she was going with this. You never know with lawyers.

"What's his name?"

"We never got around to the introductions."

"Why didn't you kill the bastard?" Her face darkened.

The question surprised me and it took a moment to come up with an answer. "I could have killed him because he came after me and it would have been self- defense, but I wanted him talking to the police about his boss, Butch."

She interrupted, "Why the smile?"

"I can't help it. Every time I say 'Butch' I think of a bully in grade school, not a grown man with the power that this guy seems to have." She asked nothing more so I continued. "Wounded and in custody, this guy, who didn't introduce himself to me, might crack and give the police or FBI information that would allow them to arrest Butch. That's why I didn't kill him. Okay?"

She laid back, reached for her can of soda on the end table then sat back up and took several swigs. "Butch will find out that you shot his hired help. For sure he'll know how close you are to exposing him and that puts us in danger. Not that we weren't before, but now it seems more real." She took another sip. "What are we going to do, Jake?"

"I'm working on that. For now I think we're safe here and a good night's rest will help. We'll be able to think better in the morning." Then I added, "I hope you don't mind if I stay right here. This chair is quite comfortable."

"I insist on you staying here." She got up and walked to the bathroom doorway then stopped and asked, "Jake, would you please call the front desk and see if they have toothbrushes for sale? If you don't mind I'm going to take a hot bath." Then she closed the door.

The motel did have toothbrushes and toothpaste in a vending machine near the front lobby. I walked down to get them and also took a little stroll to the Blazer, where I retrieved my case. No sense leaving all that valuable equipment for a car thief.

Heather was still in the bathroom when I returned. I knocked on the door and said, "Your toothbrush and paste have arrived. Would you like me to deliver it?"

She laughed, "Just put it on the vanity. And no peeking."

I opened the door a bit and laid the toiletries next to the sink then said, "There you are madam. Anything else I can do for you. Like wash your back, or something?" It was too steamy to see anything.

"The 'or something' sounds interesting, but I'm totally relaxed right now. I will take a rain check though."

"I'll be right out here if you need me."

She said, "Thank you," as I backed out and closed the door. I turned on 'Saturday Night Live' and must have fallen asleep. When I awoke the TV was off and the room was dark except for the outside lights that shone through the top edge of the drapes. I turned my head and was able to see her sleeping, quietly. I whispered, "Goodnight, Heather."

# Chapter 20

I woke to the noise of the drapes being opened and the bright sunshine filled the room. It was probably a sign that we were in for another scorcher. I hadn't listened to any weather reports of late. Heather said, "Rise and shine, big boy. We've got lots of investigating to do." Then added, "We also have some shopping to. I definitely need a change of clothing." She looked my way, "And you need it more than I do."

I stretched and yawned then pushed myself out of the chair. Almost awake now I said, "Sounds good to me," and went into the bathroom. Too early to discuss things like shopping. In fact, there is no good time to discuss shopping. I despise it. I loathe it. There is not much I dislike more than shopping. Grocery shopping is okay, because I enjoy cooking, but anything else, forget it.

After brushing and showering, I put my smelly shirt and shorts on. I threw out the underwear and made a mental note to put some extras in my equipment case. Feeling much better I returned to find Heather sitting on the recliner's arm and staring out the window. The bed was made. I asked, "Was the maid here?"

She gave me one of those 'Don't start' looks and said, "I feel more comfortable with the bed made. Okay?"

Far be it for me to comment further. I said, "Fine," Then asked, "Are you hungry?"

"Starved. I ate the last piece of pizza, but it didn't make a dent."

"How about Denny's? It's just across the freeway. "Heather voted for Cracker Barrel, which was a short distance from Denny's.

We took our meager belongings out to the Blazer and drove there. She stopped in front of the restaurant and looked at the headlines of both the Minneapolis and St Paul papers. They screamed the fact that three St. Paul residents had been murdered in Wisconsin. We pooled our change, most of it Heather's, and bought one of each.

We hurried back to the car and she read the St Paul article while I read the one in the Minneapolis paper. Then we exchanged papers. Both articles were practically barren of detail, other than the names of the three victims, where it happened and how the three were related. There were no suspects.

The FBI did say, however, that they were looking for a local private investigator who might be able to shed some light on the matter. They had refused to name him. A map detailing the location of the murders accompanied the articles.

When I had finished the second article, I looked up to find Heather staring at me, waiting for me to finish. I said, "It was nice of them not to name me. I wonder why they didn't?"

"Everybody is afraid of their shadows today. Worried they will end up in court for liable. Believe me, it had nothing to do with their kindness." She went on, "I wondered if the murders would make today's paper. As far as I could tell, there were no reporters at the scene when I left. It had to be a 'stop the presses' situation to get the article in this edition."

"I wonder what the local TV stations are reporting?"

"I'm sure the coverage will be live from the scene and the FBI will probably have released both of our names before then. They need to give the press something to nibble on." She sounded upset. "Never mind how much it might harm an individual or a business."

I wanted to lighten it up. "Let's go eat our last meal before we become celebrities." She attempted a smile as we both got out and went in to eat.

After eating a meal that contained two days of cholesterol and fat, we drove to a nearby department store and purchased clothing and other essentials. I hoped we would be back to our normal routines within a few days, so we didn't go overboard on the number of items purchased. We were back in the room by eleven, which gave us plenty of time before checkout to discuss our strategy.

I donned my new clothing while Heather changed in the bathroom. By the time she came out I was comfortably situated in the recliner. She was wearing a pair of white shorts and a blue and white striped shirt, with no collar, and her blonde hair was in a ponytail. Nothing fancy, but on her it looked expensive. She walked to the bed and sat down facing me, then leaned back on her elbows and asked, "What's the plan, Stan."

"I have several. My favorite is the one where you and I fly off to parts unknown and lay low until the entire matter is resolved. How do you feel about that plan?"

Her glance was casual and she answered, "I love it. And I would go if it weren't for several little items: One; the FBI told me to stay in the area, Two; I should be at the law firm working on a future without one of our partners." She sat up quickly and shouted, "Shit, I haven't even thought about Paul."

I remembered he was her other partner in the law firm and said, "Call him just before we leave. I don't know if anyone is listening in on him or if it's possible to ID the call from a tap, but no sense taking chances. If they can do it, we'll be gone before anybody arrives."

She remained sitting and said, "I'm sure he saw the article in this morning's paper and is trying to reach me. Probably on his way to the office as we speak." She appeared to relax. Her eyes focused on the ceiling, then she nodded, apparently remembering where she was, and continued. "And if the first two reasons aren't enough to shoot down your idea there is the simple fact that I don't want to keep looking over my shoulder wherever we are." End of discussion.

It wasn't my favorite plan anymore. I pushed on the arms of the recliner and it went back. I was now staring at the ceiling. "How about this one?"

Before I could continue she interrupted with, "I have an idea."

I looked over at her and said, "I'm all ears."

"I'll call the FBI agent I spoke with yesterday and arrange a meeting. We will present him with the list and ask for protection. With both of us corroborating the names on the list, they will have to listen to us." She was excited. "You can tell them what you found out about Butch and his part in the killings." She stood up, began pacing then stopped. It all seemed to come together for her and she said, "That will make you a witness and give them a reason to put you, hopefully us, in a protection program. It could work, Jake."

She stood there looking at me, expectantly, as I pushed myself upright in the chair. To her idea I replied, "Heather, you know that the information I received from the killer was gotten by coercion and the list of names is only hearsay as far as they are concerned, because we don't have the briefcase. I don't know if that rates protection. Even if the Feds agreed to put us in a protection program, I don't think we would be safe. There are people behind Butch that I believe are powerful enough to find out where we were." I let that sink in for a second. "Besides, I don't want to stand by and wait for this matter to be resolved. I'm not built like that, Heather. Not to mention the fact that they might not believe any of it and arrest me on suspicion. Then I'll be in jail where

Butch's friends could have a field day. No thanks."

She sat back on the bed and asked, "So what's your next plan?"

I'd actually thought this one out and it sounded reasonable to me. I said, "You meet with your friends at the FBI and give them a copy of the list. With four murders to solve they should jump at the chance to question anybody, regardless of who they are. You can also tell them what I've learned about Butch's role in the murders, and the participation of that scum bag I interviewed." I took a sip of the coffee we'd brought from the restaurant and continued, "Meanwhile, I am going to do some of my own research on those bribe takers. When you finish with the FBI, get a room at the River Radisson. I'll call you there." I added, "Maybe we'll have a nice dinner in the revolving restaurant on the hotel's top floor. Then we'll take a drive over to Butch's for a little look-see."

I sat back in the chair and waited for her answer. She was definitely struggling with all or part of my idea, then looked directly at me and said, "Give me the details."

I did, and half an hour later I dropped her at the Warren Burger Federal Office Building in downtown St. Paul. She had arranged a meeting with one of the FBI agents who had questioned her the day before. I said, "See you in a few hours," then asked for the fifth or sixth time, "You're sure you can lose anyone who tries to follow you."

She grabbed my hand and with a sigh responded, "Yes, Jake. My office building is several blocks away and once I'm inside that building I can disappear. No problem. Now stop worrying." She leaned over and kissed my cheek then opened the door and got out. "I'll see you at the hotel." She shut the door and I watched her walk to the building's entrance then disappear as the door closed behind her.

It was Sunday, a bit before noon, and I was the only one parked in front of the building. In fact there were only a few cars parked on the streets that crossed the one was I parked on so it was easy to determine if someone was watching the building. I saw nothing suspicious here. If someone was watching from inside one of the surrounding buildings, I wouldn't know, but they couldn't follow me so I wasn't worried as I drove off toward the capitol.

# Chapter 21

The Minnesota State Capitol Building sits on a hill overlooking the tall buildings of downtown St. Paul. It resembles the U. S. Capitol, but on a smaller scale. The view from its front steps was magnificent, encompassing a huge grass mall that was pie shaped and stretched for two blocks. The mall was bordered by other state buildings and on the grounds of the mall were historical statues, war memorials, and beautiful flower gardens.

The capitol houses the governor, the chambers for the senate and house and Supreme Court. Senators from the majority party have offices in the capitol, unlike the other legislators who are housed in the adjacent State Office Building.

Two of the people on the 'bribe' list were state senators from the majority party and knowing that tours of the Capitol were given Sundays, I planned to join one of them as cover to find the offices I was looking for. Once found, I would drop out of the tour and do some snooping around.

In years past, I had done some investigative work for several senators and was familiar the office layouts, especially the door locks that kept their offices secure. Because the legislature was not in session this time of the year, and it was Sunday, I expected all of the private office doors to be locked. Shouldn't be a problem, I thought, and parked the Blazer.

Walking up the wide expanse of steps that led to the capitol's front entrance, I thought about the first time I visited the state capital. I was in fourth grade, the year we learned everything there was to know about the state of Minnesota. It was a class trip and some of us had counted the steps leading up to the front entrance. There were forty steps. One of the few things I remember from that trip. I reached the top with a bit more difficulty then I had twenty some years ago and, yes, there were still forty steps. I attributed my heavy breathing and sweat to the heat and humidity of another searing day.

Before going in, I turned around to check the view. The skyline of St. Paul had changed a great deal since I was in fourth grade. Not on the same scale as its twin, Minneapolis, but the city was holding its own. Unfortunately, the many other changes included a rise in violent crimes, which I was hoping to personally decrease by capturing the murderers and those responsible for hiring them.

I was glad I had a permit to carry a weapon. If I didn't, I would carry one anyway. That's how I feel about the direction our society's headed. Hell, the gangs that seem to have reserved space in the newspapers. Things have definitely changed in "used to be quiet" St. Paul. Don't get me wrong, There have been many more changes for the good. It's just that we don't hear enough about them. Not newsworthy.

I turned and entered the coolness of the state's seat of government and joined a tour that was just beginning. As the tour progressed I noted signs on some pillars that listed room numbers and the occupants of those particular rooms. I could have asked at the front desk where the Senators I was interested in were housed, but I didn't want to arouse any suspicions. If I couldn't locate the offices on the tour then I would ask. Either way, the most it would cost me was one hour.

Ten minutes into the tour I dropped off. I had gotten the information I needed and was now standing in front of the door to room one-o-five. It was recessed almost two feet in from the granite walls that lined the corridors. The office belonged to Senator Collette Raymond and I was inside the locked door in less than a minute.

# Chapter 22

The first office was for the secretary and an overhead light was already on, apparently part of a larger circuit of lights that was controlled from outside the office. Probably to highlight the glass doors that fronted each office. I walked through to the dark inner office and found a switch. After closing the inner door, I flicked it up which caused a floor and desk lamp to come on. Very cozy.

It was definitely a woman's office. There were plants of every size and they were well cared for, which I took as a sign that the occupant was still visiting the office even though the next session wouldn't start until January. The ergonomically correct furniture worked well in the bright room.

Pictures on the credenza behind the table/desk showed a family of four; husband, wife, son and daughter, together and individually. Homey. Much happier, I'm sure, with the extra money she received from Butch.

I wasn't too concerned about security. The corridors were monitored by dozens of cameras, but I didn't think they had installed any office alarms or cameras in the year since I'd last been here. I would find out soon enough if they had. On with the search and the gloves. I'd wipe the door handles and switch on the way out. Got to stay on top of things.

The credenza and two drawer file cabinet next to it yielded nothing but files of constituent's complaints and proposed legislation. I'm sure it would have made for some fun reading, but I passed and walked around the cushy chairs to the bookcase, which was the only place left to check, unless there was a secret compartment in the wall. Not a whole lot of storage space in this office.

There were several large file cabinets in the outer office, but I didn't think she would store any personal items where her secretary could accidentally stumble across them. If I didn't find anything in the bookcase it was on to the Senator Jerome Carter's office.

The eight foot mahogany bookcase was built into the wall. It was just as wide and had six shelves. The bottom four were filled with various statute books, my kind of reading, and the top two were filled with a smattering of books, some of which I'd read: In Search of Excellence, a couple of Andy Rooney's tales, a history of the Vietnam war, and even one on how to train your dog. Not the kind of books I would expect to find on an office book shelf. The books were well placed, some at an angle, others standing straight like good little soldiers. Definitely for looks.

I slid one of the chairs over and stood on it for easier viewing, then checked each book for something that might be hidden in or behind them. It was behind a small Woody Allen book that had been squeezed between two voluminous ones. Great place to hide a CD. When I pulled the paperback out, the two large books pushed together and had I not been looking for something strange I would not have noticed the thin gap left between the two.

I spread them apart and there it was. No markings, just plain on both sides, and it went, swiftly, into my back pocket. Guaranteed to have something good on it.

I replaced the Woody Allen book then quickly looked through the remaining books and, finding nothing else out of place, stepped down from the chair. I pushed the chair back to its original place then wiped the switch and doorknobs on my way out.

I paused in the recess to remove the gloves, shoved them into my other back pocket and stepped into the corridor. On the way out I stopped occasionally to view the portraits of previous governors and when I neared the front desk, I strode to one of the doors and went outside.

It hadn't cooled off and as I hurried down the steps new sweat was added to the dripping that had started inside the office. Doesn't matter how many times you do it, the worry is right there on the edge. Has to be or a person wouldn't last in this business. I had decided to forego the investigation of Senator Carter's office for now. Didn't want to push my luck and the disk, I felt, would be dynamite. Why else would it be hidden behind a book?

# Chapter 23

I drove to the downtown library and once inside I went directly to the reference librarian and asked where the Who's Who in Minnesota book was located. She pointed me in the general direction and I quickly found it. Since I already knew who three of the people listed in the notebook we found in the suitcase were, it wouldn't take long to look up the other two.

I started with Bernard Hackel and fifteen minutes later my research was completed. They were both listed. I made my notes on small pieces of scratch paper, furnished by the library for look-ups, and stuffed them in my pocket.

Again, with the librarian's help, I found the city cross-directories. Here I located the address, phone number, and occupation for each of the five people I was looking for. I made more notes, added them to the existing bunch, and left the library.

At the hotel, where I was going to meet Heather and was only two blocks away, I went to the lobby bar and I ordered a tall glass of ice water to replace the liquid I'd lost in the past two hours. The lobby was empty. I gulped the water down, ordered another then walked to one of the over-stuffed chairs next to the large windows facing Kellogg Street. I eased into one, putting my case, which now contained the notes and disk, between me and the floor to ceiling window. The coffee table in front of me had a house phone and after setting my water down, I picked up the handset and tapped in zero.

An operator answered and I started to ask for Heather Rossini, but then it hit me. She was going to use an alias, which I couldn't remember, so I hung up the phone. What was the name? My mind was drawing a blank. Think, Jake, I admonished myself. It took me five minutes to remember the name.

This time when operator answered I asked, "Would you please connect me to the room of Holly Anderson?"

While I waited for the operator to connect me I thought about the two of us picking a name I could remember with no trouble. Holly began with an 'H' like Heather, and Anderson was Donny's last name. Guess it wasn't easy enough for me.

"I'll connect you, sir."

The phone rang twice and Heather answered, "Jake?"

"Hello, Holly."

She laughed and said, "I'm in twelve-ten. C'mon up."

The room was definitely upscale from last night's digs. There was a four-poster bed, two comfortable looking chairs, neither one a recliner, a dark, wooden, armoire that contained a TV and some drawers, and last, but not least, the view.

The hotel was on a bluff that overlooked the Mississippi River and from the twelfth floor it was a spectacular view. I watched one of the large paddle boats that take tourists on scenic river cruises as it passed under the Robert Street bridge and asked, "Where did you get the cash to pay for this place?"

She came and stood alongside me. "I stopped at an ATM in the skyway." We both watched the boat work its way upstream, its large wake spreading waves that lapped both shores.

After a short time she put her hand in mine and said, sadly, "I wish we weren't running from anyone and that this was something we had planned. Just for fun."

I looked down at her. Tears were streaming down both cheeks and when I took her in my arms she began to sob. Who could blame her after what she had been through since we'd met. Hell, if it hadn't been for me, none of this would have happened to her.

We stood there, clinging to each other, and when she was finished she leaned back in my arms and looked at me with those sad, blue, eyes and I said, "When this is over we'll come back to this very room and celebrate." She continued to stare at me, sniffling occasionally, but definitely on the mend. I added,

"Or any place else you want to go."

Her lips turned upward, blue eyes sparkling with happiness, and she said, "I've always wanted to go to Paris."

I couldn't help myself. I kissed her. She froze for a second then returned my kiss. Arms were no longer around each other, they were busily seeking new places to caress. Heather stopped and leaned back. I watched as her eyes searched mine. She smiled then turned and walked over to the bed. With her back to me she slowly removed her clothing. Heather pulled the covers back, got in, then held the covers up and said, "I don't want to wait for Paris." I was naked and lying next to her before she could change her mind.

# Chapter 24

Sometime later, who knows how long, we laid back on our pillows, waiting for our normal breathing and heart beats to return. I said, "This wasn't our eleventh date." I turned my head and watched as she responded.

She had a huge smile as she stared at the ceiling and said, "I made an exception in your case."

"Likewise, I'm sure." I couldn't take my eyes from her.

Then she rolled over and threw a leg across my waist. Once settled she asked, "Would you really take me to Paris?"

We talked about Paris and other exotic places in the world that we would like to visit, disregarding for as long as we could the other ingredients of our lives. Eventually we returned to the matters at hand and decided we had better resolve those before we embarked on our world cruise, knowing our lives could not return to normal until this case was solved.

After showering, we packed up and took all of our belongings down to the car, because I didn't know if we'd be back. The revolving restaurant would have to wait.

There was a sandwich shop around the corner where we ate and discussed the evening's plan. Heather wanted to know every detail and I told her what I had in mind.

We finished eating in silence then returned to the Blazer. With one hour of daylight remaining, she drove us out of the ramp.

Five minutes later we had reached our destination on Summit Avenue. "Pull into that parking place just ahead," I directed. She did and when she had completed the maneuver I commented, "Nice job."

Heather looked at me with a smirk and said, "I hope you are not one of those people who comments every time someone completes one of life's simple tasks."

"I'm not," I said, trying to look serious. I turned my attention to the large house, complete with lions in front, that was half a block up on the other side of the street.

Heather followed my gaze, recognized the house I had told her about, then asked, "Why did we park so far away?"

While I scrutinized the parked vehicles along both sides of Summit Avenue I answered, "If someone else is watching, I don't want them to know we are interested in the red one." She did not respond. "Besides, I'm more interested in what's in back of the house. We'll check that out as soon as we're done here."

There were no occupied cars in sight. No vans either. I asked, "See anyone gawking?"

She continued to peruse the parked vehicles and homes and answered, "No."

I waited a few more minutes then said, "Let's have a look behind. Go down to the next street and turn left." As we passed the cars that were parked at the other end of the block I gave them a quick scan, then we were turning left. After we'd gone a short distance I said, "Shit, there's no alley."

The street that Heather had turned onto cut back at an angle, seeming to form one side of a triangle with Summit and, theoretically, another road that we would eventually meet. But the streets were a maze in this part of the city so anything was possible. We were on a steep incline and after a block I said, "let's park and check it out."

The street was narrow and she parked as close to the edge as she dared, as there was a steep drop off on my side with only a thin cable, connected to a sparse row of stumpy posts, to stop an errant vehicle from crashing into the thick trees that covered the hill below. The tree covered hill continued to climb on the other side of the road. I leaned over Heather and my eyes followed the wooded slope upward. There was no way to tell which house on Summit was atop this part of hill. I would have to climb it to find out where Butch's place was. That would have to wait until after dark, which wasn't far away.

Heather said, "We'd better get moving before any cars come. We're kind of blocking part of the road." She was watching the rear view mirror.

I sat back in my seat and said, "Let's look for a place to turn around. We'll go back and check out the cars on this end of Summit."

Heather found a parking spot just as we turned back on to Summit and we resumed our watch status. We were now on the same side of the street as Butch's house. I said, "The Feds were watching Charlie so it seems reasonable they would have their eye on this place. My guess is they're in one of the houses on that side of the street." I pointed to the opposite side."

Heather didn't respond. She was staring straight ahead, probably thinking about all of the events that had occurred since Friday. I said, "We didn't get a chance to talk about your visit with the FBI. It got lost in the excitement."

She looked at me. In the brightness of headlights on the busy street I could see that beautiful smile. She started, "The agent was familiar with two of the names on the list. He had no idea who the others were and was non-committal about what the FBI was going to do with the names. He wanted to know where you were and reminded me that they have issued a warrant for your arrest; suspicion of murder." She grabbed onto my arm and asked, "Are you sure about what we are doing? I know you don't want to turn yourself in, but, as your lawyer, I wonder if you've given it anymore thought."

I took my eyes from the homes across the street and looked deeply into hers. I said, "I appreciate the fact that you are worried about me, but it doesn't change my opinion that we are safer out here than we would be in custody. Remember, I investigate for a living and, hopefully, we will have some answers before the night is out." I put my hand on the back of her neck, rubbed it gently, and continued, "If we are no closer to solving this thing by tomorrow, we'll talk about taking our chances with the FBI."

She leaned over and hugged me. "Okay, Jake," then released me and returned to her position behind the wheel.

I turned my attention back to the houses directly across from the one we were interested in. "Let's see what's behind those homes."

# Chapter 25

There was an alley behind these properties and she turned slowly into it. Despite the fact that the lot sizes were much larger than an average city lot, the back yards were postage stamp size because the homes were huge and most of them had servants quarters or carriage houses along the alley. I saw the car and after passing it I said, "Stop here, Heather."

The car I'd spotted was parked alongside a garage that was in the process of being built. The owners of the home must have torn down the servants quarters so they would have a place to park their car. Heather followed my gaze. I asked, "Does that car look familiar to you?"

She studied it for a second then answered, "It looks like the one Agent Mackay was driving. And the one driven by the agents who showed up after you left the scene."

"Certainly not the same one, but the government license plate seems to indicate that the FBI or DEA are using that house to watch our friend Butch." I wrote down the number above the garage door and said, "Let's go back to our parking spot."

Parking spots are a hot commodity along Summit. As I said, many of the homes at this end of Summit have no garages and some of the homes have been converted to multi-dwellings. I was surprised to find that our former parking spot was still open and Heather reclaimed it.

The trees along the avenue would make it difficult for the feds to watch us from the house their car was parked behind. Heather rolled the windows down and shut the engine off. It was very still outside and there was a rumbling of thunder in the distance. Heather asked, "What's next."

The house that Butch lived in was five homes away and the front half was visible from our vantage point. Though darkness had settled in and the lights were shining brightly in most of the other homes, the one we were interested in was dark. I answered Heather's question, "I'm going to have a look at the inside of Butch's house."

She was staring at me, mouth agape, and asked, "And how do you plan to do that?"

"I'll climb the hill behind his house and go in the back door."

She asked, "Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"What if there's a security system?" I said nothing and she went on. "What if someone is home and they like sitting in the dark, or maybe they're sleeping. And. And." Obviously she was out of questions. I was about to speak when she gave a loud sigh and asked, "What can I do to help?"

I couldn't believe it. There was no, "It's too dangerous.", or, "You're not going to leave me alone, are you?" A simple, "What can I do to help?" I had to hug her.

Then I reached into the back seat, grabbed my case and placed it on my lap. After opening it, I lifted the top portion which held, in molded cavities, a .357, night vision goggles, a space for the .38, compass, and Swiss army knife. Strapped underneath in their molds were two state-of-the-art communicators, one box of ammunition containing twenty-five .38 shells and twenty-five .357 magnum shells, lock picks, digital video and still cameras, a package of latex gloves, and a miniature butane torch with flint starter. Everything I needed for detecting. Well, almost. I handed her one of the two-way radios and said, "While I am doing research in that house, you and I will be in contact using these." I plucked my radio from its slot.

She lifted the radio I'd given her up to the light of a passing car and looked it over. In one hand she held the small transmitter/receiver and in the other was the end of the wire that was connected to the transmitter/receiver. That end contained one ear piece, a microphone, and a clip that attached the wire to your shirt. Heather asked, "Do I need some kind of training to use this thing?"

"All you need to do is talk and listen." I clipped the wire to her shirt collar and instructed, "Put the ear piece in." She pushed it into her ear. I turned the radio on and showed her the volume control.

While she waited for me to ready my set she asked, "What is the range of these?" She was staring at the small radio in her hand. It was about half the size of her palm.

"About a mile." I had my set ready and turned it on. "Testing, one, two, three."

She jumped and said, "Too loud."

I reminded her of the volume control and repeated my test count so she could adjust her set. When she was ready, I changed into a pair of jeans, hooked the radio to my belt then ran the cord down my back, inside the shirt, and attached it to the radio. I inserted the ear piece and clipped the microphone to my collar. After removing the goggles, latex gloves and lock picks, I closed the case and laid it on the back seat. "It's time," I announced, then leaned over and kissed her cheek.

She looked worried and asked, "How long will this take?"

"Hopefully, less than an hour." Then added, "If any cars or people come near that house, I want to know."

"You'll be the first," she said and grabbed my hand.

I squeezed hers and said, "Keep in touch." Then I was out of the car and walked in the direction of the intersection behind us, .38 tucked into the waistband on my backside. The goggles hung around my neck, the gloves and picks in my back pocket.

At the intersection I turned left and started downhill. There was no sidewalk so I shuffled through the long grass on the left side. The ground on this side began to rise as I strode further down the street and it soon became a steep, tree covered hill that I would have to climb. I reached the spot on street where we had stopped earlier and went into the trees. The climb was difficult because of all the fallen branches and underbrush, but five minutes later I reached the top.

There was a building directly in front of me, one of those servant's quarters, so I moved through the trees to my right. I reached an opening between buildings and walked through to a small courtyard between the servant's building and the brightly lit house straight ahead. A high fence separated the property from the house to my left, which had no lights on and appeared to be the one I was looking for. I spoke into the microphone, "Heather, I need your help."

"What kind of help?"

"Is there a well-lit house near our target home?" I hoped the watchers were not monitoring radio frequencies.

"The only well-lit home is the one just past the target."

"Thank you."

"You are most welcome."

I retraced my steps and when I reached the trees I turned right and stumbled my way to the far side of the building I had first come up behind. Another gap between buildings allowed me an entrance to Butch's backyard, which looked similar to the one I'd just left, fence and all.

I donned the goggles, slipped the gloves on and scanned the green surroundings. There were no cameras or trip wires, just a simple mansion. Hopefully, an empty mansion. I ran across the small yard and leapt up the four steps that led to an open porch. On the left side of the door was a window covered by a wooden screen. The window was open. Obviously Butch wasn't too worried about security, which seemed unusual for a person in the crime business. It made me think that my sources may have given me misleading information about Butch's address.

I turned the metal latches that held the screen in place and removed it. After placing it against the wall, I leaned in the open window and had a look. The large entryway had coats hung on hooks and several pairs of shoes and boots underneath. An inner door was straight ahead.

I climbed in, walked to the door and listened. There was a hum that sounded like a window air conditioner and when I put my hand in front of the keyhole I could feel the cold air escaping. Not an energy efficient home I was breaking into. But what did you expect from a home that was built in the 1800's?

I tried the handle and the door opened. Nobody jumped out and shot me so I walked in and closed the door. Scanning the large kitchen from left to right revealed a table and chairs along the wall to my left, a doorway, counters and cupboards over the sink along the wall straight ahead and on the wall to the right of that one was the refrigerator, stove, more cupboards and another doorway. Very simple.

Even in the light I had it was obvious that very little modernization had been done to this room. Not for a good thirty years anyway. I chose the doorway on my right and if things went as planned I would return through the other door, my investigation complete.

I entered an empty dining room where a window air conditioner hung in one of the three windows to my right. It was running full blast and working well. There were more windows straight across and a wide archway in the wall left of them. The archway led to an L-shaped room that extended to the front and far side of the house. The room was vast. It made up the rest of the first floor and in the middle of it was a staircase, the base of which was ten feet from the front entrance.

All of the windows, and there were many of them, were draped. I lifted the goggles from my eyes and found myself in complete darkness. Either the drapes were very heavy or there were shades covering all the windows. Another air conditioner, in one of the front windows, was working just as hard as the one behind me. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and pulled the goggles over my eyes.

I passed under the staircase and after several feet came to a door on the left. It turned out to be the other kitchen door. This was weird. The first floor was virtually empty, except for the kitchen table and chairs. Butch must not be doing well in his drug business, or he was in the process of moving out. Maybe he was moving in?

The roar from air conditioners was so loud I couldn't tell if the hardwood floor squeaked as I crossed it to the carpeted stairs. I started up and when my eyes reached floor level I stopped and looked around. A railing surrounded three sides of the stairwell and I could see through the newels in all directions. The area was as open and empty as the room below, but this room ended just beyond the top of the staircase.

From there a hallway extended toward the back of the house. At the top I turned to survey the room. To my right was a much smaller, closed-in, stairway that led to the third floor. There were more draped windows, another air conditioner blasting away and nothing else. Getting stranger, I thought.

I removed the .38 from my waistband as I walked to the top of the stairs then started down the hallway. Three doors were on the right, two were on the left and a window was at the end. Possible escape route, I thought.

The first door on my right was open. It was a bedroom. There was an unmade twin bed, one dresser and a closet. Hanging in the closet were a couple of sport shirts, two pair of slacks and one sport coat. Not a clothes horse for sure. The dresser contained underwear, socks, and some T-shirts. There was nothing under the bed.

Back in the hallway I stayed with the right side and walked to the next door. It was closed and I opened it cautiously. Even though I felt the house was empty, it was better to be safe than sorry. One of life's lessons. A bare mattress and box spring were on the floor. No other furniture. The closet was empty.

The next room was a large bathroom, with sink, commode, and tub along the right wall and two oval windows mounted high on the left one. They overlooked the back yard by my calculations. No place to hide anything in here.

I walked to the hallway window and checked to see if it was locked. It wasn't. It looked over the roof of the back porch which was only a foot down. I would keep it in mind if I had to leave in a hurry.

The first door on my way back to the stairway was open and this room was totally empty, including the closet. I think Butch could have gotten by with a smaller house.

The last door was closed and locked. I looked the door over and discovered that the only lock was the one that came with the door. A skeleton key, or something that worked the same way was all I needed to gain entrance. The only type of lock easier to open is the push lock in many bathroom door handles. I had the door open in seconds and what do you know. It was an office.

There was a desk, chair, file cabinet, monitor atop a computer, and a printer, all of it neat and tidy. An organized drug dealer and general hood. Hopefully there would be something here to help me find the real asshole behind the murders. It wasn't Butch. I figured him for a pawn in a much bigger game.

The file cabinet was empty so I sat down in the swivel chair and checked the desk drawers. Also empty. There were no CD's. Nothing. Frustrating, to say the least.

I closed the door behind me, turned on the computer and monitor and pushed the goggles onto my forehead. Almost immediately a moving sign, on the screen, informed me that no signal was being received by the computer. Shit! The system wasn't even hooked up.

I turned the computer off and stood up. I attempted to shove the chair under the desk, but it wouldn't even go half-way. I tried again but something was stopping it. With goggles back in place, I pulled the chair out and looked into the space underneath to find out what was stopping the chair. It was a small file box. I reached under and lifted it out.

# Chapter 26

"Jake, a car just turned into the driveway." Talk about payback for scaring her when we tested the radio. I didn't shit my pants but I did drop the metal box. Fortunately it missed my foot.

When I regained my composure, I lifted the box by its handle and asked, "Did they drive to the back of the house?" I had already opened the door and was running down the hallway.

"Yes." Then demanded, "Jake, get out of there. Now!"

"I'm working on it, Heather."

I reached the window and peered out. There were three of them walking quickly to the back door. They were in a hurry and I wondered why. As tempting as it was to stick around and hope to overhear some telling conversation, I felt it would be wise to exit. There were, after all, three of them. I could catch the top two floors another time.

The men disappeared and I pulled up on the window's handle. Shit! It was stuck. I tried with both hands. Didn't budge.

Changing my strategy I placed my hands under the top part of the window, bent my knees, and pushed up. Nothing. I could hear voices now and I desperately gave it another try with the same negative results. Time for Plan B. I opened the door to the empty room on my left and went in, just as the hall light went on. The light was blinding with the goggles on. I tore them off, slowly closed the door then dropped to my knees, .38 in hand.

Peeking through the keyhole I could see the entrance to the bathroom and then a man was walking through it. From my vantage point I could not make out the face. The light went on as the door closed behind the new occupant.

I probably had time to escape this room, but where would I go. Downstairs with the other two? Upstairs and wait for them to leave? I decided to stay right here until this guy leaves then go out one of windows in this room.

Shortly he came out. He turned off bathroom light and soon the hall light went out. Time to move. I pulled the goggles over my eyes as I got up and walked to the window that overlooked the back porch. This one slid open like it was new, but now I had a new obstacle. A screen. My bet was the screens were old so I stepped back and gave it a good kick. The noise of the air conditioner would cover the sound it made as some of it ripped out of the frame.

I was able to push my hand through and reach outside and turn the latch that was holding the screen in place. That allowed me to lift the screen out of the window frame and lean it against the outside wall. I grabbed the case and stepped through the open window onto the roof.

"Jake, where are you?" That just about set me rolling off the roof. Good thing I was still holding onto the window frame.

"Not now!" I whispered. There was no response. I pulled the window closed then replaced the screen, pushing in the torn material as much as possible. No sense advertising a visit, though they'd know when the box came up missing.

The roof had a hip on each side and I took a tentative step toward the one to my left as I faced away from the house. The roof felt spongy, probably too many layers of shingles and age, so staying next to the house on my way to the edge was definitely the best route. When I reached the hip I sat down.

The pitch of the roof was low, but I felt safer sliding down the slope than walking. I never was a big fan of downhill skiing. It was not exactly sliding, closer to duck walking with my butt kind of dragging, but it worked.

I reached the edge and now it was time for another big decision. The ground, if you can call a cement driveway the ground, was ten feet below me and the roof had gutters. I could hang on the gutters and drop or jump from the roof. A no-brainer decision, right?

I put my right foot on the gutter and gave it a light push. It wobbled and one of the wires holding it in place screeched loudly. I jerked my foot back and waited for someone to come running, then remembered how loud it was in the house with all the air conditioners running.

Speaking of which, it was cooling off and the wind was coming up. I'd been concentrating so hard on my dilemma I hadn't even notice the thunder and lighting, which gave me another incentive to get off this roof.

Then I remembered the fence. I could see the far end that was attached to the carriage house, but it disappeared under the eaves at the front of the porch so it wasn't obvious to someone in my position. It looked to be at least seven feet tall which would allow me to slide off the roof and onto the fence without hanging onto the gutter. Sure, I would be dragging on the gutter as I went over the side, but it wouldn't be with all of my weight because I could help support the gutter with one of my hands. Once I was on the fence, I could position myself to slide down its side. Much better idea.

I Scooted to that edge of the roof, lined myself up with the fence, and, slowly, turned onto my belly. I held my legs over the edge, trying not to touch the gutter, then lowered my right hand and grabbed the outside of the gutter. I pushed it against the eaves to give it enough strength to support my body as I went over. I eased my legs onto the metal trough and started to slide over the edge.

The file box was lying on its side and I used my chin to drag it along as my hips jerked over the gutter. I was using my left arm, as much as possible, to carry my weight and eased the load on the gutter. There were no loud squeaks from the wires that attached the gutter to the house and the gutter held.

Finally, my feet touched the top of the fence and I shifted my weight to them. The fence boards held. I stood up, balancing myself of the thin ends of the upright boards, then lowered my right foot to the two-by-four that held the fence together. I was now free of the roof and ready for my next move. With the file case in my left hand I lowered my butt onto the fence boards.

The lights went on in the back yard. The hell with repositioning myself. I pulled the left foot over and jumped the remaining distance. The door opened as my feet hit. I quickly recovered from the impact and walked quickly to the narrow space between the carriage houses.

I practically slid down the hill and a minute later I was on the street below. I said, "I'm back on the street and will be with you shortly."

"Jake, a man just ran from behind the house. Was he looking for you?"

"Most likely. Tell you what. Why don't you come and pick me up." I decided to reverse my course and said, "I'll start down the hill."

"Roger that." She was learning fast.

Heather was there in minutes. Before getting in I threw the metal case in the back seat. I wasn't even buckled up when she tore off, obviously as anxious as I was to leave the scene. She yelled, "Holy shit, Jake. Was that man after you?"

"Could be. I had to improvise on the escape and could have been a bit noisy." It had been close. For the first time I wondered if Butch was one of the three who were in the house and realized that I had no idea what the guy looked like. That would change tomorrow. "Let's go back to the room and see what we've got."

# Chapter 27

We drove past the St. Paul Cathedral, down the hill to Kellogg and past the arena where the Minnesota Wild hockey team plays. Because they were out of town, the traffic at ten o'clock on a Sunday evening was non-existent and soon Heather was turning onto

Wabasha, heading for the hotel ramp, half a block away. She was about to turn into the ramp entrance and I demanded, "Go straight."

Quickly, she straightened the wheel and the car continued to cruise down Wabasha. I kept my eyes on the two men standing at the pay booth. They weren't parking attendants, not dressed in those suits, and when they saw we were not turning into the ramp they ran for the dark sedan parked on the street.

Heather said, rather loudly, "Tell me what's going on, Jake?"

"Not now, Heather. Turn right at the next corner." I kept my eyes on the men until we had made the turn and a building blocked my view. Facing front now I said, "Turn into that alley," and I pointed to the left. She did as I'd asked and I turned around to see if any cars followed us. Keeping my eyes on the alley way behind us I said, "Turn left at the end of the alley then right on Wabasha and head for the freeway." It wasn't until she was on the freeway that I turned my attention back to front.

Heather had been too busy following my direction to ask any questions, but now she said, "Would you please tell me what is going on?"

No one had followed us, as far as I could tell, so I turned toward the front, stopping when I faced Heather and answered, "There were two suits watching for someone, I'd guess us, and when we changed our mind about going into the ramp they got into their car. You were too fast for them." I smiled and added, "You would probably do well at Indy."

She said, "Once again I find myself asking, 'What's next?'."

I thought about this for a minute or so then asked, "You know where the Maplewood Mall is, right?"

She looked at me in mock surprise and answered with a question of her own, "Is there someone who doesn't?"

Definitely comedian material. I said, "Okay, dumb question. I would like to rent some computer time at the computer store, which is just south of the mall. It's open 24 hours a day. Are you familiar with the store."

"I know where it is. Why do we need computer time?"

I reached back and grabbed my case. On my lap I opened it and removed the disk that I had tucked into the edge of the case's cover, held it up for her to see and answered, "I found this little item hidden behind some books in Senator Raymond's office. Hopefully it contains some good reading."

"It's probably her mother's recipe's or something dull like that."

"There's nothing dull about recipes, but I don't think she'd hide them at her office behind some books." She agreed.

We drove the remaining distance in silence and when we arrived at the store's nearly empty parking lot Heather drove around the side of the building and parked in a dark corner of the lot. I said, "You are learning quickly."

"I have a good teacher."

"Well thank you, ma'am," I said and reached into the back seat, this time for the metal case from Butch's. We left the Blazer and walked quickly to the main entrance. There were three other customers in the store. All three were sitting in front of monitors. Computers surrounded three quarters of the large room, while copiers and other computer related items took up the space in the middle. At the counter we were helped by a young lady and within minutes were seated in front of our own monitor, waiting for the computer to finish booting-up. I was anxious to find out if we had any evidence of wrongdoing.

The closest person to us was at least twenty feet away. Heather sat to my left in a chair she had taken from a nearby station. She watched as I slipped Raymond's CD into the computer. When the desktop came up and I clicked on the file that was titled 'Journal' and there it was: Senator Collette Raymond's diary. I turned to Heather with a look of triumph on my face.

She said, "I'm impressed with your computer skills, but let's see what we have before you get any cockier."

"Okay for you," was the best I could muster and went back to the screen. The first date listed was over two years ago so I scrolled down until I reached July of this year. The glimpses I caught until that point had no references to any bribes. I figured if someone had offered her money to change her opinion on some issue she would be mentioning it soon. I wasn't disappointed. I looked quickly at Heather who simply nodded and continued to read what the senator had written.

My attention focused back to the monitor and I picked up the entry of July fifth. She was attending a fund raiser for one of her colleagues when a gentleman by the name of Darnell Davies approached her. They talked briefly before he turned the conversation toward the new toll road that was causing so much controversy in the legislature. She had stated her stance of opposition to any public funding for private organizations and they went on to discuss other issues of the day.

Prior to his departure Darnell Davies had asked if he could take her to lunch in the next couple of days to continue their discussion. Apparently he had to leave on urgent business. She had agreed and nothing more was written for this date.

The next date with anything of interest was July eighth. Darnell had taken her to a late lunch at the St. Paul Grill, located in the posh St. Paul Hotel. One glass of wine had led to another, which led to a room, which led to an afternoon tryst. I remembered the pictures on her credenza. An attractive, fortyish, woman posed with what looked like a family; mother, father, teen-age son and daughter. The date on the picture was recent so, for now, I was going to assume that she was stepping out on her husband.

Those are the kinds of assumptions you make in my business. There was no lurid description of the activities that ensued once they'd entered the room other than the fact that they had beautiful sex.

Heather tapped my arm. "Is she married?"

I looked at her with a scandalous smile on my face and answered, "The pictures in her office would indicate something like that and the cross-directory shows a spouse." I added, "If nothing else it makes for good reading." Heather agreed and we went back to the diary.

I continued to scroll, but it wasn't until August ninth that Darnell was mentioned again. The words were not kind. They had met for lunch in the same restaurant and, like the previous time, their afternoon ended in a king size bed. After sex, Darnell had asked her if she would change her stance on public financing for the private toll road. She had stated her unwillingness to do so and he had offered her a large amount of money if she would change her mind. The sum of two hundred thousand was mentioned and, if that wasn't enough, he had shown her pictures of them in very compromising positions.

She had no idea how he could have taken them. She had told him he could take his pictures and the offer, shove them up his ass and don't ever call her again. He'd threatened to mail the pictures to her husband and several media outlets. Her bluff had been called and she had caved. Darnell would be calling her in the near future to explain the details of what he wanted. End of entry.

Heather asked, "Are all of your cases like this one?"

"Hardly," I said, and continued to scroll down.

Next entry, August tenth, described her search for information about Darnell Davies. Senator Raymond had friends in high places and it hadn't taken her long to gather a great deal of information about him, much of it gossip, but a lot of it appeared to be fact. The most interesting to her was the fact that he worked for Bradley Bartholomew III, one of the new billionaires that lived in Minnesota.

She had met the man last winter at a party given by the mayor of Minneapolis and she also remembered being very impressed with his knowledge of the political system. Of course, he wasn't the first wealthy person to show interest in politics and the fact that he was tall, dark and handsome hadn't hindered her memory of their meeting. The real memory jogger, though, was the conversation they'd had about building a new toll road for the Twin Cities. The man had tried, in vain, to change her views. She had now realized that their meeting had not been one of chance. Darnell Davies seemed to have been forgotten, at least for this day.

I asked, "Do you know anything about this Bartholomew?"

"Never heard of him," she stated blandly, keeping her attention on the monitor.

I made a quick check of the parking area, which was made difficult by the inside lighting that reflected off the windows surrounding us, but saw nothing suspicious so I turned my attention back to the journal.

I glanced quickly at each of the entries. Most of them pertained to her work environment with an occasional reference to her husband and children. Life went on.

August fifteenth was a key date. She and Darnell Davies had met for lunch at another hotel. Like the last time they had two glasses of wine then retired to a suite he had already rented. It was obvious that Davies knew his women and, just as obviously, Collette Raymond was one of those women who could not pass up a good romp in the hay. Forget the fact that he was blackmailing her.

Afterward he had given her an envelope containing fifty thousand dollars. Three more payments would be delivered to her office around this date each month. She seemed disappointed that he would no longer personally deliver the cash. He told her she would get the pictures back when the toll road issue was resolved. End of entry.

No further mention was made of Bartholomew, Davies, the money or pictures and no more entries were made after September fifth. I looked at Heather and said, "Guess she lost interest in recording her life. Too busy spending the money, I guess."

She had a look of disgust on her face and said, "I can't believe she went to bed with the guy knowing that he was nothing but a lousy blackmailer."

I had to laugh. Maybe I'm easily amused, but it seemed funny that after everything we had just read, what bothered Heather the most was the bed thing. She stared at me until I said, "Sorry, but I think the sex thing should be the least of our worries."

She eased up on the mad look and said, "I know, Jake, but I was feeling indignant for her."

I chose not to respond to her remark and said, "Okay, let's see what's in the case."

# Chapter 28

I removed the disk and put it aside, then reached down and picked up the metal case and set it on the desk, next to the computer. I pushed the square button on the latch and it opened. Heather leaned toward the box as I lifted the top.

The case contained a dozen manila folders. There were no tabs to identify each folder so I pulled out the front one and opened it. Heather's right cheek rested on my left shoulder as she positioned herself to view what I'd found. Inside the folder were several sheets of eight-and-a-half by eleven paper and behind them a brown envelope that was half that size.

The first sheet was a credit bureau report and at the top was the name of Bernard Hackel. I said to Heather, "He's on the 'bribe' list and it's Representative Hackel to his constituents."

She sat up and reached into her purse, which was hanging on the back of her chair, and pulled out a copy of the 'bribe' list. "Here he is; Bernard

Hackel, two payments made." She put the list on the desk and returned her cheek to my shoulder. Very comfortable, I thought.

The report showed six credit card balances, each over ten thousand dollars, and each was three to four payments behind. There were two automobiles loans that were delinquent and a mortgage that was not. Got to have a place to live. The big picture? This guy was living beyond his means and ripe for a bribe.

The next sheet in file was a printed history, of sorts, showing how and when Bernard Hackle was brought into the fold. It had started six months ago and the last date shown was Thursday. A payment of fifty thousand had been credited to his account, which now totaled one hundred and fifty thousand. I wondered if he had received the most recent one.

A third and fourth sheet were hand written. It took a minute for us to determine that they were notes that had been condensed into the written history on page two. Butch and his boys, if that's who gathered the information, were organized.

I opened the envelope that was in the folder and took out six photographs and a miniature cassette, the kind used in a small recorder. The pictures were of two men performing sexual acts. One was bald with short, graying hair and mustache. In all of the pictures his eyes were closed. He looked to be in his middle to late forties and was quite paunchy. The other man had fairly long, dark hair and a very muscular body. None of the pictures showed his face.

One of the pictures was taken from a high angle, maybe eight feet, while others varied in degrees of closeness. The camera was, obviously, located in the ceiling of the room.

Although the previous pages failed to mention how these pictures were obtained or who the faceless man was, the notes did mention that Mr. Hackel was devastated when shown the pictures.

So, the camera was hidden, someone else was controlling it and Bernard Hackel was the bald guy. Not too hard to figure.

As if reading my mind Heather said, "The camera must have been hidden, operated from another location and the bald man is Hackel." She was sitting up and smiling, proud of her powers of deduction. It reminded me of someone guessing the answers in the game of Clue.

I replaced the folder and withdrew the second one while she bathed in glory. We spent the next half hour looking at the other folders. All showed bad credit files and all had an envelope containing sexually explicit pictures. Either a blonde woman or the muscular man appeared in every photo and the room was identical in all cases. Sexual preference was of no consequence to either of them. Yes, I thought, it was going to be a pleasure bringing these people down.

# Chapter 29

We made copies of each file and after purchasing a blank CD we made a copy of the disk I'd taken from Senator Raymond. Feeling buoyed by our cache of evidence I said, "How about a nightcap?"

Heather yawned and said, "Sounds good to me."

I closed the file case which now included the original disk and an updated 'bribe' list. I said, "I know a great place just blocks from here."

She grabbed the large envelope we'd purchased, which now held all the copies we had made, and said, "Let's go."

It had rained while we were inside and, after paying the bill, we walked out to much cooler air, skirting puddles as we made our way to the Blazer.

The Red Rooster's lot had a few more cars than the one we'd just left, but we certainly wouldn't have to wait for seating inside. I picked a table near the bar and asked Heather, "What would you like?"

"A glass of white wine, Jake." She looked great but sounded tired.

I was tired too, which started me thinking about where we would sleep. The bartender, Sandy, who usually worked week nights, greeted me when I reached the bar, "Little late for you, Jake."

The only thing that would normally keep me in the bar this late was a Viking game, which reminded me that they were playing tomorrow night, and I said, "Couldn't sleep."

She looked over at Heather then gave me a knowing look and said, "I can see why."

I grinned and ordered, "One white wine and a tap beer." She knew what kind I drank.

I brought the drinks back to the table and plopped down. Heather asked, "Where are we going to stay tonight?"

I was thirsty and gulped half the beer down. "There's a place across the street. It's clean and there should be no problem getting a room."

She sipped her wine then placed her elbows on the table. With chin resting in the palms of her hands she sighed and said, "All the excitement has worn me out. I could lay down on the floor and go to sleep."

Before I could say a thing she added, "Jake, I know that what we're doing is vitally important and that the sooner we solve this riddle the quicker we can return to our lives. And I understand that our lives, as well as others, are in danger, but could we discuss it after we've had some rest?" Her eyes were almost closed and her head suddenly dropped out of her hands, but she recovered quickly and took a sip of wine.

I downed my beer and said, "We can go, unless you want to finish that." I pointed to the wine.

She stood and asked, "Would you carry me to the car?"

"Sure," and I walked over to lift her up.

She giggled and pushed me away. "I was just kidding. Now, let's find a bed."

I put my arm around her and said, "My thoughts, exactly."

# Chapter 30

In fact, we found a king size bed. The kind of bed that practically begs for a sexual romp. It was on my mind and I was pretty sure it was on Heather's, but by the time I came out of the bathroom she was out. It wasn't long before I joined her in dreamland.

"Housekeeping."

I came awake and reached for the .38 lying next to the radio/alarm clock. It was nine-thirty and realizing there was no threat at the door I detoured my hand and used it to pull the covers back.

Hurrying to the door I checked the peep hole then opened it and said, softly, "Come back later." I closed and locked the door. Heather was still curled up so I took my turn in the bathroom. The shower, in addition to the long sleep, had brought me back to life. I felt great, ready to tackle any adversary. Somebody was in deep shit, and it wasn't me.

Which reminded me that I was probably the object of some type of police search and I resolved to settle that problem this morning.

When I came out of the bathroom Heather was sitting up in bed, covers pulled up to her neck. She was watching one of those morning programs. She asked, "Are you finished in there?"

I sat on my side of the bed, towel wrapped around my waist, and answered, "It's all yours,"

She threw a pillow at me and said, "No peeking," so I covered my face with it until I heard, "All Clear."

My new underwear and shirts were in a bag next to the TV and after getting dressed I opened the drapes. We were on the third floor overlooking Interstate 694. As I watched the Monday morning traffic, thoughts of the past weekend and the upcoming days worked their way through my mind. The evidence that Heather and I had gathered would probably not be admissible in court because it was stolen. It would have to be returned to the rightful owners after we showed it to the FBI. Warrants would be issued, the returned evidence would be collected and some serious pressure would be put on people who were being blackmailed and taking bribes. The net would close on the big guns and with all the witnesses the prosecution would have an open and shut case. Right? In my wildest dreams.

I went downstairs to get some coffee and a paper. Back in the room I read the same article about the Wisconsin murders. Nothing much had been added. Again, neither of our names was mentioned. That surprised me.

Heather came out of the bathroom brushing her wet hair. She wore a light blue shirt that was tucked into beige shorts. The outfit complemented her tanned skin and blue eyes. The few freckles around her nose were barely noticeable. Heather looked at the paper and asked, "Anything in there about us?"

"Nada." My eyes drank all of her in as she stood in front of the mirror and pulled her hair into a ponytail. It was all I could do to restrain myself. I would have to be satisfied, for now, to watch.

She looked at me and said, "I'll be ready in a sec."

She was and minutes later we walked across the parking lot to a Perkin's Pancake House and ate a hearty breakfast. We discussed my ideas, worked out a few kinks then returned to the room and gathered our belongings.

In the lobby of the hotel I used a public phone to call the number given to Heather by the FBI agents. I wasn't worried about caller ID because we wouldn't be here long. After three rings a man answered, "Agent Mackay."

I was surprised, to say the least, and said, "Agent Mackay. Glad you're up and about. You didn't look well when I last saw you."

A pause, then, "Tanner?"

"They trained you well, Mackay. Write this down." I glanced at the clock, it was eleven.

There were no questions. Just a simple, "Shoot. You have to like that in a person. "In thirty minutes, walk to the Wabasha bridge. Go across on the west side and when you reach the end take the steps leading to the road underneath." I paused to see if he had any questions. Nothing. "What is the number of your cell phone?"

He gave it to me and after writing it down I said, "If I see any of your colleagues I'll boogie and we'll have to do this all over so be sure to come alone." I hung up before he could respond.

With the help of my binoculars, I could see the faces of people walking across the Wabasha bridge, which spanned the Mississippi connecting downtown

St. Paul and the west side. I was situated below and west of the relatively new bridge, hidden from any observers by one of the many old boats, awaiting restoration, that dotted the small acreage on this side of the bridge. It looked like a boat graveyard.

This river front property was owned by the St. Paul Yacht Club, but I didn't think anyone would mind if I used it for a quick meeting. Besides, the road running through it was public and I'd only strayed a couple yards from it.

Heather had dropped me in one of the lots at Harriet Island Park, two blocks away, and she was presently parked a mile away awaiting my phone call.

It was twelve thirty and the bridge was busy with cars, trucks, joggers, fast walkers and those just out to enjoy the weather, which had turned quite pleasant. Mackay was among them. He was halfway across the bridge when I spotted him, walking at a fair clip, but not hurrying. I took my cell phone out and dialed the number he'd given me.

"Hello."

I skipped the hello. "You know where the No Wake Cafe is?" The restaurant is an old tug boat that sits in the water near the yacht club.

"Sure do."

"Get a table." Again, I hung up without waiting for a response.

# Chapter 31

He reached the end of the bridge and I watched as he bounced down the wide steps to the road below. The number of people on the bridge made it impossible to tell if someone was following him so I lowered the binoculars when he reached the road below and turned in my direction.

To reach the restaurant I'd mentioned on the phone, Mackay had to walk by my position. As he neared it I moved further into the cluster of boats and waited for him to draw even with me. When he walked into my line of sight I said, "Mackay."

He stopped and looked in my direction, searching the shadows until he spotted me among the battered wooden hulls. Starting toward me he began speaking. "I guess they moved...." and he stopped.

I watched his left shoulder move forward and he fell to my left. He laid there groaning. "What the fuck," I said out loud and before thinking about it I had a hold on his shoulder and was pulling him behind the boat, out of the line of fire. The ground spewed up grass and dirt as several more rounds missed their mark.

Most of the boats in the repair yard were sitting on jacks and the tops were well above my head so I was able to stand and peer around the bow, looking to see if some crazed maniac was charging our position. Across the road was the marina which held hundreds of boats that could be used as a shooting platform. Fifty yards behind the marina was 'Navy" island, so called because it's shaped like the hull of a ship, which was another place the shooter could be. However, in order to set up in one of those places, the shooter would have to have known MacKay's route. But, Mackay hadn't even known until I called him.

My guess? The shooter had followed Mackay and had been under the bridge when Mackay stopped and turned in my direction. Why someone would shoot MacKay was anybody's guess. If the assholes behind the shooting thought that by stopping MacKay they would have more time to get to me before I handed over whatever they thought I had, then they were mistaken. I'd just find another agent. They couldn't kill all of them. Maybe the shooter was supposed to wait until I appeared and he got antsy. I had no clue at this point.

I knelt beside Mackay, who was sitting up and holding his left shoulder, all the while cussing under his breath. I said, "Looks like these guys want to kill you bit by bit."

He tried to laugh, but the pain was too much and he laid back on the ground, the cursing now changed back to moaning. I called 911 then returned to my look-out position. There was no one in the visible area so I laid down next to Mackay and scanned the graveyard through the spaces beneath the boats.

Some were on the ground or on low trailers, but none close enough to allow someone to approach my position unseen. I would maintain the watch until the ambulance arrived, which it did moments later. I waved it to where we were then disappeared in the maze of boats.

# Chapter 32

I didn't want to leave the copies of the reports I'd brought along with an unconscious Mackay so they remained in my waistband as I made my way through the beached boats and back to the park.

There was no reason to endanger Heather by calling her to pick me up. My paranoia again, but the shooter could still be in the area, so I walked to the gas station where she was parked.

She waved to me when I was half a block away and when I sat down next to her, holding the envelope in my hand, she looked confused and asked, "Weren't you going to give that to Mackay?"

"I was, but somebody shot him and since he was unconscious I didn't think it was a good idea to leave the information with him."

A look of shock replaced the curious one and she asked, "How bad is he?"

"He'll live." I threw the envelope on the back seat and added, "But I'll bet he's going to ask for a reassignment." I chuckled then said, "let's get out of here."

Heather slid the floor shift into reverse and began to back out of the parking spot. Suddenly she slammed on her brakes and when I looked around to see why she'd stopped I saw the white Lincoln that was blocking her exit. The passenger window came down and the barrel of a pistol began its arc toward us. I grabbed Heather around the neck and pulled her down. At the same time, I stretched my left leg to her side, pushed her foot off the brake then stomped on the accelerator. The Blazer's rear end destroyed the Town

Car's door and probably did a bit of damage to the person with the gun.

There were no more shots fired, at least I didn't hear any. With my foot still on the pedal, the Lincoln began sliding sideways and the Blazer's tires squealed and smoked relentlessly. I screamed to

Heather, "You'll have to get us out of here."

She yelled, "I can't go anywhere with them behind us!"

"You can go forward," I released the accelerator then slammed the shift into drive and yelled, "Go!"

I sat up, which allowed her to. Heather took only a second to scan the area in front of her then stomped on the pedal. She hollered, "Get out of my way people," at the same time laying on the horn.

The Blazer bounced over a cement block barrier and onto the grass boulevard before careening off a stop sign as she screeched onto the road, just missing a truck that had stopped to watch the show.

The Lincoln was facing the wrong way and had to turn around before it was able to track us. We were a block away before I saw it race onto the street behind us and start in our direction.

The area we were in was industrial and I knew it would end in several blocks, as would the four lane road we were traveling. After that the road became two lanes that wound through a strip of uninhabited woodlands separating the Mississippi from layered bluffs that rose high above. Heather screamed, "Where to, Jake?"

She was going too fast for the road ahead which, as I remembered, was full of pot holes and the remaining surface was not much better than gravel.

The cars between us and the Lincoln had turned into the lots of various businesses along the four lane and as the road narrowed to two lanes the Lincoln had a clear run at us. The road ahead was not a well- traveled one so I told Heather, "Stay in the middle of the road." The Blazer hit a hole and my head touched the roof. I added, "And please slow down." I reached in the back and retrieved my trusty case.

Heather said, "They'll catch up to us if I slow down."

When the case popped open I unstrapped the Uzi and lifted it out. I looked at Heather, who was doing some serious concentrating on the road ahead, hands wrapped so tightly around the wheel that her knuckles were white. I slammed a magazine home and said, "That's the idea."

She ventured a quick look in my direction, saw the Uzi, and jerked her eyes back on the road. She asked, "You planning to start a war?"

Behind us the Lincoln was gaining. Our speedometer showed forty which still seemed too fast for this road because the trees came right up next to it and seemed to blur as we sped by. I said, "Slow down to thirty. We've only got a mile or so before this road ends and I want to do some damage to them or their car before we get back into traffic." The vehicle slowed as I turned away from her and rolled the window down.

Just like the movies, I thought, and removed my seat belt. The back window exploded as several rounds slammed through it and into the middle seat. Heather screamed, but kept control of the vehicle. I leaned out the window and pointed the machine-pistol at the car, now two car lengths behind, and pulled the trigger. It was a ten-round burst that took the driver out and seconds later the Town car slammed into a huge, gnarled oak that butted up against the road. Machine gun against car. No match.

There would be no movie car chase today. This round was over quickly and I ducked back inside the car. Heather yell, "All right, Jake!" She'd obviously seen the results of my sharp shooting in the rearview mirror. I strapped the Uzi back in the case and closed the lid.

She had slowed the car even more and looked over at me. The adrenaline shock was upon her. Although the Blazer was going less than ten miles per hour, she was still white knuckling the wheel and her chin began to shake involuntarily. Just before the tears came I said, "Why don't you stop the car and I'll drive?"

Without a word she stopped the Blazer, got out and ran around the front of the Blazer to the passenger side. She jumped into the seat that I'd quickly vacated and buckled up. Her crying now no more than a few sniffles. I closed her door then walked to the driver's side and got in.

There were no cars coming from either direction. For sure, the Lincoln wouldn't be driven again. I watched her as I buckled up then shifted into drive and stepped on the gas. I could hear sirens in the distance.

The color had returned to her face and the scared, almost childish look had been replaced by one of determination and anger. She continued to stare straight ahead as I released my foot from the brake and stepped on the accelerator. I figured she would tell me what was on her mind in due time.

# Chapter 33

The road ended at a 'T' intersection and after a couple of turns I entered I-35E and headed back to downtown St. Paul. Heather turned and looked at me several times as we neared the exit I wanted. She obviously had something to say, but was either not ready to say it or hadn't decided how to say it. Or, maybe she had nothing to say and was just looking at my pretty mug. I could wait.

And while I waited I thought about the Lincoln and tried to figure out where I had gone wrong on my walk back to Heather. I had backtracked twice, cut through one business and continually watched my back. There seemed to be no way the big car could have followed me without my knowledge. I wondered if air traffic from the nearby airport had anything to do with tracking me. Helicopters and small planes were constantly landing and taking off and it scared me to think that the people we were looking for also roamed the skies.

I exited at Eleventh Street and drove to Regions Hospital where I found a parking spot in one of the open lots. As soon as I had turned off the car Heather said, "I know I've been acting weird, but I don't think it warrants a trip to the hospital." She was looking at me like I had flipped out.

I chuckled and said, "We, meaning you, are here to see Agent MacKay." I let her digest that then added, "If you are feeling up to it."

"I'm fine, Jake." She was better now and asked, "What am I supposed to do when I see him?"

"Here's the way I figure it. Those guys that chased us had followed MacKay from his office. Never mind whether or not they knew where he was going. You need to talk to him. Tell him about the car chase and let him know what kind of evidence we have. He'll know what the next move should be." She wanted to say something, but I wouldn't let her. "Right now the hospital is probably the safest place for you. Your cooperation with the Feds and the knowledge that you probably saved MacKay's life up north should be reason enough for them to welcome your information."

I paused to let her talk. "How did they know where MacKay was going. And how did they know where I was parked. It's scary, Jake." Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

I reached over and wiped them away. "They followed MacKay and they followed me. I think it's that simple." I continued. "You need to find MacKay and talk to him while everyone is still confused about the shooting. Who knows, maybe the Feds aren't even here yet. If he's alone, show him the copies in this folder." I tapped on the manila folder. "If there are other agents or police present, ask him to call you when he gets a chance. Be sure he knows we have some hard evidence."

"Why don't I just give it to him regardless of who's around. I doubt if anyone would take it away from him if he didn't want them to."

"At this point I don't trust anyone but MacKay. He didn't knock himself on the head and he didn't shoot himself. I doubt if he would go through all that just to gain our trust. But his fellow agents, superiors and police are suspect in my book and I want him to have a chance to look long and hard at what we have. Then he can decide who will be privy to the information." I added, "Call me paranoid, and many have, but my instincts are good and they're working overtime on this one."

Heather leaned over, pecked me on the cheek and before I had time to respond she sat back and opened her door. "Where will I meet you, Jake."

She looked at me with anticipation. I thought about what I was planning to do in the next hour or two; first the bank to open a safe deposit box then to Senator Raymond's office for a little heart to heart. Two hours tops. I asked, "Are you familiar with the tunnel system that connects the state office buildings?" Seven buildings are connected to the capital by a tunnel system the is approximately one mile around. Understandably, it is used heavily during the winter months.

"Yes. I've worked in the Judicial Building and on occasion used the tunnel to get to the capitol."

"Great. When you are through with MacKay walk the two blocks over to Judicial and go into the tunnel. Follow it to the capitol then take the tunnel that goes to the Administration Building and find your way to the parking ramp. As I recall, there's a door to the ramp at the end of the tunnel. I'll be waiting by that door." I paused to see if she had any questions about our meeting place.

She did. "What time are we going to meet?"

"Good question. I have several things to take care of so call me when you're leaving the hospital. I'll get to the meeting place as quickly as I can." Then added, "I won't be far away."

# Chapter 34

Fifteen minutes later I was directed to the safe deposit section of the bank that I do business with. I filled out a short application and after everything was approved the lady in charge led me into the vault and showed me my box. After inserting and turning our keys I removed the box and she guided me to a small room. I was carrying the file box so she had assumed, correctly, that I wanted to make a deposit. Minutes later I left the bank, empty file case in hand, and found my way back to the car. I'd forgotten to stamp my ticket and hadn't paid any attention to what floor I'd parked on so it took me awhile. The dashboard clock read three when I drove out of the ramp.

I felt better now that the damaging evidence was secure. It would be our safety net in case anything went awry.

Traffic on the capitol grounds was heavy and I felt fortunate to find a parking place less than one block away from the capitol. As I walked up the capitol steps, the same forty I'd walked up yesterday, I thought about all that had happened since Donny had called me about his missing father and I wondered what the next day or two would have in store.

I made my way to Senator Collette Raymond's office and hoped she would be there. This time the frosted glass door opened without the use of my picks. A young girl worked furiously on her keyboard and I had to clear my throat to get her attention. She jumped, looked up at me then said "Sorry, I was concentrating on this letter that needs to be finished before the mail is picked up. Can I help you?"

I could see a woman behind the desk in the next room. I said, "I would like to talk with Senator Raymond."

She asked, "Do you have an appointment?"

I answered politely, "No, I don't, but I'm sure she will see me." I handed her an envelope and said, "Please give her this. I'll wait over there." I walked over to a padded, metal chair and sat down. The envelope I'd given her contained excerpts of her diary along with several pictures from Butch's file.

The secretary returned shortly with a trim, dark haired woman at her heels. I knew her from the pictures. She looked directly at me, her stare quite menacing, and said, "Please come in," then stepped aside and waited for me to enter her office. When I walked past her she said, "Let's sit at the table." Collette closed the door behind us.

I walked to the low coffee table and sat down in one of the four green wing chairs that surrounded it. She eased herself into one directly across the table from me and I said, "Nice office."

"The public is very nice to me, Mr...... I didn't get your name."

"Jake Tanner."

She got right to it. "What do you want from me, Tanner?"

We were already on a last name basis. How nice. "Well, Ms. Raymond, I'm a private investigator and I recently came across a group of files similar to the one in that envelope. For various reasons I started with you." She waited patiently while I explained my presence. "I am interested in talking to Darnell Davies and Bradley Bartholomew III. I have been informed that you can help me in this matter."

She leaned forward in the soft chair and said, "You've been misinformed," then stood and walked to her desk. She was tough. A politician. You had to be thick skinned and quick with your rhetoric to be one.

Not to be out done I rose from the chair and said, "Okay," then walked to the door and opened it.

I started through the doorway and she said, "Don't be so childish, Tanner. I was just testing the waters." I stopped and turned my head. She was still seated behind her desk and waved me back as she added, "Let's try it again. And please close the door."

I pretended to think about it then closed the door and walked over to one of the metal chairs in front of her desk. I sat down and said, "I'm waiting."

She fidgeted with her short skirt then crossed her slender legs. Collette Raymond was definitely a looker. The steamy pictures I'd seen made her a candidate for somebody's centerfold. Long, curly black hair draped her shoulders and surrounded a pale face that was highlighted by deep set, brown eyes. Her nose was small and her lips, like all women's these days, appeared bigger because of the way the red lipstick was applied. The body, atop those beautiful legs, was just as attractive in clothes. She said, "I know the men you have asked about and I do have some information that might help you get in touch with them." A smidgen of humility, but not much. She asked, "What am I going to get?" No beating around the bush for this politico.

There wasn't much I could offer the woman. If everything had gone well with Heather, a copy of her file was in MacKay's hand at this moment. So I did the only thing I could do, I lied. "I have the original stored in a safe place and if you cooperate with me I will give them to you, disk included."

She looked in the envelope and pulled out the disk. Her eyes darted to the bookshelf then quickly back to me and she asked, "What is on this?" She knew.

"That is a copy of your diary. I found it on your bookshelf."

Defeat was written all over her face. She dropped the disk back into the envelope, set it on the desk then looked into my eyes. "What exactly do you want?"

I answered, "Tell me about Darnell Davies."

She reached into her middle drawer and took out a card which she handed to me. It was Darnell Davies' business card. I glanced at it quickly then put it in my top pocket, anxious to hear what she had to say about her lover. "His manner, thoughts on life and sexual prowess are what I do know. His business is financing, but I know nothing about that." She straightened her legs then leaned forward and said, "Other than the fact that he's almost religious about building a huge toll road around the Twin Cities."

I asked, "Do you know that four, maybe five people have died because of this toll road issue?"

Collette looked at me like I was crazy. She said, "I really doubt it."

I said, "I'm serious, Senator. Have you seen the news recently?"

Obviously she had. Genuine shock registered on her face and it took her bit before she could get it out. "The three people murdered in Wisconsin?"

"And the DEA agent that was found murdered on Friday night. Plus one dead bad guy who may or may not have done himself in." I let that register for a second then said, "So you see, Collette, why I'm inclined to believe that something more complex is involved in this bribery scheme you're mixed up in. I'm sure there is a bunch of money to be made in the road business, but it can't be enough to justify these killings." I had a quick thought about all the murdering that people have done for very little money, but I didn't think it applied to this case. This was big time. Collette and the others involved in this scheme were bit players, part of a larger operation. Call it intuition. Men have it too.

I could tell she was scared. "I had nothing to do with any killings or wrongdoing other than what you've read and seen in this file." She lifted it for me to see.

"I didn't say you had done anything else, but I have a feeling that you are leaving important facts out of your answers."

"What do you mean? I don't know anything more than I've told you." She acted indignant.

I shifted around in the chair and continued, "You have received at least one hundred thousand dollars to vote for an issue that you previously did not approve of. How much more did they promise you?"

She watched me as I spoke and now that it was her turn she hesitated, trying to decide whether or not to tell me. Collette took the incriminating pictures from the envelope and studied each of them. The tears came slowly as she struggled to decide which way she would go. She was about to break and I wasn't going to do anything to interfere. "By the time Darnell showed me the pictures, I was already in love with him. In fact, I had talked to my lawyer about the cost of getting a divorce. Everybody does it so what's the big deal?" She looked to me for approval and I shrugged.

Collette dropped the pictures and said, "I was shattered that he was blackmailing me! I was falling in love with this man and he was stealing my future. As a state senator, getting an amicable divorce might make the back page of the papers. It wouldn't hurt my chances of running for reelection. But, if these pictures were made public, my divorce would be headline news and forget about any reelection. Hell, I might be impeached." She wiped the tears from her cheeks. The crying was over and now she was mad.

I said, "Okay, so maybe there was going to be a messy divorce and you'd have to find another job. Painful, but not the end on the world. You might have lost the next election anyway. But those don't seem like good enough reasons to get yourself involved in criminal activity." It was easy to pontificate from my lofty position. "What made you decide to take the money?"

"Darnell is the cleverest of men. We had made love and we were talking about the future when he dropped the pictures on the bed. As I stared at each one he made his pitch. If I would change my position on the toll road issue, he would return the original pictures and negatives to me after the vote was in. It didn't matter which way the vote went, I would get the pictures and it would be over."

She got up and came back to the chair she'd previously occupied. When she was comfortable she continued, "I couldn't think straight and, after ranting a bit, I took a shower. I had pretty much made up my mind to tell him to go to Hell, but when I came out of the bathroom he was gone. The pictures were still on the bed. Three days later he called me and asked me to lunch." She crossed her legs and that famous scene where the beautiful actress crosses her legs while under interrogation went through my mind.

"You must have been very frustrated waiting to hear from him again." Try a little honey.

"Frustrated is putting it mildly. We went to lunch at a different restaurant where he offered to pay me two hundred thousand dollars. And that wasn't the end of it. If they got the money and built the road a small percentage of the profits would come to me on a quarterly basis." The legs again then she continued. "He didn't know exactly how much I would receive, but didn't think one or two hundred thousand a year was out of line. Of course the money wouldn't start coming in until the road was built, maybe ten years from now. Well, I could wait for that kind of money. I told him I would do it."

She gave me a defiant look, expecting some sort of rebuff, but I came back with a question. "Did Davies tell you that other legislators were being blackmailed and bribed to vote for this road?"

"He hinted at it."

"Did he say how many were involved?"

"No. Only that they had enough votes to win."

I thought about it for a while then said, "Even if the legislature votes to help finance this project Bartholomew will have to invest a large sum of his own money. Can he afford it?"

"Maybe, but he has two partners who are also billionaires."

"Do you know their names?"

"I have no idea. You'd have to ask Darnell." Her expression said 'good luck'.

I switched gears. "Did you get your payment this month?"

It seemed to surprised her. "I expected it on Friday but it didn't come."

"Nobody has called to tell you it would be late?"

"Not yet."

"Do you have a written agreement that assures you of receiving these payments?" It was a dumb question, but I had to ask.

She wriggled in her chair and answered, "I only wish I had a contract." She didn't think it was a dumb question.

I didn't think that 'millions of dollars' of annual profit was enough to justify four killings or why billionaires even care if they make any more money. But I did know the killings had happened, apparently to cover up the payment of bribes and to protect the identity of the people involved in the bribe/blackmail scheme. The responsibility had to lie not only with the killers, but with the people who hired and paid them.

I thought about Walt, Don, Brenda, the dead DEA agent and got so angry I wanted to get up and punch Collette Raymond for all the hurt she had been involved in. I didn't because I'm a gentleman. I stood up and walked to the closed door. Before opening it I said, "I hope you have a good lawyer."

# Chapter 35

The tunnel beneath the capitol was deserted and within minutes I was at Heather's side. She was standing on a cement landing, several feet above the parking area. I put my arm around her and said, "Let's go back through the tunnel."

She came along willingly and, as I hurried her along, she asked, "New plan?"

"Never really had an old one." When we reached the main tunnel I steered her toward the steps that would lead us back to the main floor of the Capitol. I said, "I'm taking us to Senator Raymond's office and what I want you to do is find out if she is in. I don't want her to know I'm still around so make some excuse for wanting to see her. If she's not in, try to find out where she might be." At the door to her office I said, "I'll wait over there," and pointed to the opening we'd just come through.

She was back shortly and reported, "She's in, but not to be disturbed. I didn't bother to set up an appointment. What's going on?"

"I'll tell you when we get to the car." We hurried out of the capitol and reached the Blazer in minutes. I turned it around and drove to the entrance of the employees parking lot which was in the front of the building. There was an empty spot and I took it. If the police came along I'd move. Until then we'd wait for the senator.

Meanwhile I told Heather what I'd found out. She was amazed by the amount of information I'd gotten from Collette and wondered aloud, "Do you think she was telling the truth?"

I said, "Do you think she could make that up?"

She thought about that then asked, "Assuming that what she told you is the truth, why are we in this parking lot?"

"We're waiting for Ms. Raymond to come running out of the building, hurrying to meet her lover and tell him that she's been found out."

She laughed, "This isn't the movies, Jake. We could be here for hours."

It was my turn to laugh as Collette came out of the building, not exactly running, and got in her car. I said, "I wrote the script," and started the car.

We followed her to the St. Paul Grille, which I also could have written in the script, where she turned her car over to the valet. I found a spot down the block, but with a view of the front door, and waited for the next scene to unfold. It wasn't long before a black Lexus drove under the portico and Heather said, "Don't tell me. It's Darnell Davies come to rescue the damsel in distress."

"That would be my guess." A man got out and headed to the hotel's front door, leaving his car door open for the valet. The only pictures we'd seen of Davies were the photos of him from behind. As he walked through the door I asked Heather, "Have you seen the back of that head before?"

It took her a second to realized what I was referring to. "Could be," she said with a smile.

I said, "Now it could be hours of waiting." I turned to her and asked, "Did you get to see MacKay?"

She opened her purse to show me the file and said, "I waited for an hour, but everything was in an uproar and MacKay was still in the emergency room with the police. Maybe I can go see him in a few hours."

I was about to comment on that when Davies and Raymond came through the front door. The valet had not yet taken his car. Soon her car was brought around and she followed Davies onto the street. We followed fairly close to avoid losing them at a light. The traffic was heavy enough we didn't have to worry about being noticed. I hoped.

They drove along Kellogg Street, up the hill past the cathedral and down Summit. I wasn't shocked when they turned into the house that was guarded by two large lions.

Heather acted surprised and said, "My God! It's Butch's house."

I saw a space near the end of the block and pulled the Blazer in. "It's an interesting development, but not totally unexpected. After all, we did think that Butch worked for Darnell or Bartholomew."

She asked, "We did?"

I had to laugh and out of nowhere came, "Maybe Butch and Darnell are one and the same."

There was silence and we looked at each other for half a minute then Heather asked, "Why not?"

I answered, "It's certainly a possibility," then I looked back at the house and quickly decided that it was too uncomfortable looking over my shoulder, especially if they were in the house for any length of time. There was a spot on the opposite side, farther from the house, but it would do. A minute later we were better situated and I said, "Let's see who owns the Lexus."

I grabbed Heather's cell phone, which was charging, and punched in a number. It was answered in two rings. "Department of Motor Vehicles, this is Marge."

"Marge you rascal. This is Jake Tanner."

"Jake. How the hell they hangin'" Marge is an earthy person.

"Just fine, thanks, and yours?"

"They're perky as ever. You should stop by, take me to lunch or.... whatever."

I knew what the 'or whatever' meant and said, "I thought you were married, Marge."

There was no regret in her voice. In fact, she sounded downright sultry when she said, "I've been freed," then asked, "How 'bout you, Handsome?"

"I'm tied up at the present," and looked at Heather, who smiled as though she was following the conversation.

"Well, when you get loose, call. Meanwhile, what can I help you with?"

"I need a name and address on license plate 856-WHP."

There was some tapping in the background and within seconds she said, "You got a pencil and paper?"

I had them ready and said, "Shoot."

"The car is a 2008 Lexus registered to Bradley Bartholomew. His address is: 1068 River Trail, which is in St. Paul." After a pause she asked, "Need anything else?" The sultriness had returned to her voice.

"That's it, Marge. Thanks for the information and maybe I'll see you soon."

"I hope so, Tiger," and she hung up.

Wondering what the new information meant I disconnected the call. Apparently I wasn't quick enough to tell Heather what I'd found out because she asked, "Well?"

I looked at her and said, "The car is registered to Bradley Bartholomew."

"Maybe it's Davies' company car," she said.

"Maybe," but we didn't have time to discuss it further. The Lexus came roaring out of the driveway and turned left. As soon as it passed us I started the car and waited for the other one to follow. I waited ten seconds and when Collette's car did not appear I pulled into the nearest drive and turned around.

Luckily the Lexus had been slowed by a light and soon we were three cars behind heading west on Summit. I said, "A month's pay he's going to Bartholomew's."

"Don't you know it's a sin to bet on a sure thing?" She was enjoying the chase.

As I was. We rode in silence while I sorted out the current events. I asked, "Was anyone else in the car with Davies?"

"I didn't see anyone."

The Lexus continued west on Summit until it ended at River Road, which ran north and south along the river. The Lexus went north and soon came to River Trail where it turned right then left into the first driveway. We also turned onto River Trail and drove past as Davies slid his car into the left stall of the three car garage. I made a U-turn at the next intersection and parked several houses away from the two story brick that was listed one the car registration.

Heather asked, "Now what?" She sounded disappointed.

"This kind of thing happens all the time in my business. Don't worry, things will pick up. They usually do."

I watched her stare through the trees at the house. No doubt she was hoping the car would drive out so we could give chase. Finally she asked, "Why did you follow him instead of waiting for Collette?"

"I know where Collette lives, but not Darnell so I figured we'd try to find out. We may or may not have succeeded."

She looked at me strangely and asked, "Isn't this the address you got for Bartholomew?"'

"It is, but maybe Darnell lives here." I asked, "What time is it?

She looked at her watch, "4:15."

I grabbed the phone, called directory assistance then dialed the number they'd given me. "Good afternoon, County Assessor's."

"Good afternoon. I have two addresses in St. Paul and need to know who owns each one."

I gave the Summit and River Trail addresses then listened to the sound of fingers tapping across a keyboard. Soon the lady helping me said, "Both homes are owned by Bradley Bartholomew."

"Thank you." I set the phone back and announced, "They're both owned by Bartholomew."

We chewed on that for a while then Heather asked, "Are you hungry?"

"Starved," I said. "How about Mexican?"

"Okay by me."

On the way to the restaurant we went by the house with two lions, as I now thought of it. I was surprised to see that Collette Raymond's car was still in the driveway. My curiosity was aroused. Was she still inside the empty house or had someone picked her up? What could she be doing if she was still in there? I said, "I think we'll come back after the sun goes down and see if Raymond's car is still here."

"Why?"

"Because I'm curious."

She didn't respond, which surprised me. I made a quick decision to check the house where I'd thought the Feds were holed up, watching Butch's, and turned into the alley. The Federal car was gone which didn't mean much one way or another, but it did raised my curiosity level another notch. Time to eat.

# Chapter 36

One block over from Summit is Grand Avenue, with its several miles of gift shops and restaurants. I stopped at one of my favorite Mexican joints, where the food was delicious and plentiful. There wasn't much conversation until we'd both satisfied our initial hunger. My mind returned to the case and I said, "We need to get in touch with MacKay and set up a meeting. He's probably in the hospital for the night so we'll try to contact him there." I took a another bite of my burrito.

Heather asked, "What do you think the FBI will do with the information once we get it to them?"

I thought about that and answered, "The reason we're still working on this case is because I'm not sure what they will do with it. They didn't seem interested in what you told them, just wanted to know where I was. In any case, the wheels of government agencies move slowly. Hopefully the new information you bring them will light a fire under their butts." I took the last bite of the burrito. Heather was still working on her taco so I added, "And I hope it will convince them of my innocence."

She had just taken another bite of her taco and started nodding her head. I waited for her to chew the food so she could talk. "That would be great. With the new evidence they might even offer us some protection." She had a sudden thought. "Shit! I forgot to call Paul."

"Who is Paul?"

"My other partner, remember? He must be going crazy and wondering why I'm not there or haven't called." She quickly gobbled the last bite, gulped from her soda then stood and said, "Let's go, Jake. It's my turn to use the phone."

Back in the car she called her office and talked to her partner. She brought him up-to-date and after disconnection she said, "The FBI and police have been there and gone. Apparently they don't feel there is any danger to the staff or my partner." She thought about it some more and said, "I guess that makes sense."

She seemed satisfied and I wasn't going to dump any excess worry in her lap, so I said, "We've got another two hours until it's dark. Why don't we find a place to stay for the evening."

"How could I refuse an offer like that?"

I drove to a nearby Sheraton where I signed in with a fictitious name and paid cash. Within minutes we were releasing all of the pent-up emotions that come with the job of investigating; the ups and downs, the ins and outs and so on.

Afterward we slept and didn't wake until after eight. I stretched and Heather rolled into my arms, cooing like a love bird and said, "Can't we just stay here until morning. We'll find Mackay, show him the file and you know the rest of my dream.?"

"Sounds nice, but we've been over this several times, Heather. I'm glad you reminded me about MacKay. I'll call the hospital before we leave. Right now I'm going to take a shower." I got up and headed for the bathroom.

Heather was right behind me and smacked my butt, saying, "Want some company?"

How could I turn her down. Thirty minutes and one hell of a shower later we left the room, carrying our suitcase. The way things had been going we never knew if we'd be back or not. No sense losing all of our new belongings.

After stepping off the crowded elevator we made our way to one of the side entrances and walked through the inner and outer doors. The people in front of us were quite slow and they had stopped immediately after exiting the second set of doors. I was looking back at Heather and bumped into one of the women in the group. "Excuse me. I wasn't looking where I was going."

"Quite all right," was her cool response.

I started around the group and Heather tugged me back. When I looked back at her she nodded toward the parking lot. Under the parking lot lights I could see the police car that was stopped in front of the Blazer, which was three rows away and down from where we stood. I said, "Let's watch and see what happens."

The policeman got out and inspected the Blazer. No doubt it was our vehicle, busted out back window and all, he was interested in it. Heather's status with the law had apparently changed or the law figured I was with her. That scenario was more likely because of the warrant out on me.

The policeman got in his car and drove to the front entrance. I stepped back through the first set of doors and watched as he walked across the lobby and approached the front desk. It was time to vacate the premises. I nodded to Heather and said, "We're out of here."

I started the Blazer, drove out of the lot and turned left toward the freeway entrance. Heather sounded excited when she said, "Another police car just entered the lot." The freeway entrance was two blocks away. Very excitedly she said, "He's turning around. Looks like he's going to leave the lot." One block away now. "He turning in our direction. Oh, shit! His lights are flashing and he's speeding up."

She was almost yelling.

I drove through the intersection and onto the entrance ramp. In the rearview mirror I could see the police car bounce through the intersection I'd just crossed. I was on the freeway now a hundred yards in front of the police car. There was no escaping the law at this point so I slowed down and moved to the right, as several other cars had done, and watched as the police car flew by.

I looked quickly at Heather, who glanced over at me, and together we said, "That was too close." We both laughed then turned our attention back to the police car that was making its way through the heavy traffic ahead.

I eased into the right lane and asked, "Heather, would you try to reach MacKay at the hospital. We should find out if the FBI has the police looking for us."

She took the phone from its resting place and soon was talking to the hospital operator, "I would like to speak with FBI Agent Mackay. He was brought into your emergency room this afternoon." She waited for a response then handed me the phone and said, "She is transferring you to the nurse's station."

While I waited for someone to come on the line the next exit came up and I left the freeway. As I slowed down for the red light at the end of the ramp, a women asked, "Can I help you?"

"My name is Jake Tanner. I'm trying to reach an FBI agent named MacKay. I don't know his first name, but he was brought in with a gunshot wound this afternoon."

She said, "Mr. MacKay is not able to receive phone calls." Then she asked, "Are you family?"

Why dance around. "I was with MacKay when he got shot. In fact, I dragged him out of the line of fire and called the police. I practically saved his life so if there is any way you can connect me to him I would appreciate it."

She must have covered the mouthpiece with her hand because I heard muffled talking before she said, "Do you have a phone number where he can reach you?"

The light changed to green. I turned right then asked Heather, "What's your phone number?"

She gave it to me and I repeated it for the nurse who said, "I'll give the message to Mr. MacKay. Is there anything else?"

"No." I put the phone back and said, "She's going to give him the message." Heather was silent. I said, "We need another car. This one is, obviously, being sought." Then I asked, "Do you have any friends who would lend you their car for a day or two."

"Why don't we go out to the airport and rent one?"

I'd already thought about that and said, "You can't rent a car without a credit card. If we know anything we know the assholes we're after are connected. Whether through the police department or their own people they will know what kind of car we rent shortly after we get it." I did have several fake ID's and valid credit cards in my case, but if there was another alternative I'd rather not use them.

I drove into a gas station and asked, "What side do I put the gas in?"

"My side." She seemed surprised at the sudden change in our conversation.

At the last pump I stopped and shut off the engine. As I got out I said, "Try a few friends or relatives with a different last name while I fill the tank. If you strike out we'll try mine."

# Chapter 37

An hour later we were driving my brother's 1996 Ford Ranger. The Blazer went into his garage and I told him we'd bring the truck back in a day or two. He asked a few questions, offered to help, but I told him we had things under control.

After we'd left I said, "Let's see if Raymond's car is still at the Summit house."

It was. Time to make another visit. We had transferred my case to the truck, which had a large space behind the seats, and I equipped myself similarly to the first forage. This time Heather dropped me below the hill then drove back to Summit to watch the house.

I had reached the back of the house, noticing that

Collette's car was alone in the driveway, when Heather reported, "I'm in place anxiously awaiting your return."

"See you soon," and quickly I was on the back porch doing my thing with the lock picks. There were no lights on in the house so I kept the night goggles on. I made a quick sweep of the first floor then went upstairs. She was in the first bedroom lying there naked and tied to the bed. Her mouth was taped and I could see her staring at me in horror, so there must have been some light in the room. The green light of the night vision goggles did an injustice to her body, but she still looked great. I stopped next to the bed, removed my Swiss Army knife and said, "Heather, I found her. She's tied to the bed." I didn't mention that she was naked. To Collette I said, "Nice to see you again, Collette."

I tore the tape from her mouth and started to cut the rope that secured her left hand to the bed. Sounding frightened, she asked, "Who are you?"

I replied, "Jake Tanner," then reached over and cut the one tied to her right arm. "I assume your friend, Darnell, is coming back." She said nothing as I cut through the two ropes attached to her feet. "Does he do this to you often?"

She was busy untying the knots that held the rope around her wrists and finally said, "I'll kill that son of a bitch when I see him." She continued working the knots and added, "After I cut his nuts off and shove them down his throat." There was no attempt to cover up her nakedness. She either didn't notice the goggles covering my eyes and figured I couldn't see any better than she could or she didn't care if I saw her.

Her clothes were lying in a heap next to the bed and I picked them up then laid them next to her. "Heather, why don't you pick us up where you dropped me off. We'll be a couple of minutes."

I untied the rope that was around her ankles and helped her off the bed. She wasted no time getting dressed then asked, "Why are we still in the dark?"

"Because I'm not supposed to be here and your friend Darnell has some mean boys working for him. They probably don't like people who break into the boss' house so we'll just slip out the back way." I grabbed her hand and said, "Follow me."

I saw the lights before Heather said, "You've got company, again. It's the Lexus."

I said, "Thanks, Heather. You might as well stay put until I get back to you. I think it's about time to have a chat with Mr. Davies."

"Be careful, Jake. Let me know if you need help."

"Yes, dear."

Collette asked, "Who are you talking to?"

I said, "Never mind that. Your friend, Davies, is back and I remember you saying something about cutting his nuts off."

"I sure as hell did. Let me at the asshole."

She started for the door, but I held her back. She was a feisty one. I said, "I want you to sit on the bed, in the dark, and wait for him to come to you. After we welcome him home, and I have had a chance to chat with him, then you can start cutting. I'll even lend you my knife. I just sharpened it."

"I'll hold you to that," she said, then sat on the edge of the bed.

I got to the end of the hallway in time to see two men get out of the Lexus. Neither one was Davies. Shit! I went back to the room, grabbed Collette and walked her into the room across the hall. I said, "There are two men coming to see you. Neither one is Davies so I figure he's sending them to do a job he wasn't able to."

I felt her shudder and she said, "Do you mean kill me?"

"Something like that." I made her sit at the desk then stood behind the partially opened door. I would be able to see them enter the room Collette had been in."

I pushed the goggles up to my forehead and waited for them to come, the .38 at my side. It wasn't long before the hall light came on and both men, sounding casual in their conversation, came up the stairs and approached the room. I saw the first man walk in the room and turn the light on. "What the hell?" was all he said and the second man went in behind him.

Too late, they turned around, reaching for their weapons and saw me standing in the doorway with my pistol aimed at the one on my left. "Looking for someone to snuff out?"

The taller one, seemingly undaunted by my weapon, asked, "Where is she?"

Heather was yelling in my ear, "Jake, what the hell is going on?"

I said, "Excuse me, gentlemen." To Heather I said, "Everything is fine."

"You had better be quick or I'm coming in."

"As soon as these guys are comfortable we'll be out of here."

Ten minutes later, with Collette's help, we had them in the bathtub and tied to the claw shaped legs that held it up. They wouldn't be going any place soon. I wondered how many more of these jerks were in Davies' organization.

We turned the lights out and left by the back door. As we walked out the door, two weapons richer, I said, "We're leaving, Heather."

She responded with, "I'm ready."

I'm not sure why, but I turned to Collette and asked, "Would you like to go with us to Darnell's?"

"You know where he lives?"

"Sure do."

She started for her car and said, "I'll follow you."

I said, "There's a park at the end of Summit Avenue. We'll join up and take one car."

"I'll meet you there."

She managed to squeeze her car around the big Lexus and I watched her back down the driveway and onto Summit. I turned and started for the trees when an idea struck me. Here was a nice Lexus that belonged to the man we were going to see. Why not bring it back to him. I looked inside and what do you know. The keys. I said, "Heather, I'll be driving the Lexus to our next destination, which is the park at Summit and River Road."

She said, "You do move fast, Jake. See you there."

# Chapter 38

In just under fifteen minutes I pulled into the park and got out. The two women joined me and before Heather could say a thing I said, "Heather, I'd like you to meet Collette Raymond.

In the glow of the street lamp I could see both women evaluating each other and several seconds later they shook hands and at the same time said, "Nice to meet you."

Heather added, not so pleasantly, "I feel like I already know you." I guess she wasn't happy about Collette being along.

"Collette, would you excuse us for a minute?" I grabbed Heather's hand and we walked to the other end of the parking lot, well out of Collette's hearing range. We stopped and I said, "Didn't mean to spring her on you like this, but I think it will be helpful to have her along. She might be able to help us when we interrogate Davies." I smiled and added, "She wants to cut his balls off. He might talk more if we threaten to let her."

I was happy to see Heather smile. "Good idea," she said, convincingly. If she had been against this, Collette was out. "Let's go see Davies," and we walked back to the Lexus.

In the car the three of us talked about Darnell Davies' future and what we were going to do when we confronted him. Collette had some wild ideas. I said, "After he tells us what we need to know." She agreed to be civil until then.

We went in the Lexus and when we arrived at Davies' house I pushed the garage door opener and drove in. If Davies was in the house and heard the garage door open I was hoping he would figure it was his hired help returning the car. Wasn't he going to be surprised?

I got out quickly in case he came out to greet his gofers, and the ladies followed. Heather had her .38 in hand and when they were next to me I said, "Give me five minutes to get him. If I'm not out by then, take the car and call the police. Tell them there's a robbery taking place." I started for the door then turned back and said, "If someone other than me comes out, shoot first and ask questions later."

They both agreed, though Collette didn't have a gun, and I opened the door quietly. The house was dark except for a room toward the front of the house. I could hear the canned laughter of a TV sitcom. I followed a hallway to my left and stopped just short of an archway that opened to the dining and living room. I could see the TV and the feet of a person relaxing in a recliner. I entered the dining room and moved to the right, around a rectangular table that was set to seat six. Only the candles needed to be lit.

Darnell was sleeping. At least, I hoped he was. I was counting on him for some answers and there had been more than enough killing on this case. I sat on the couch in front of the large picture window that faced River Road, a good fifty yards away. Since my back was to the traffic I wasn't worried about passing motorists seeing the pistol I pointed at Davies. Also, I could see anyone entering the large room. I cleared my throat and his eyes opened, sleepy at first, but they came awake quickly. I said, "Nice to finally meet the head cheese." I smiled at my little pun and ordered, "Sit up."

He saw my pistol and sat up. He asked, "What do you want?"

Continuing to use my menacing voice, I said, "Is anyone else home?"

"I live here alone."

"Get up and walk to the garage."

He looked at me like I was crazy, but he rose and started for the garage. I followed and when he reached the door I said, "Open it."

He did. I peeked out first, so Heather wouldn't shoot Darnell, then dragged him down the stairs. When he saw the two women I thought he was going to have a heart attack. I knew from the pictures that he was physically fit and maybe forty years old, but the way his knees buckled caused my smile to return. I held onto him and said, "I'm sure you know Ms. Raymond. The other lovely lady is Heather Rossini." I let him think on that for a second then said, "Ladies, would you please open the trunk. I want Mr. Davies in a secure place while we have a look around this lovely home."

Collette said, "I'd be delighted, Jake."

Both women stood by the back of the car. Heather continued to point her gun at Davies. "After you," I said and he walked to the back of the car. The two women moved to the next stall as we approached. I said, "Now be a good boy and climb in."

He stopped in front of the open trunk and asked, "Isn't there another way to secure me, like tie me up or something?"

Collette jumped in with, "I'd love to tie him up, Jake."

I said, "I don't think so, Collette. It would take too much time. And now that I see he won't like his new home it only increases my desire to put him there. Get in, Asshole."

He thought about another plea, but I cocked the pistol and he climbed in. I told him to roll over and, now that his back was to me, I checked the inside of the lid and frame to see if it had one of those trunk releases. It didn't. I stood up and said, "See you

Later, Davies," and I slammed the trunk's lid.

I had the ladies wait in the garage while I made a quick search of the house to make sure it was empty. Five minutes later I returned. "Heather, I'd like you to stay here and make sure Davies doesn't get out of there." She began to make sounds of protest, but I stopped her and said, "I need Collette to help me sift through whatever we find. She might recognize a name or place that pertains to this case."

She relented and said, "Please hurry. This place," she looked around the garage with wide eyes, "gives me the creeps."

"I'll leave the door open and we will hurry. I don't want to be here when those two goons show up." I looked at Collette and said, "Let's go."

She followed me through the kitchen and down a long hallway that led to a good sized office. The room included a spacious computer desk and hutch along the wall to my left, an entertainment center on the opposite wall with a small table and four chairs positioned in the center. Although Collette was being very cooperative, I was sure she had her own agenda. What it was I didn't know, but the fact that she was a politician meant she would not give up without a fight. I hoped she would stay on my side, at least until this was over, but I'd continued to be wary. I asked, "Are you any good with computers?"

"I can hold my own," she answered proudly.

"Then you check the computer and I'll search the drawers." There were three drawers plus a small file cabinet on the right side of the desk.

She sat down and turned the computer on. I watched until it starting booting up then reached over and pulled out the top drawer. Collette was typing furiously while I worked my way through the first two drawers. Nothing but supplies and music CD's. The bottom drawer was filled with hanging files and as I reached for one I heard Heather yell, "Jake, get in here, fast."

# Chapter 39

I found her standing in the garage doorway, staring toward the back of the Lexus. There was a pounding noise coming from the trunk. It sounded like Davies had found something made of metal and was hammering it against the lid. He was yelling something that sounded like, "Let me out of here," so I walked down the steps, took the keys that I'd laid on the hood and walked to the back of the car. Instead of walking behind the car, I reached over and unlocked the latch in case he was planning to throw or poke me with something in the trunk.

Whatever he was pounding with sounded like it might be dangerous. I stood alongside the rear fender, .38 ready, and began to raise the lid. I hadn't lifted it six inches when two blasts from a gun ripped holes in the garage door. The lid continued to lift itself and the light went on. I had jumped back, pointing my pistol at the man's head, and said, "If you move at all, it had better be to clasp your hands in prayer." I wondered how far those pieces of the door had flown and could only hope the neighbors hadn't heard anything.

He gave me a startled look and released the weapon. It was a pump action shotgun, but that's all I knew. They all looked the same to me. It must have been hidden under the mat because I hadn't seen anything when he got in there. He sounded scared as hell when he said, "Please don't shoot me."

I said, "You tried to shoot me, dipshit. Give me a good reason not to return the favor."

His face lit up and he stammered, "I'll give you money. How much do you want?"

I said, disgustedly, "You rich fucks make me ill. About the only thing you can do for yourself is go to the bathroom. Turds like you don't deserve to live." I could see the alarm in his eyes. "Get out," I said, the contempt pouring off my tongue.

Again, he said, "Please, don't kill me,"

"C'mon. Get your ass out of there." He hurried out and I ordered, "Close the trunk then move to the other stall," which was empty. I wondered if someone else would be coming home and asked, "Are you expecting anyone to drive into the space you're standing in?"

"No."

"That's good. Lie on the floor, backside up, with your arms out." He did as I'd instructed and I said to Heather, "Remind you of anything?'

She said, "Our first day together." Then added, "The fun never stops with you."

I quickly searched Davies, something I should have done in the first place, but found no weapons. I did, however, find a billfold and extracted it from his back pocket. His driver's license showed him to be Darnell Brian Davies, he was forty two years old and he had brown hair and eyes. His hair was much shorter in the picture.

The billfold contained nothing of interest so I dropped it on the floor behind me and walked to the back wall, where several extensions chords were hanging. I tied his hands behind him then helped him up. Davies was in excellent shape so it wasn't difficult. "Let's go to the office." I pushed him forward and he began to walk.

Heather followed and when we reached the kitchen I said, "Why don't you stay out here and watch for newcomers." She agreed and Davies and I continued down the hallway.

Collette was busy at the computer and turned around quickly when I said, "Sit here." I had pulled one of the chairs from under the table and Davies sat down.

Collette gave Davies a nasty look then asked, "Were those gunshots?"

I said, "They certainly were. Your friend tried to castrate me with a shotgun."

She gave him a disgusted look and turned back to the monitor. I sat across the table from Davies and asked Collette, "Do you have any questions for him?" I laid the pistol on the table in front of me.

"I certainly do." She whirled in her chair, looked him in the eyes and asked, "Where is my fucking payment?"

A look of confusion crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by a smirk and he answered, "It was lost for a short period of time, through no fault of mine." He glanced my way then turned back to her and said, "I do have the money back, but it appears you are no longer on the payroll."

Before she could respond I said, "Collette. Do you have any questions that will help us figure out why four people were killed."

The two of them continued to glare at each other and, finally, she broke it off and looked at me. "Not right now. I'm still trying to work my way through this idiot's files." and she turned back to the monitor. A woman scorned.

"Now that Collette has let her feelings be known I think it's important you also know what I'm feeling about you." I gripped the pistol, leaving it lay there, and said, "I've been on the run since Friday because I was worried one of your goons was going to shoot Heather or me. They did shoot several friends and a DEA agent and were about to do in Ms. Raymond. She has already expressed her sentiments. Please know that I have no qualms about shooting you and burying your body where no one will find it for a long time." I cocked the pistol and pointed it at Davies, but left it lying on the table.

It was enough to change his expression of aloofness to one of real fear. Several beads of sweat began to form on his upper lip. He looked convinced that I was mad enough to pull the trigger. "What do you want to know?" His eyes never left the pistol or my index finger, which was still outside the trigger guard.

Collette stopped working the computer and twirled in the chair. She wanted to hear the answers and probably had a few questions of her own. That was okay with me. I started with, "Who's paying the freight for this fiasco?"

He shrugged, as though it didn't matter if he told me, and answered, "Brad Bartholomew."

"Tell me something I don't know, like who his partners are."

He hesitated then said, "I'm not aware of any partners."

Collette said, "Bullshit, Darnell. You told me he had two partners." She held his loathsome gaze.

I said, "Maybe your just nervous about the gun." I moved the pistol so it no longer pointed at Davies, then I released the hammer. "Now, let's try it again. Does Bartholomew have any partners?"

Davies hesitated, looking steadily at the .38, then said, "I understand he has two partners. One in Las Vegas, name of Eugene Kellen, and one in New York. I don't know the name of that person."

"Much better, Davies." Still gripping the pistol, I asked, "Is Kellen aware of the lethal methods used to retrieve his money?"

Davies was smooth, but his eyes gave away his nervousness. He looked, again, at the gun and answered, "I don't know the answer to that, but Bartholomew told me to do whatever was necessary to get the money and list back and insisted that anyone who might have seen it should be removed. I guess I just assumed that his partners knew his feelings."

I said, "It didn't bother you that he wanted people killed?"

"I had hoped it wouldn't come to that."

He sounded sincere, but anyone in his position would and I was willing to bet he could turn it on anytime. After all, he wouldn't be involved in such a big deal if lying bothered him. "By the way, How did you get involved with Butch?"

"I'm Butch." Just like that. No fanfare. Nothing.

Even though Heather had kind of joked about this fact, it came as a shock. I stared at him for half a minute trying to read his eyes. Was he lying? I doubted it. Finally I said, "So you're the one who called in the troops to do the heavy work."

He looked directly at me and said, "Did I mention that these 'troops', as you call them, work for the mob?"

It was hard to keep my jaw from dropping. All kinds of surprises from Davies, or should I say Butch. "Did you say mob, as in Mafia?"

I must not have covered my surprise very well because a half smile crossed his face and he said, "Are you afraid of the Mafia, Tanner?"

A question not worthy of an answer. I was over my shock and continued where we'd left off. "Now that you have the money and list back, what are your orders?"

His answer was very matter of fact. "It was assumed that you and Rossini had seen the list and you had to be eliminated. The money was to be paid to the people it was meant for."

I started rubbing the hammer with my thumb. "I don't know if you see my dilemma or not. You've had four people killed, maybe five, and now you're talking about killing me and Heather. What the fuck are you people doing that justifies five and maybe more lives? It can't be because of a toll road that won't even start paying off for years." Before he could answer I turned the gun so it was pointing at him again and said, "I don't want any bullshit, Davies." Of all the assholes I'd ever pointed a gun at, this guy would be one the easiest to shoot.

He sat back in the chair and expelled his breath, allowing his shoulders to sag and his head to droop, doing some heavy contemplating. I looked at Collette, who was staring at the man she'd fallen for. It was obvious that there was still something there.

Finally, Davies took a deep breath and lifted his head. "Ten years ago Brad Bartholomew was a high flying stockbroker. Well past making his first million, 'on his way to a billion' he'd always say. I had some high class girls working for me and Brad was steady customer. Even got into the drugs on occasion. He'd throw a party every time he made another million or two and I was the caterer, if you know what I mean."

"I'm following you, Butch."

He sat straight, stretching his back then continued. "About seven years ago he came to me and asked if I would do some research on some of the St Paul City Council members. Brad wanted to know if any of them had any bad habits that might prove embarrassing or, better yet, criminal in nature. He told me about a land development deal he was working on and he needed additional votes from the city council in order to get approval for the project.

It didn't take long before I had some dirt on three of the council members. Things like buying prostitutes, cocaine use and extortion; and one guy was taking money from merchants to keep city inspectors away. Two months after I gave him the information the council agreed to the land deal.

"Several months later Bartholomew came to me and laid out his plans to expand the blackmail and bribery business. He asked me if I'd work exclusively for him, traveling to other cities to gather information on politicians and others in a position to help us. I agreed and moved into the house on Summit. He moved into this one. Several years ago he moved to Lake Minnetonka and I moved in here. Business was booming."

He stopped, to take a breather I guess, so I asked, "How big has this business gotten?"

"Three years ago we moved on to state projects Until them we only worked with city and county politicians. At that time we probably had thirty people in our pockets; from Minnesota, Wisconsin and Illinois." That brought a smile to his tired face, for what reason I don't know and didn't want to.

I asked, "How do you pick out the people you're going to blackmail or bribe?"

"My orders were simple: Identify and recruit influential people, by any means necessary. As you might surmise, many, but not all of those chosen for recruitment were in the political field. It was the first place we looked. These people," and he gave Collette a disgusted look, "are always looking for money. They live, breathe and eat fund raising so it doesn't take long to land a supporter. Some are harder to convince. In those cases we used other methods."

He paused and I asked, "Who is the 'we' you keep referring to?"

"I hire investigators in each of the cities we market."

I interrupted, "What do you mean by 'market'?"

"If a company from Milwaukee wants to win a bid to build a bridge they call us. I'll travel to the city, find an investigator and tell him what I need. Each time he or she finds a candidate I move in with the proposition. Most bite at the initial interview. Others needed further persuading."

I jumped in, "For instance?"

"There might be something in their background that would prove embarrassing, we might raise the money offer or we would create a situation that would bring them around. In many cases we used photography to capture a compromising moment or two." Then he added, "But, even if we had information about hidden secrets or compromising pictures, we still paid bribes. It was our insurance." Collette was glaring at Davies.

A criminal lobbying company had been set up to help those who could afford it. Think of it. One call and you get what you ask for. But it still didn't compute. Blackmail and Bribery carried much more serious penalties than breaking lobbying laws, but not serious enough to justify murder. There had to be more to this than some state and local officials approving land development plans and road building permits.

The fact that public funding was being asked for on the toll road project made the issue a bit more serious, but it still seemed like a stretch. There had to be something else involved. I asked, "Do you talk to Bartholomew or his partners on a regular basis?"

"If something comes up that involves my area Bartholomew will call or e-mail. I have never talked to his partners. They handle other parts of the country."

# Chapter 40

"What does that mean?"

"What does what mean?"

"When you say they handle other parts of the country. What do they handle in other parts of the country?"

He shrugged and said, "As far as I know, they have the same set-up as Bartholomew does."

"Same set-ups? You mean there are other groups like yours?"

"Well, I've never been privy to the rest of the operation, but I do get calls from other parts of the country asking me to help out when a possible victim visits my area and vice versa" He quickly added, "Did I mention that I was responsible for Minnesota,

Iowa, Wisconsin, Illinois and The Dakotas?" He was proud of his status; hood does good.

There it was. This was a national organization with much more to protect than a small group in the Midwest. Maybe I was overstating the difference between national and regional and maybe it still wasn't enough reason to kill people, if there ever was a good reason, but it was enough for me. I asked, "Does Bartholomew have an office?"

"As far as I know, his office is at home."

"Where is his home?"

He turned in his chair and nodded toward the desk. "I have his new address in the my card file."

Collette turned around and after locating the circular card file searched through it and pulled one out. She looked at both sides before asking Davies, "Is it the one in Minnetonka?" Davies nodded his head.

I asked Collette, "Have you found anything of value in his computer?"

She shrugged, "Nothing of importance. Downloaded gambling games, music and a couple of local TV web sites. That's it."

I looked at Davies and said, "Quite the modern day business man." Then I said to Collette, "Grab those hanging files in the bottom drawer. We can go through them later." I stood and said, "It's time to go, Davies."

He didn't move. "Where are we going?"

I tucked the pistol in my waistband and said, "To see your boss."

With Davies in the trunk, I drove all of us to Minnetonka. We got directions at a gas station and soon were driving past the monstrous, two story brick house that Bartholomew lived in. The lake frontage it sat on was considerably larger than that of his neighbors. There was no gated fence like many of the homes, only a long driveway that led to the three car garage. It was only ten o'clock so I was surprised to see that most of the homes were dark, including Bartholomew's.

I turned the car around, drove back to the house and parked on the other side of the street. After shutting the lights off I said to Collette, who was sitting behind Heather, "Have you ever been here?"

"No." The response was so quick and firm that Heather and I turned to look at her.

It was too dark to see her face clearly, but I could tell she was staring straight ahead and not at the house. I asked, "What's wrong, Collette?"

"Nothing," came just as fast.

I said, "Collette, we're all together on this one so if there is something you can contribute, please say so."

There was a lengthy pause before she said, "The prick in the trunk sent me over here once, 'for an interview' was what he told me, to satisfy Bartholomew that I was on the team." Her head was bent down and she said, "The major portion of the interview was done in his bedroom."

She was embarrassed, which I thought was commendable for a politician, but it didn't do anything to change my feelings about whose fault it was that she ended up in Bartholomew's bed. "So you know the layout of the house?"

She looked up and, sounding a bit out of sorts, answered, "The first part of the interview was a tour of the entire house, all three levels. We stopped for drinks before touring the second floor, which contain the bedrooms."

"Does he have an office in there?"

"On the lower level."

"Does he have servants or bodyguards?"

She thought about it for a second and answered, "Not that I noticed?"

"How about an alarm system?"

"It was never mentioned on the tour."

"Then here's the plan." I backed into the Bartholomew's driveway and said to Heather, "As soon as I get Davies out of the trunk, take the car to the end of this block and wait for my call. I'm going to take him around back and use him as bait. If the police show up, I'll know there's an alarm system and I'll join you as soon as possible." I stopped the car and turned the lights out. "If the cops don't show, I'm going in."

Heather asked, "What do you want us to do?"

"If everything works out, you'll drive back to this spot, we'll put Davies back in the trunk and be on our way."

She protested, "With our help in the search, we'd be out of here much faster."

"That might be true, but if someone does come I will be able to move a lot quicker if I'm alone." I reached into the back seat, opened my case, which we had stopped to retrieve from our borrowed truck, and extracted the items I would be needing for this caper. That finished, I got out so Heather could get into the driver's seat. Then I walked back to the trunk.

# Chapter 41

After unlocking it, I moved out of the line of fire in case Davies had magically conjured up another weapon. I had searched the trunk before he went into it so it wasn't likely he'd be able to repeat his recent performance, but why chance it. I raised the lid with my gloved hands and the trunk light shone on a harmless Davies.

I muscled him out of the trunk and after I closed the lid the Lexus began to move down the driveway. The bound Davies and I were around the corner of the garage before she turned onto the street. We walked across the patio in back of the house and as we approached the back door I whispered, "If you behave yourself and keep quiet I will let you live."

He grunted something I couldn't make out, then we were at the door. I pulled on the handle of the screen door and it opened. So far, so good. I said, "I'm going to hold this door open and I want you to sit down with your back to it." He did as I had ordered and when he was situated I examined the inside door, which was locked.

It didn't look like any type of reinforced door so I stepped back and kicked it just above the handle. The door sprang open and I said, "Stay right where you are. I'll be watching," and I ran for the trees along the lakeshore, pulling the night vision goggles over my eyes.

I could have left Davies in the trunk, picked the lock and waited for the police. But if Bartholomew was home or if the police came, finding Davies all bundled up in the doorway would send a message from me to those in charge. They would know I wasn't running, which might not scare them much, but it would give me great satisfaction. I hoped that he wasn't home and that there was no alarm because a look through Bartholomew's records might yield some new information, like who his partners were or how big this thing was.

Twenty minutes had gone by and it looked like I would get my wish. I walked to the back door, checking the neighbor's windows to see if anyone was watching, then reached down and helped Davies up. His bindings were still tight despite the effort I'd seen him make to loosen them while I waited in the trees.

I pushed him, gently, into the four-season porch that was Bartholomew's office, then guided him through the doorway that led into the house. He had no goggles so he couldn't see well, but we worked it out and searched the entire house in short order. The house was empty and we returned to the office where I settled him into an overstuffed chair in one corner of the large room. The windows and doors were covered with blinds and I made sure that each one was closed before removing the goggles and seating myself at a wooden desk.

The desk was huge, but fit well in the large room. I pulled the chain on the desk lamp and quickly surveyed my surroundings.

The required equipment was all there; monitor and keyboard, in/out tray, speakers, telephone, stapler, calendar and a picture of a man with a young girl and boy. The man looked to be in his thirties and the children were early teens. No woman present so I assumed he was divorced or they weren't his children. There was another picture of three men, one of them was the same man that was in the other picture. I noticed that something was written on the calendar, one of those with loose pages that you turn each day, so I grabbed it and held it under the light.

The writing was sloppy. Two names were written on one page, and on the other was a time, one-thirty, and Delta, which I assumed meant the airline. Underneath that was written 'Las Vegas, Flight #2435'. The names were Bonfini and Kellen. Well, I thought, a meeting of the minds. It seemed I didn't have to worry about anyone coming home tonight, unless he'd taken a half-day trip.

I put the calendar back, turned on the computer and looked, again, at the picture of the three men. The enemy.

While the computer readied itself, I looked through the drawers for anything that might be related to this case. The only thing of interest was a box of labeled computer disks that would be taken when we left. They would be perused at a later time. The computer was waiting for me to enter a password.

I went through the drawers with more determination this time. Under three pads of paper was an envelope. Inside was a list of files with user name and password assigned. I entered the password for "System."

Bingo, I was in. I studied the icons on the screen and was about to click on the one labeled personnel when a thought occurred to me. Why stay here and take a chance of being spotted? With the door busted it would look like a burglary, so why not burgle something; like the computer.

It took less than five minutes to disconnect all the wires. I called Heather's cell number and said, "I'm ready. See you in the driveway."

"Be there in a jiff."

I hung up, turned the light out and lowered the goggles to my eyes. I pushed the tied up Davies ahead of me, doing a balancing act with the computer and disks in one hand and the .38 in the other. We reached the front of the garage as the Lexus was backing in. Davies went back in the trunk, my equipment and the stolen property went in the back seat and I slid behind the wheel, now that Heather had moved back to the passenger side. I turned the lights on when we turned onto the street and soon we were on I-494, heading back to St. Paul.

Going back to Davies did not seem like a good idea because the two stooges might have slipped their bonds and returned to their master's house. At midnight, we arrived at the lot where the other two cars were parked. I said, "Collette, this is where we part. You've been a big help and we will certainly tell the FBI as much." I really didn't care if Collette made a run for it, but I didn't think she would.

She might even go to the authorities and confess her sins, but I didn't think she'd do that either.

She might try to contact Bartholomew and tell him what was going on, but I doubted that scenario.

Most likely she would go home, pretend nothing was wrong and wait for the feds to show up. Who knew.

She acted shocked and asked, "You're going to leave me?"

"Collette, there's no need for you to stay with us. I think you should be home working on a plan for your defense. It's never too early."

"Where do you get off dumping me. I've been having the adventure of my life today and I want to stay with it. I can help" She was pleading. "At least let me stay until you get in touch with that MacKay, from the FBI. I can reinforce the information you have for him and make it more believable."

Heather jumped in, "She's right, Jake. If she and I meet MacKay, he would be hard pressed to ignore our evidence, even though it was gotten illegally."

Their reasoning was sound. And now that we had Davies in the trunk it might be a good time for Heather to contact MacKay. Hopefully Davies men were all looking for him and not watching the hospital or our homes. I said, "All right, but only if MacKay agrees to protect both of you. Otherwise, Heather and I go our own way and you, Collette, will have to go yours." They both shook their heads in agreement and I said, "Heather, you're the lawyer. Why don't you see if you can negotiate a meeting with Agent MacKay."

She said, "I think I can handle that." With that she took out her cell phone and called information. It was almost fifteen minutes before she said, "They're keeping him overnight for observation. They wouldn't let me talk to him as you heard."

I said, "All we need now is a place to stay until morning. Any ideas?"

Collette said, "We could go to my house, but my husband is there and I'm not sure if he would be very understanding about this whole thing. We haven't been on the best of terms lately."

Everyone thought some more, then Heather said, "Jake, why not go to my house. I'm not a suspect so the authorities won't waste the manpower to watch it?"

She was right. And Davies' thugs were probably long gone now. Even if the feds were watching and they busted us I felt confident they would believe the evidence we had and let me go.

I needed to be free if I going to dissolve the firm of Bartholomew and Company. I said, "Let's take all of the cars to your house, Heather." They started to get out of the car, but I stopped them. "When we get to the house, this car and Collette's go in the garage. We'll leave the borrowed one outside."

They got out and went to their cars. Collette and I followed Heather and when we arrived, Heather parked on the street allowing us to park in the drive while she went inside and opened the garage door. The opener was in the Blazer. Can't think of everything.

When the ladies were inside, I went for a walk around the block, checking the parked cars. I returned, satisfied no one was watching the premises. Once inside I made sure the doors and windows were locked then asked Heather, who had come from checking the windows on the second floor, "Where is your office?"

She grabbed my arm and led me down a short hall to a doorway. She reached in and flicked a switch which turned on two lights that were mounted on the far wall, three feet above an oak table with legs that turned into claws at the bottom. A black leather chair with wheels was pushed underneath and an almond file cabinet stood alongside the desk. I said, "Perfect. Would you please disconnect your computer while I retrieve the one I borrowed from Bartholomew?"

"I'm on it,"

I turned to leave and bumped into Collette. She asked, "Can I help?"

"You can help Heather," and I left.

I returned with Davies and ordered him to sit in an open corner of the small room. Then I retrieved the computer and we quickly hooked it up.

# Chapter 42

The first icon I clicked on was 'Personnel'. The computer was fast and, unlike mine, the file came up instantly. It was a long list and I knew, immediately, that we'd hit the jackpot. The files we had found at the Summit house and the information Davies had given us were definitely incriminating, but I was sure it was only a small part of the overall picture and I hoped this file was going to be it. The ladies were standing behind me and as I scrolled down the page they made comments about the information that was being displayed.

It was an honest-to-goodness organization chart. I am always amazed at the records some crooked types keep. You'd think they were running a business that was incorporated with the state and they expected audits by the IRS for Christ's sake. Why would anybody write down something that could incriminate him or her?

I turned in the chair and looked down at Davies. He was still tied up and I asked, shaking my head,

"What is the matter with you people? Why would you keep this information in such an accessible place?"

He shrugged his shoulders and answered, "That information can be deleted instantly. It's on a disk that is stored in a safe place. We don't think about thieves, like yourself for instance, breaking the law to get at that type of information. Obviously we made an error in judgment." He continued to stare at me, all mean and everything. I didn't have time for the game and turned back to the monitor.

I printed the document. There were three pages of names that were neatly organized. At the top of the first sheet were three names; Bradley Bartholomew, Eugene Kellen and Aloysious Bonafini. Their addresses, street and E-mail, along with phone numbers were listed after each name. Kellen lived in Las Vegas and Bonafini resided in Glens Falls, NY. I smiled and thought, 'at least they didn't put titles after their names'.

The page layout of the organization changed to a column format, under headings of: Name, address (street/e-mail), phone number, occupation. I noticed that when the arrow touched each person's name it changed to a hand with the index finger pointed upward. This meant that the name was linked with other information and when I clicked the mouse the screen went blank then filled with additional information about that person.

Information like: How much money this person had received, a brief history of their 'employment', if anything besides money was used to 'persuade' someone to do the organization's bidding, things like that. Very organized and very telling. The data, however, only covered Bartholomew's area of responsibility. There was nothing about the rest of the country. It would be nice to find that database. Maybe it was in here somewhere. I'd let the ladies and MacKay look for it.

I swiveled around and faced Heather and Collette, who were sitting in chairs behind me and said, "Even though this stuff was gotten illegally, MacKay will love it. He's got to. At least it should get a few agents looking in the right places. If that doesn't work, we'll leak it to the media. They'll know what to do with it."

And I would be happy with that if it weren't for the murders of three innocent bystanders and the fact that I knew them. That made it very personal. Whether or not the organization went down was not my responsibility. The information we would give MacKay should make its fall inevitable.

But the murders were going to be more difficult to lay on the three partners and that's where I came in. This was a case of self-preservation and I wasn't going to count on the authorities to put these people away anytime soon. Given the amount of money they had and the convoluted justice system, Bartholomew, Kellen and Bonafini had plenty of time to get rid of Heather and me. Anybody who would be a witness to their schemes was in danger. It was time to put this case to bed. Speaking of bed I could see by the looks and yawns that it was definitely time.

I didn't want to let Davies go until the ladies were with MacKay so I had to figure a way to restrain him while we slept. I remembered that the closet in the bedroom I'd slept in had bi-fold doors and asked Heather, "Would you clear out the closet floor in my bedroom?" Funny I should think of it as my bedroom.

She gave me a weird look and asked, "Why?"

"I'm going to use it to contain our prisoner while we sleep?"

She stared, apparently trying to picture how the closet would serve as a jail and finally asked, "How are you going to do that?"

I stood and said, "You'll see. Would you get me that rope we used the other day?"

She said, "Okay," with doubt in her voice.

They dragged their chairs out of the room while I helped the prisoner up. I said to Davies, "I'm going to untie you and give you some time in the bathroom if you want it."

He said, "Thank you."

When Heather, with rope in hand, and Collette came back into the room I gave Heather my pistol and said, "I'm going to untie Mr. Davies and allow him to use the bathroom before I put him in his home for the night. You won't have any problem shooting him if he causes a ruckus, will you?"

"Hardly."

I led him to the half bath off the kitchen then removed the electrical cords from his arms and hands. I wasn't too worried about him turning on me. If he did, I'd have to kick his ass and that would be a pleasure. I didn't think Heather would need to use the gun, but it's always nice to know you've got back-up. He went quietly into the bathroom, closed the door and came out five minutes later.

Upstairs I had him lay on the closet floor. I threw him a pillow and blanket then closed the doors. Heather handed me the rope and I tied the knobs together. Then we pushed the bed against the doors. I said, "I'll be in the bed so if he tries to get out I'll wake up."

They agreed it was a good idea and left to get Collette settled. I undressed and crawled in, thinking about the past Saturday morning when Chuck and his buddy came to the house, posing as cops. With the .357 under my pillow, I went to sleep smiling.

# Chapter 43

The sharp rapping woke me. It took a second to realize the pounding was coming from the closet and not the bedroom door. Daylight was spilling into the room and I had no idea what time it was. I yelled, "Hold your horses."

A muffled voice replied, "I need to use the bathroom."

I pulled the bed away from the doors, untied the rope then stood back and said, "Come on out, slowly."

The pistol was in my hands and slightly raised in the direction of the closet. The doors opened up and he was on his knees with his head between the clothes that were hanging there. He got up warily, his eyes on me and the .357. I followed him into the hallway to the bathroom. When he came out I put him back into the closet, retied the rope and pushed the bed back.

Both women were up and they took over the guard duties while I cleaned up. Heather had thrown our dirty clothes in the laundry last night and it felt good putting on clean clothes. I took the watch back while the ladies cleaned up and made breakfast, which everyone wolfed down, including Davies, who was tied to the chair. After breakfast I put Davies back in the trunk of his car.

There were many things to do before we left the house and watching Davies was not going to be one of them. He would have to suffer for another hour or two. I wasn't too concerned about it.

At noon, Heather called MacKay and they set up a meeting for one o'clock in his office. He would meet them at the entrance of the federal building's private underground parking ramp and guide them from there.

Heather and Collette had printed out several files from Bartholomew's computer, which they would take to McKay. The computer and the disks went into the truck and would go in a safe deposit box before I left town.

I drove the Lexus, Collette drove her car and Heather drove my brother's truck. They followed me.

In a short time we reached the same hilltop I'd taken Chuck and his friend. I stopped short of the ruts that crossed the meadow to the trees on the other side. The ladies pulled up as I got out and opened the trunk. I reached in, untied Davies then said, "Stay put until we're gone. I'll leave the key on the blacktop road at the bottom of the hill." I walked to

Heather's vehicle and got in. I said, "Let's move," and she did.

At the bottom of the hill she turned onto the blacktop and stopped. I said, "You remember where we left my car?"

She said, "Jake, we've been over this." Tears were welling up in her eyes and she sniffed to hold them back. "You're going to take the truck to the lot where your SUV is parked and leave it for me to pick later today. And, you will call me from Las Vegas tonight, at my cell phone number."

She grabbed my hand and we both squeezed. I said, "If things work out, and I'm confident they will, I'll be back in two days. Count on it."

Then we were hugging and she said for the hundredth time, "Why don't you come with us? Leave the rest to the FBI?"

I pushed her gently away and said, "You know I have to do this, Heather, otherwise it may not get done. MacKay will take care of you and Collette until this is over. I'm hoping that will happen in the next forty eight hours." I finished with, "No more looking over our shoulders."

She nodded, obviously unhappy about my imminent departure, then leaned over and kissed me. It was a kiss that held much promise, then she pulled away and said, "You get your ass back here in one piece." She held my face in the palms of her hands and stared into my eyes for what seemed like a minute. Then we both got out of the truck and she walked back to Collette's car and got in the passenger's side. They drove away and I walked around the front of the truck and got into the driver's side.

As I pulled away, I dropped the Lexus' key out the window. Fifteen minutes later I was in my SUV, having transferred the equipment case, computer and disks into the trunk, then drove towards home. I circled the block and satisfied myself that no one was watching before I pushed the remote for the garage and drove in. There was nobody waiting to arrest or kill me and I went about the business of getting ready for a trip.

I filled a small suitcase and grabbed a hard-sided case, used for transporting firearms on the airlines, and left. Next, I stopped at the bank and put the computer and disks in my safe deposit box. I drove to the airport and after some driving around found a spot in long term parking.

Inside the terminal I picked up the ticket I'd ordered earlier and checked my equipment case (minus the Uzi and .38 which I'd left at home), suitcase and the hard case that contained my .357.

There was a quiet bar near my gate and I had some time to kill so I ordered a beer and did some people watching. Take my mind off the case. My plane left at four, which was an hour from now and the flight was three hours, more or less, so I would land in Vegas around five. The schedule said four fifty. Traveling two time zones west is great because you get to re-live part of the same day. Of course, if you go too far west you lose a day.

The plane left twenty minutes late, but the pilot said we'd make it up and land on schedule. Must not have been much of a head wind. I ordered one beer and fell asleep immediately afterward. The plane was taxiing to the gate when I awoke.

# Chapter 44

Aaron Lynch writes mystery novels and he always sends me an autographed copy of his latest best seller. I met Aaron in Marine Corps' boot camp, after which we spent six months in radio school. From there we were ordered to Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. The next two years took us to Cuba and then a six month tour aboard a Navy troop ship in the Mediterranean.

When our hitch in the Corps was over, Aaron moved west. He's lived in Vegas ever since. I visit him at least once a year and he's in Minnesota to see family about twice each year. We're good friends and I was happy to see him waiting at the baggage carousel when I arrived.

"Snake! good to see you." Aaron was the only one who called me by that ancient nickname.

He was the picture of health in his beige shorts, yellow short-sleeved shirt, and leather sandals with many straps. His short dark hair showed no signs of gray and the tanned face was nearly devoid of lines, except when he smiled, which he was doing now. He was a lanky six foot three and I had to look up when I said, "Airborne!" A nickname given to him in boot camp.

We were both laughing as we hugged then shook hands. Aaron said, "C'mon, let's get your luggage." Then he asked, "You do you have luggage, don't you." Luggage was not a requirement when visiting Vegas.

"Certainly do," and the bags began to unload on the carousel.

Aaron was satisfied to wait for an explanation of the urgent call I'd made last night. He seemed contented just carrying on about the latest happenings in each other's lives. When we were in his car I said, "Thanks for picking me up. I know it's short notice, but you're a 'short notice' kind of guy so I knew you wouldn't mind the break in the humdrum of your everyday life."

"Anytime, Snake." Then he said, "Judy is out of town for a couple of days. She'll be upset if you leave before she gets back, so I hope you're planning to stay until Friday, at least." Judy was Aaron's wife.

"Of course. I wouldn't want to deprive the poor woman of an opportunity to brighten her life."

We both laughed and after paying the parking attendant he drove out of the airport. "What's going on, Jake?"

"Tell you what, Aaron. I'm booked at the Tropicana. Why don't I check in then we can talk about it over a drink or two."

He asked, "Why are you checking into a hotel? You always stay at the house."

"This time it's work and after our talk tonight we might not see each other until I'm finished."

"Jesus, Jake. Sounds like you got hooked into some serious shit."

"I did,"

Aaron pulled up to the front entrance of the hotel and left the car to be parked. I checked in and after dropping my bags in the room we went downstairs and found a quiet lounge. We ordered drinks and when the waitress had delivered them I asked Aaron, "Have you heard of a man by the name of Eugene Kellen?"

He chuckled and said, "Hell, anyone who's been in Vegas for a few years knows who he is. One of the biggest hitters in town." Aaron took a sip from his brandy and water then asked, "You have business with him?"

I laid out the entire story. From the moment Donny Anderson had called me about his missing father up to the present. I finished by saying, "This may sound crazy, but I'm thinking you and I can come up with a plan to eliminate my problem."

Aaron stared at me with his mouth opened and I waited while he absorbed the story I'd just told. He said, "Let me get this straight," then looked around to see if anyone was nearby. There wasn't and he continued, "You want me to help you figure out how to," and he looked around some more before going on, "get rid of some people."

He seemed stunned so I said, "Aaron, all I want from you is some imagination. I'm not asking you to help me in any other way. Think of it as part of a mystery you're writing. You do this stuff for a living." I was trying to be matter-of-fact about the whole thing, but he wasn't buying it.

The waitress came and we ordered another round. By the time she returned, Aaron had stopped shaking his head and seemed to be contemplating something. I let him continue his pondering. At last he asked, "It's you or them, right?"

"That's the way I see it. With the evidence we've given the FBI they should be able to bust these guys by year end if they try hard." More like next year's end, I thought. "That leaves a lot of time for them to find those of us who might be willing to testify."

He deliberated some more, seeming to warm-up to the challenge, and said, to my shock, "I want to be in on the whole thing. All or nothing. That's my final answer." He sat back in the chair, waiting.

"Goddammit! Aaron. I don't intend to drag my best friend into this. It could get real ugly." I paused for effect then said, "I only want your ideas, Aaron."

He thought about that and, obviously, discarded it then said, "With my help we can pull this off. We don't know any particulars at this moment, but it sounds like two would be better than one." He added, excitedly, "Let's check out his house and then we can discuss the rest of the plan."

I agreed that visiting the house was a necessary first step and thought it was a good idea to have him drive me since he knew the terrain. I didn't think we would get into any trouble just looking.

Before leaving we went to get my case. Might as well take the whole thing. The message light on the table next to the bed was blinking so I called down to the front desk. Heather had called. I dialed the number she'd left, it wasn't her cell phone, and after three rings she answered, "Jake?"

I asked, "Where are you?"

"One of Collette's friends let us stay in her condo. It's in downtown St. Paul and she only uses it when she comes to town on business."

"What about the Feds?"

"MacKay was impressed with the information we gave him, but his boss was not. In fact, his boss would not allow Mackay to keep the data unless we told him where it came from."

I was pissed and said, "I suppose that fucker's on the payroll too." She didn't respond so I asked, "Did you tell them about the informant?" Heather and I had decided she would tell them we had an informant who was high up in the Bartholomew's organization.

She said, "I told them, but the guy didn't believe it. Maybe he is on their payroll."

Hard to believe, I thought, that an FBI agent would be on the take. In fact, I didn't believe it. I figured he was one of those government bureaucrats that everyone is always complaining about. I said, "So I take it there is no protection."

"None. And MacKay's boss really wants to see you. In fact, he told MacKay to put out a special alert for you."

"Does he think I'm involved with these people?"

"I don't think so, Jake. He was upset because no one has talked to you. You're like a phantom to the FBI. MacKay's boss is mad at him for letting you leave the murder scene, up north, as if he was in any shape to stop you. The guy is a jerk." She finished, "No protection until you show."

"The prick." I was really pissed, but no sense taking it out on Heather. "Do you feel safe in this condo?"

"The building has a security entrance, we're on the twelfth floor and I have my .38. Collette did some evasive driving on the trip here and we don't think anyone, including the FBI, followed us." She asked, "What's going on in your neck of the woods?"

I told her about Aaron then said, "He picked me up and we've been discussing the situation. I'll call you in the morning and let you know what the plan is."

There was a long pause before she said, "Please be careful, Jake. I want you back."

"I've got a lot of plans for the future and none of them include dying. I'll be home soon."

Aaron was shaking his head at my comment and Heather said, "I'll remember that, Jake," and she laughed. "Talk to you in the morning."

"Until then. Bye."

"Bye," and the phone went dead.

Aaron said, "No 'I love you'?"

I smiled, "Certainly not in front of your ass." Back to the subject at hand I said, "The Feds won't give them protection so the sooner we finish this the better."

Aaron jumped out of his chair and said, "I'm ready," then asked, "by the way, where is this house located?"

"I thought you'd never ask." I pulled the address out of my briefcase and handed it to him.

He looked at it and said, "I have no idea where this is, but I have a map in the car."

I said, "I'm following you," and grabbed my goodie bag.

He got us onto I-15 and drove north. The strip ran parallel to the Interstate and I checked out all the resorts that had been built since the early nineties. We exited I-15 onto Highway 95 and headed northwest until we reached Highway 157 which, according to the sign, would take us to the Mt. Charleston Wilderness and Ski Area. We turned left and I said, "Oh, good.

Are we going skiing or hiking?"

"You are a funny man, Snake." He chuckled then said, "Keep your eye out for Rainbow Drive. It's supposed to be about ten miles in."

# Chapter 45

The trip, thus far, had taken about thirty minutes and we were still in the desert, heading for one of the clusters of mountains that surrounded Las Vegas. It was still light enough to aid our search for the house, assuming mail boxes were numbered and the roads were marked. You never knew about a place that was designated 'Wilderness Area'.

The highway's barely perceptible incline led us past an occasional trailer or wood-frame home isolated in the rocky sand that was covered with Cholla cactus, Joshua trees and black brush. Aaron knew the local flora and pointed out the famous Ponderosa Pine as we reached the higher altitudes, somewhere around six or seven thousand feet. I asked him, "Do you come here often?"

"I don't ski and I don't know anyone who lives out here, but four years ago I decided to investigate the area as a possible site for one of my books. I did mention it in my last book, but only in passing. It wasn't the right setting for that book, but I can see it's going to be perfect for the next one. I think I've already got a plot."

"Glad I could help," then I spotted the small sign that was hand-written, vertically, on a two-by-four sticking out of the ground. Fortunately the heavy grass had not grown higher than the 'B' so I was able to see the word 'Rain'. I said, "There it is."

Aaron let off the gas and hit the brakes. The tires didn't squeal, but I was pressed against the seat belt. He backed up then turned onto Rainbow Drive. We were climbing fast and the view at each clearing in the trees was more spectacular than the previous one.

A mailbox on the right side of the road had the numbers we were looking for. The house was across the street. It was a hundred yards or so from the road and most of trees in front of it had obviously been cleared to make way for the landscaping that was right out of a gardening magazine. The house was facing west and the front was three stories of glass that were now reflecting the last rays of the sun. Sun glasses would have helped. The deck on the second floor stretched the entire width of the house. Aaron slowed the car when I said, "This is it."

He stopped and we both stared at the huge home. It looked more like a hotel than a single family home. Aaron said, "And I thought I had a big house."

I said, "No shit. There's more square footage on the deck than there is in my entire townhome."

We stared at the house and grounds for a minute or so. The circular driveway contained an SUV and a black limousine. I wondered if Kellen owned the limo or if it was being rented by the hour. A few small pines were scattered around the front yard, but they weren't large and they didn't block any views from the house. I was about to say something to Aaron when a man came onto the lower deck. Even from this distance we could see he was a big man. He walked to the railing and was soon joined by another of similar stature. They talked and occasionally pointed at our car. Aaron said, "They seem to be interested in us."

I wished I'd rented a car instead of asking Aaron to drive us out here. If they got his license plate number, he and his wife would be in danger. I reached back and removed the binoculars from my case and said, "Can't be all that unusual for people to stop and look at the house." I asked, "Do you know what Kellen looks like?"

He looked at me then the binoculars and answered, "Sure I do and neither one of those men is him. I can tell that without those." He pointed to the glasses. "They look like bodyguards to me."

"I agree," and I stepped out of the car. Facing the house I rested my elbows on the roof and put the binoculars to my eyes. The pair on the deck, who had been leaning on the railing, stood up and one lifted a radio to his mouth. Within seconds another man came out of the trees. I didn't need my glasses to see him up close because he was only thirty yards away.

I set the binoculars on the roof and watched as he held his radio close to his ear then started in our direction. I wondered if all these men were added security, initiated by a call from Davies, or if the guy always kept this many guards around. Aaron said, "Do you think we ought to leave, Jake?"

I lowered myself into the seat, closed the door and said, "Home, James," and Aaron started the car. The man started running and Aaron stepped on the gas, hard. The tires kicked up dirt from the shoulder we were parked on and squealed when they hit the blacktop. I looked back and saw the guard stop when he reached the road. He was laughing and pointing at us as we sped away. He who laughs last, I thought.

It was half a mile before we came to the next mailbox and a driveway where we could turn around. I said, "Let's turn around here."

He turned into the driveway, stopped and said, "That guy looked like he was ready to tear us apart."

Ignoring the comment I said, "Let's go back down the mountain and find a spot to wait. I'm betting someone is going to use that limo tonight."

"Waiting is better than tangling with those guards, but now that we've brought attention to ourselves they'll be watching for us." He backed the car onto the road and started down the hill.

The guards were no longer visible when we passed the house and I said, "They don't know who we are. We were a game for them, something to break the monotony of guard duty. Didn't you see him standing in the road laughing?" Not waiting for an answer I asked, "Does Kellen own any casinos?"

"He had a good deal of money in two of the newer casinos, but rumor has it that he's divested himself of those and invested it in a new resort that broke ground last year."

He turned onto Highway 157 and I asked, "Is this the only way back to Vegas?"

"I believe it is."

On our right, we were approaching what looked like an abandoned building and I said, "Let's pull off and park on the other side of that building. Looks like the perfect spot to wait for that big ass limo."

"I know you mentioned waiting for the limo, but how can you be sure it will come?"

"I can't," I said as he parked the car alongside a two story building that looked like it had been moved here from the Nevada nuclear test sight. Every window, and there were lots of them, had been broken and part of the back wall had collapsed into the building, but it gave us a perfect spot from which to watch the road unseen. "It will be dark in an hour. If they haven't come by, we'll go back to the hotel and plan. How does that sound?"

Aaron shut the car off and said, "Sounds fine. What do we do if the limo does come by?"

"I thought I had mentioned that we were going to follow it."

He asked, "And after it reaches its destination?"

"That depends on where it stops and what the occupants do." He had no response so I continued, "What I want to talk about is gaining entrance to the house. Any ideas?"

"Yes. See if you can get an invite." We both laughed, then he said, "We know there are two guards in the house and one outside. There might be more. The odds of getting in unnoticed are not good." Before I could respond to him he asked, "Why did you want to know if Kellen owned a casino?"

"There was a file on one of his partner's computer that was titled 'Casino' and now I'm wondering if it had anything to do with the new resort you said he is building." I opened the door and put a foot on the ground. The air was cool and I needed to stretch out while we waited. I continued, "It might have given us further insight about their dealings here in Nevada"

"Too late to worry about that. We need to figure out how you're going to get into the house." Before I could open my mouth to speak he said, "Tell me again why you need to go into the house."

I took my eyes from the deserted road and looked at my friend. I wasn't angry, but I spoke louder than was necessary so that Aaron would know I was dead serious about getting into that house. "Since this case began I have illegally entered three homes and one office. In each of those places I found parts of a greedy puzzle and I'm convinced we'll find the last pieces at Kellen's. That completed puzzle could be what I need to convince the authorities that these bums are dangerous." He said nothing so I finished with, "I'll do what is necessary to get in there." "Then I guess you're not worried about a little breaking and entering."

"Not in the least, Aaron. I'm counting on your imagination to conjure up some brilliant scheme that will allow us to come away clean and not have to worry about retributions." I added, "Not too much to ask of you, is it? I mean, you do it all the time in your books."

"Solutions to situations in my books are well thought out. It takes more time than one afternoon or evening to come up with them. But I'm working on it." He laid his head against the headrest and closed his eyes.

This was his thinking position, I knew, and returned my eyes to the road. During the next fifteen minutes I got out of the car twice. Once to take a leak and once just for the hell of it. Aaron never spoke during that time and though I've spent many hours on stakeouts, silently watching and waiting for something to happen, this silence seemed unusual when my best friend was sitting there. Seemed like we should be discussing the case or something. Oh, well.

# Chapter 46

Ten minutes later the limo came by and we followed it. It didn't take an expert to follow a limo. Aaron stayed a mile back until we got closer to the city and traffic picked up. At I-15 we went south to Sahara Avenue then over to the strip where the limo turned toward downtown. There were acres of empty land at this end of the strip and soon the limo pulled into a construction site. We were far enough behind that Aaron was able to pull off the road a block or so before the site.

It was dark, but the site was well lit and a large neon sign announced the coming of Las Vegas' newest resort, The Great Wall of China. There were two cranes on site and the 'Wall' was taking shape. Piles of materials were stacked everywhere. The limo stopped near a long trailer.

The binoculars were already against my eyes and I watched the driver get out and walk around to the other side and open the back door. Powerful lights on the site allowed me to identify him as the man who was in the woods at Kellen's house. As he stood aside to let his passengers out, a man came out of the trailer and walked down the steps to greet the three men who were now out of the limo and looking at the unfinished site.

I recognized all three from the photo in Bartholomew's office and I knew which one was Bartholomew. Now it was only a matter of figuring out who the third guy was. If we were real lucky it would turn out to be Bonafini. I handed the binoculars to Aaron and asked, "Which one is Kellen?"

He took the glasses, put them up to his eyes and made some adjustments. The four men talked while the driver stood by the limo's open door. Aaron said,

"He's the one on the left," and handed the binoculars back.

I readjusted the focus and studied the man Aaron had identified. The limo was the only reference point I could use to determine his height. He was probably six feet and stood taller than the two he had come with. The one from the trailer was a couple of inches shorter and was the only person in the group who was dressed for the hot weather. He was wearing shorts, as opposed the others who wore dress slacks. The harsh light allowed only black and white features, making Kellen as well as the others look drab and older than they probably were. "How old is he?"

"I think he's fifty five or sixty."

"Looks older in that light."

"Who wouldn't."

We watched as the group entered the building through an open doorway. Twenty minutes later they were back. Looking through the glasses again I said, "From the pictures I saw at Bartholomew's, I'm positive the bald guy is Bonafini." The three men and the driver shook hands with the guy from the trailer then he hustled up the stairs and disappeared into the office. The others got into the limo and it pulled out of the job site.

Aaron said, "And we're off."

We followed them as they made their way back to the freeway, then on to Tropicana Boulevard where they got off and drove to the Tropicana Casino. Coincidence? I hoped so. I didn't want to believe they knew where I was. The three men got out and walked inside. The limo took off. I said, "Wait right here. I'll be back in a minute."

I watched from the lobby as Bartholomew headed for the slots and the other two squeezed in at a craps table. Billionaires looking for more money. Must be some sort of curse. Back in the car I said, "Looks like they're out for an evening of gambling."

Aaron asked, "The house?"

I started thinking out loud, "There are at least two guards at the house and maybe an alarm system, but I doubt it would be on with two men roaming about."

He interrupted me, "Maybe we should talk about it, Jake."

I like to ad-lib, but Aaron was right. This was too important to rush into. I said, "Let's go back to the bar. We can check out our friends on the way."

We used the valet service and found our way to the same table we'd been at several hours earlier. The floor of the bar was several feet higher than the gaming floor and the wrought iron railings allowed us to view an area of blackjack and craps' tables, including the one where Bonafini and Kellen were playing. We hadn't been able to locate Bartholomew on our way in.

After ordering a beer Aaron asked, "Doesn't it seem odd that they came to this casino? I mean, it just happens to be where you're staying."

I shrugged, "I don't know. Some people like downtown and some probably like the older casinos on the strip. Too much glitz at the new ones. That's why

I stayed here." I added, "Hell, Aaron, you make your living writing about coincidences,"

He chuckled, "I'm a bit more skeptical of real life ones."

Our beers came and, after paying the waitress, I said, "As I see it, there are two ways to go. I can break into the house, gather up any evidence then shoot them when they come home. Or, we can figure out a way to finesse them into giving it all up."

Aaron asked, "Is there no in between with you, Jake?"

I was about to answer when the piano started playing and a sensual female voice said, "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Siren and

I'll be playing your favorites for the next hour or so. Just bring up your requests and if I know it I'll play it." With that she went into her version of 'Mack the Knife'.

This was no longer a good place to discuss strategy. We would have to raise our voices to be heard and the people sitting nearby would probably be able to hear our discussion. I said, "Let's finish these and go to the room." I nodded toward Kellen and the guy I figured was Bonafini and said, "They look like they're going to be at that table for a while. We'll order some food from room service." He agreed and we were gone before the shark was done biting.

# Chapter 47

The message light on the phone was blinking so I called the operator. "This is Jake Tanner in room twenty forty one. My message light was blinking."

After a pause she said, "Heather Rossini wants you to call her. She said you know her cell phone number." I thanked her and hung up.

I looked at Aaron and said, "Heather wants me to call. I wonder what's happened since we last talked."

I dialed the number and after the second ring a man answered, "That you, Tanner?"

The voice was not familiar. It couldn't be the wrong number because the guy asked for me. I asked, "Is Heather there?"

The voice was more insistent when he asked, "Is this Jake Tanner?"

I was getting pissed, but answered, "Yes."

"Hold on one sec."

"I'm so sorry, Jake. I don't know how these people found us. We were..."

Her frightened voice disappeared, replaced by the same man who had answered, "That's right Mr. Detective, we've got you honey and her girlfriend." He paused to allow me to speak, but I wasn't ready so he continued, "You probably know the drill so I'll skip to the part where I tell you what I want.

"Which is?" Like I didn't know.

"You have some files and disks that belong to us and we want them back, all of them. If you comply, you get the women. Simple as that." He sounded cheerful, as though he hoped I wouldn't agree to his demands. Not a good sign.

Suddenly it became clear to me what I would be exchanging for Heather and Colette, but I wouldn't tell them, yet. Trying to sound humbled I said, "The files and disks are in the bank so I won't be able to get them until tomorrow morning. Please don't hurt the ladies."

"The women will be fine, as long as you bring the stuff. Call me when you have it and we'll set up an exchange." He coughed loudly then said, "And don't be calling the cops." The phone went dead.

Real class act, I thought, which made the worrying worse than it already was. I put the receiver back on the phone and turned to Aaron, who was sitting in the recliner, and said, "The fuckers have Heather and Colette." Speaking of class acts.

"Shit. I thought they were hiding out with a friend."

"They were." My mind was racing. I wanted to call back, talk to Heather and make sure she understood that I was going to get her out of this mess. I had to concentrate on my options; I only saw one. Pacing back and forth in the small room I said, "It seems they think I'm still in the Cities, which means the three downstairs don't know I'm here." I continued pacing, mumbling occasionally, while Aaron sat quietly. He was either waiting to hear my plan or working out one of his own. Finally, I said, "Let's go back to Kellen's house," and I headed for the door. Aaron was right behind me.

As we raced through the casino, I checked to make sure that Kellen and Bonafini were still at the table. They were and just before we exited I caught a glimpse of Bartholomew at one of those huge slot machines. We waited patiently for the valet to bring the car around and soon we were back on the freeway heading north.

# Chapter 48

I had calmed down and spoke for the first time since we'd left the room, "I think we can forget the finesse part of the plan. This will be a straight forward kidnapping and exchange."

I started to laugh at my next thought and Aaron asked, "What's so damned funny, Jake?"

"Just wondering if we could do the whole deal over the internet. They're trying to do everything else on the web."

He smiled and said, "That is funny, Jake, and I'm happy you can find humor in this. Good for the spirit. But right now we need to figure out how to take this small army down. You have an idea?"

I was staring straight ahead, working out the details. "Sort of."

"Why don't you give me the gist of it so I can work on it too."

I turned to Aaron and said, "There's not much gist, Aaron. You drop me off, I sneak into the house and surprise the three when they get home. I hold them hostage until Heather and Collette are freed then I let them go. End of plan."

"What about the guards? And what happens after you've sprung the girls? We're still in the same predicament as when you came."

"I'll get by the guards one way or another. As for the other thing, who knows. We'll see what develops, but the girls come first."

"Anything I can do while you're playing?" He sounded upset.

"Wait until I call you to pick me up. No reason for you to get more involved with this. If something happens to me, you can take off and no one will be the wiser about your involvement."

"That's all very noble of you, Jake, but if there is something else I can do that will help you pull this thing off, please let me. The way I figure it there are two guards left and two against two is better than one against two."

He was right, of course, but I couldn't ask Aaron to put his life in danger. I'd already dragged him in farther than I had initially intended. "Okay, Aaron. Once I'm inside, I call you in and we finish it together. How does that sound?"

Smiling, he took his eyes off the road and said, "That's my partner."

In the service we played a lot of pool and if it was a game of doubles he and I were always partners. Another nickname.

We drove past Kellen's house and followed the road to where we thought we would be above and behind his property. Aaron stopped the car and we got out and walked across the road for a better look. It was too dark to see anything but the treetops. No moon. Black. I would have to guess my way to Kellen's. Great. At least it was all downhill.

Aaron was standing beside me and I said, "I'd better get started so I can be there to greet them. It'll be such a nice surprise." I turned and started back to the car. "Let's get the equipment out."

I was wearing jeans and sneakers, which would make it much easier to navigate the woods, and a black, short-sleeved shirt. The .357 went between the top of my jeans and the small of my back, goggles went on my forehead, knife and gloves went in my back pocket and two speed loaders went in the front pockets. I spotted a roll of duct tape laying to the side of the trunk and looped it onto my belt, along with the communicator.

Next I clipped the microphone to my shirt and inserted the earpiece. Aaron watched me attach it and did the same with the one I'd handed him. I said,

"Testing..1.2.3."

He smiled and said, "Works fine when you're next to me."

"It's got more than enough power to transmit from the building we were at earlier this evening. You'll wait there and tell me when the limo goes by or I'll call you when I've got the guards secured, whichever comes first."

He spoke into the microphone on his collar, "10-4, over and out," and laughed.

I laughed too, probably more nerves than anything, and said, "Wish me luck," and I walked across the road and started down.

Aaron said, "Good luck, Snake."

# Chapter 49

The first twenty yards were nothing but short, scrubby pines, rocks and dirt. Soon enough, I was in the tall Ponderosas. Their branches started eight feet off the ground so I didn't have to stoop over to keep my head from hitting them. The pine needle bed on the ground made the going slippery, but if I slipped there were plenty of trees to grab onto. The goggles were a godsend for navigating in the dark and it wasn't long before I got the hang of moving from tree to tree. It was more like sliding from tree to tree on some parts of the slope.

My hands were sticky from tree sap and that made it easier to grab the trees. There were no bugs, the humidity was low and the temperature was about eighty five degrees. It was a perfect night for breaking and entering.

I thought of Heather and almost slid onto my backside, but a tree saved me. These assholes were going to pay dearly, I thought, as I stood and stared at the lighted windows one hundred yards downhill. I was pretty sure it was the right house because we hadn't seen another one on our way to the drop off spot. It was time to be extremely careful about the noise I was generating on the downhill slide. If there were guards roaming the area, I was definitely in their territory.

My eyes constantly scanned in all directions including an occasional backward glance. I was fifty yards from the house when he came into view. The guard was to my right and midway between me and the back of the house. He was sitting on the ground with his back against a tree, head slumped on his chest. I hoped he was sleeping.

Sleeping or not, I would have to approach him from below. It would be impossible to sneak up on someone while you were sliding downhill, so I moved to my left and began the slow descent to the house. Suddenly I heard someone talking. I looked in the direction of the guard who now rose. It was him talking and he started toward my position. Obviously he had a communication device and was being rousted by another guard. The one inside was my guess.

Unbelievably he was walking in my direction, as though he saw me, but I didn't think I was in the glow from the lighted windows. I pulled my .357, even though I didn't want to shoot him and alert any other guards. So far it was working out better than I could have anticipated. He was coming to me instead of the other way around.

He veered to my left, which meant that if he kept that line he would pass several feet below my position. Not as close as I would have liked, but close enough. When he passed a tree just five feet down the slope from me I cocked the pistol, which brought him to a sudden stop, and said, "Don't say a word or I shoot."

There was no answer. "Lie down and put your hands behind your head." He did as I'd told him.

He was lying with his head toward the mountain top. I quickly straddled him and reached down for the microphone that I figured would be attached to his shirt. It was, so I ripped it off and covered it with my hand. "How do I shut the radio off? And you had better answer quietly."

A loud whisper, "The transmitter is on my belt. Right side."

I reached down and pulled it off the belt, found the button and pushed on it. Hopefully, that did it, but to be safe I threw it off to my left. It was probably voice activated so if it were still on I didn't think our voices would activate it from this distance. I leaned close to the man's head and said, "When I give the order, I want you to get up and walk to the corner of the house." I stepped away and said, "Move it." He complied.

When we reached the house I ordered, "Assume the position." He leaned against the house and spread his feet. I found his weapon in a leg holster, just above the ankle, and stuffed it into the front of my waistband.

He chuckled and asked, "Now what are you gonna do, mate?"

The man didn't even sound like an Aussie. I pulled his pistol out and slammed the butt against the back of his head. He dropped to his knees, head bent, and I popped him again. This time he went all the way down. I whispered, "Does that answer your question....mate?"

I wrapped his hands behind his back with the tape then did the same with his legs. It would be awhile before he woke up, but better to be safe so I taped his mouth.

I pushed the goggles onto my forehead and walked to the front of the house, which was lighted by two spotlights that shone onto the front expanse. The stairs were cement and I quickly went up them and onto the porch. If there were other guards roaming the property, I didn't think the front door would be locked and I went straight for it. It was unlocked and I stepped, quietly, into a long foyer, pistol aimed straight ahead.

# Chapter 50

The first door was on my left and it led to the kitchen. A small light was on over the stove and a doorway on the other side of the room led to darkness. Stairs that went to the lower and upper level were on my right. I could hear the sounds of a TV coming from the back of the house.

I continued down the hallway to the second doorway on my left and peered around the corner. It was what I call a family room. A large family room. At least fifty feet long and almost as wide. There was a light on over a pool table at the far end with a fireplace between it and the TV area on this end. A walkie-talkie was on the small table between the leather recliner and matching sofa that were positioned in front of the TV. Large windows filled the wall opposite me and the mini-blinds were closed. There was no one in the room and I was about to enter it when a door to my left opened.

Over the sounds of the TV, I heard a toilet flush and watched a giant of a man close the door and walk to the couch. He must have been six-six and weighed three fifty. He laid down on the couch, the top of his shaved head facing me, and started changing channels with a remote he'd picked off the floor. His guard duty looked easier than the one outside.

I went into the room and directly to the back of the couch. As I entered his peripheral vision he turned his head to see who was there. He didn't seem to be alarmed until he saw that I was someone he didn't know.

Then he came alive and started to get up. There was no doubt in my voice when I said, "Stop right there or you're dead."

He stopped halfway to a sitting position, one foot on the floor and the other in mid-air. He must have seen my weapon because he yelled, "Don't shoot."

I offered, "Roll onto the floor and put your hands behind your back and I won't."

He did as I ordered and I completed my walk behind the couch, around to the front then dropped to my knees and taped his hands. The guy was one big muscle and I wondered if the tape would hold. I put another two layers on, just to be safe, then stood and backed away. "Now get up and walk to the pool table."

He had no problem getting up without the use of his hands and he walked to the table. I had noticed the pool table was an antique, or made to look old, and it's thick legs were made for what I had in mind. Standing there with the .357 aimed at his heart I rapped my knuckles on the bed of the table and felt the hardness of slate. I tried to lift it with one arm but it didn't budge. I figured the table weighed at least five hundred pounds which was more than enough for what I had in mind.

I ordered him to walk to the back side of the table and said, "Lie on your back and wrap your legs around that leg." I pointed to the leg he was standing next to. Each of the wooden legs was over a foot square and after he'd accomplished what I'd ordered, he reminded me of a bull rider. I continued, "Now, put your feet together."

He tried but they didn't quite touch. I forced them together and quickly taped the ankles. With the wide table leg between his knees and his feet almost touching the inside of the table leg, there was no way he would be able to lift his knees to get leverage on the bottom of the table. Even if he did lift the table up there was no way he was going to slip a leg under the raised support. I said, "Stay down and you won't get hurt. If I see your head I'll use it for target practice, understand?"

"For now," he said.

Tough guy. I stood over him and asked, "How many of your kind are around this evening?"

"I'm the only one."

I rested my foot on his nose and said, "Listen. I'm trying to work things out with your boss so I can go home and relax. I don't need trouble from you. Some of your buddies have already met me and they know I don't have much patience. Maybe you've heard?"

"You're the guy who shot John?" My foot pressing on his nose caused him to sound a bit nasally.

"Who's John?"

"He's the guy you shot in the nuts."

Now I had a name for the loser. "That's me," and I asked, "How is John Boy?"

"He's looking for you is how he is." He said it like he knew John would get me.

I didn't like the idea that the guy I'd shot in the nuts was free. I had hoped the police had gone to the hospital and arrested him. Maybe they did and let him go. I guess they hadn't believed my phone call. "Where would he be looking?"

"Probably in Minnesota."

"Hopefully, I'll see him when I get back." Something occurred to me. "Where is his friend, Jeff?" Jeff was the one who, according to John, had done the murders in Wisconsin.

No answer. That was good. I put a little pressure on his nose. He yelled, "You're killing me, Asshole."

I let up and said, "You didn't answer fast enough, Dipshit. Now, where is Jeff?"

"He's driving the limo tonight."

"Well, isn't this going to be fun." Then I said, "You gave me a wrong answer to my question about other guards being around. Do you want to try again?"

He hesitated for a second and I started with my foot, but he hollered, "Barry's outside."

"Doing what?" I asked.

"He's walking patrol, in the woods."

I'd cold-cocked the guard in the woods, presumably Barry, and I was looking down at one of the two I'd seen on the deck. "Where is the guard you were on the deck with, earlier this evening?"

His eyes widened and his gaze was behind me. I felt the movement, dove on top of my prisoner then rolled off. The missing guard had swung his pistol at my head and because of my move he'd only grazed the back of it. Both of my hands gripped the .357 and after I rolled over the guy on the floor and spun onto my back it was aimed at the center of my assailant's body. His weapon was arcing back to me, but too late. He knew it and stopped.

I smiled at him and said, "We were just talking about you." I stood up. "Drop the weapon, Chump." I was pissed, mostly at myself for almost blowing it.

He dropped the weapon and within minutes I had him humping one of the other table legs. I didn't need any more from these two so I taped their mouths. Two table legs left; one for the driver and one for the guard I'd left outside. I had other ideas for Bartholomew, Kellen and Bonafini and hoped they would be here soon so we could get this settled.

I spoke into my microphone, "I hope you're enjoying the show, Aaron." I knew he'd heard everything that had gone on. I was happy he hadn't interrupted me while I was busy subduing the guards.

"Sounds like you have everything under control, as always."

"Aaron, I'm going to conduct a test on the guard's radio to see if anyone else is out there, so when you hear me holler help, don't let it worry you."

I went over to the end table, picked up the walkie-talkie and pressed the talk button. I mumbled, "Come back." I love that CB talk.

There was no response so I pushed the button again and yelled, "Help me." Nothing. I picked the remote off the floor, shut the TV off then walked over and flicked off the lights.

With the goggles over my eyes, I walked back to the couch and ducked behind it, keeping my eyes on the doorway. Ten minutes went by and no one appeared so I felt confident that there were no other guards.

I pushed the night glasses to my forehead, turned the lights back on and went outside to get the other guard. He was now humping the third leg.

# Chapter 51

I decided to explore the house and spoke to Aaron, "I'm going to have a look around the house so why don't you stay put until I've finished."

"Okay, Jake. I'll keep watching for the limo."

I left the room and walk up the hallway to the kitchen. I wasn't concerned about using the lights so I flicked the wall switch and looked around the kitchen. It was huge, like the house, and I wished I had one like it. Requisite center island with hanging pots, burners and sink. Tons of cupboard space, cupboards with glass doors, two ovens and a large, black sink to go with the other black appliances. I could do some serious cooking in here.

Leaving the lights on, I crossed the room and went through a doorway into the dark. I found a round switch, obviously a dimmer, and turned it on. This would be the conference room, judging by the papers and laptops on the large mahogany table. It was oval and eight leather cushioned chairs surrounded it. Three were pushed back waiting for their users to return from their evening of gambling.

I sat in the one closest to me and rolled myself up to the table, where a computer was positioned. It was on and I moved the mouse that was attached to it. The screen saver disappeared and a picture replaced it.

I almost fell off the chair. My God, I thought, it can't be, but it was. A much younger President of the United States was sitting, almost lying, on a wooden porch swing, naked from the waist down and receiving oral sex from a scantily clad woman. The woman looked to be in her early twenties, but who could be sure with her face all contorted like that. "Holy shit," I muttered.

"What's the matter?" asked Aaron.

"In a second," I said.

I hit enter and a new picture came on. In this one the president was performing cunnilingus on the same woman, who was now sitting on the swing, while another woman was on the floor sucking on his horn.

I hit enter again. Same players, different setting. They were all naked and in bed, the president fucking one of the women in the missionary position while licking the other between the legs as she straddled the prone woman.

I hit enter. "Jesus H. Christ!" I exclaimed.

"Jake. Tell me what's going on or I'm coming up."

"That's a good idea, Aaron. I'll meet you out front."

"I'm on my way."

It would take five minutes for Aaron to get here. Time enough for me to gather the evidence and take a quick look around. I unplugged and closed up the three laptops, then gathered them up, along with one cord and the notepads at each computer, and took them to the front door. After setting them down, I raced up the stairs, turning lights on as I went, checking each of the bedrooms and bathrooms. Nothing. Until I entered the closet of what appeared to be master bedroom.

It was a walk-in and I found what I was looking for behind the many pairs of shoes. The guy was as bad as Imelda Marcos, for crying out loud. It was a small, free-standing safe and, what do you know, it wasn't bolted to the floor. It was heavy, maybe a hundred pounds, but I hoisted it up and I carried it downstairs.

A car was pulling into the driveway as I struggled down the cement steps with the safe. I hoped it was Aaron. The car screeched to a stop and Aaron jumped out and came, at a trot, to help me. I gasped, "Excellent timing, Partner."

Aaron grabbed one side of the safe and we walked it to the rear of his car and set it down. "More evidence?" and he opened the trunk.

"I certainly hope so. Do you know a good safe-cracker?"

Together we lifted the safe into the trunk and he responded, "As a matter of fact I do."

He started to close the lid, but I stopped him and said, "One minute," and raced back up the steps. Seconds later I was back with the laptops, notepads and cable. They went into the trunk with the safe. I closed the lid and offered, "Wait until you see this evidence."

"I can't. Are we leaving now?" He sounded hopeful.

Then I said, "You are. Go back to your surveillance spot and call me when limo is on the way." He started to say something, but I raised my hand and said, "I appreciate your offer to be with me when I confront these men, Aaron, but you now have the most damaging evidence I have and I don't want them to know where it is. If something goes wrong, you can get the information to the FBI and stop these people from carrying out what might be the ultimate blackmail scheme."

I grabbed a deep breath and he asked, "What would the ultimate blackmail scheme be, Jake?"

Quickly I answered, "Having the president of the United States in your pocket. I'll explain later."

He didn't ask me to explain, but did ask, "Now that we have the stuff in the trunk, why don't we leave and negotiate from a distance. Much safer, don't you think?"

I didn't even need a second to think about it and answered, "First of all they have Heather. I need them to negotiate her release and I don't want to wait for phone calls. I want to deal face to face. Also, I've found out that the driver of the limo might be the one who killed my friends in Wisconsin. Need I say more?"

He asked nothing, for which I was thankful, and climbed into the still running Lexus. Aaron looked at me through the open window and said, "I'll be here in a flash if you need me." He shifted the car, drove around the circular drive and out to the road. I watched the tail lights disappear and went back into the house to wait.

# Chapter 52

"Jake, they just drove by. Want me to follow them up?"

I thought about it for a second then said, "Stay put until I tell you they've arrived. Then drive to within half a mile of the house and park. I'm hoping it won't be necessary to expose you to this group. Better if you can remain anonymous."

"I'll be waiting."

Me too, I thought, and hurried out the front door, down the steps and into the tree line that butted up against the driveway on one side. The illumination thrown off by the porch light allowed me to forego my night goggles. Waiting behind the three foot thick trunk of a Ponderosa pine, I thought about the limo's driver, Jeff. Murderer of three friends. It would take all of my self-control not to shoot him on sight. Maybe he'd give me a reason. The thought of it brought a smile as I watched the limo turn into the drive.

The limousine was long and black. Not one of those stretch kind, just your ordinary Cadillac limo. It stopped five feet past my position. The driver got out and started toward the back doors of the limo, probably to open them for his passengers, but they were opened from inside. Three men got out and headed for the steps. The driver waited for them to pass then he followed. They all stopped on the steps, Kellen standing a step above the other two and said something I couldn't hear. Jeff shuffled his feet as he waited for them to continue their ascent.

I stepped onto the driveway and walked behind the limo, approaching them quietly. The driver was paying attention to nothing and the other three were so engrossed in the conversation, albeit one-sided, they paid no attention to my approach. Everything stopped when I said, "Good evening, gentlemen. My name is Tanner. Perhaps you've heard of me?"

Silence. They were lined up, one on each step, and the three amigos continued to stare in my direction. With the light behind them, I couldn't see their faces, but I had no trouble envisioning the expressions. The driver's body language was entirely different and he's the one who answered. After all, his responsibility was to protect the people he had been driving. That was my take, anyway. He asked, "What do you want, Tanner?"

My .357 was pointed at the driver and I said, "First, I want each of you to put your hands above your heads. Just like in the movies." They complied, immediately. "Now, when I give the order, be good little soldiers and march into the house and go directly to your conference room. Once there, I want each of you to lean against the right hand wall with your legs spread behind you. Any questions?" There were none and I said, "March."

There was a brief hesitation, then they all turned and walked, single-file, into the house. In the conference room they assumed the position and I thoroughly searched each man. Jeff had a gun, the others didn't. When I was finished I moved to the doorway and ordered, "Kellen, sit at the far end of the table and place your hands on top, where I can see them." The tall man that Aaron had pointed out pushed away from the wall, walked to the chair I had suggested and sat down with his hands on the table. From my position I could see the entire room so I wasn't worried about anyone getting away with anything, like pulling out a gun I'd missed in the search.

"Bartholomew, sit to his left." The shorter, bald man pushed away and took his seat, hands on table as ordered.

"Bonafini, sit at Kellen's right." He also complied.

"Last, but not least, Jeff. Take your seat opposite Kellen." He gave me a surprised look when I announced his name. Knowledge of the other three was understandable to him, but why, or how, did I know his name. His eyes bore into me as he walked to his chair, trying to scare me, but unable to hide the fear he rightfully felt when I returned the glare.

All eyes were on me as I strode across the floor and stood behind Jeff. He was trying to look at me over his shoulder, but I said to him, "Look straight ahead." He did as I'd ordered and I backed up a step. The other three never took their eyes off me and the pistol that was now pointed at the back of Jeff's head.

I looked into each of the three pairs of eyes that were glued on me and said, "I want you to look at this man in front of me. He killed three of my friends. And he did it because you three hired him to do it." I waited for some kind of response, but got none. I took another step back and continued, "You are about to witness what happens when you send an individual, like this one, out on a job. They," and that was as far as I got.

Jeff's hands went between his legs and he pushed, actually threw his chair at me then turned to grab me. He thought I was right behind him but, surprise, I was two full steps away. Too far to reach. The look in eyes, when he realized his mistake, was one to savor. Thanks for the excuse, Jeff, and I pulled the trigger once. He stopped, dead in his tracks, then fell forward. The round had exited through his back and splattered blood, bone and guts on the three people who had instigated this entire matter. It was a good start.

The chair that Jeff had been sitting in was clean so I pulled it up to the table and sat down, paying no attention to the body on the floor next to me or the red pieces of meat and bone covering half the table. The three men remained absolutely still, hands on the table, too shocked to even begin removing the gore that clung to their faces and clothing.

I said, "The man was foolish to try that. I hope none of you are entertaining any ideas about overtaking me and saving your misadventures." They all shook their heads.

Aaron was quiet, too. He had to be dying to ask me what had happened, but I think he knew. Kellen moved his right hand to his face. I shot wide of the mark, the round penetrating the wall behind him. All three ducked their heads and when the ringing stopped I said, "Keep your hands on the table or the next one will be much closer." Kellen pushed back from the table, lowered his head and threw up. His hands never left the table.

Bonafini was the first to speak. It surprised me because I'd begun to think of Kellen as the leader. Maybe he was scared speechless. "What do you want?"

There were a lot of things I wanted from these turds. And I intended to get all of it, but I started with the most important thing. "Your people in St. Paul are holding two of my friends: Heather Rossini and Collette Raymond. I want you to get on that phone," I pointed to the one on the table behind Kellen, "and order their release. When that's done and I'm sure they are safe we'll talk about the other things on my mind."

They were recovering quickly. You didn't move in the circles they moved in if you had thin skin. Move on was their motto. I knew the type.

Kellen turned quickly, grabbed the phone then set it on the table in front of him. "What's the number?"

It was almost chilling to see the 'back to business look' in each face. I said, "Put it on speaker." He did and when I heard the dial tone I gave him the number of Heather's cell phone.

The phone rang twice before it was answered. "Tanner?" It was the same man I had talked to earlier. And like earlier I thought the voice sounded familiar.

I said, "This is Tanner."

"I thought you couldn't get the stuff until tomorrow. Why are you calling back?"

Before I could say anything, the man on my right, Bartholomew, spoke, "Davies, it's Brad."

After a long pause, the man on the other end asked, "What the hell is going on, Brad?"

It was my turn. "I'll tell you what's going on, Darnell. I am holding a gun on your boss and two of his cronies. I just put one of their assistants out of his misery and I'm going to start on them if you don't do as I say." I turned to Bartholomew and asked, "Anything you would like to add, Brad?"

Bartholomew said, "Just do as he tells you, Davies."

"But what about the evidence?"

Bartholomew screamed, "I don't give a fuck about the evidence. Didn't you hear the man? He's holding a gun on us and I can vouch for the fact that he isn't squeamish about using it." He paused. There was no response so he continued, "Now, do as he tells you and do it quickly."

There was no argument from the other two men at the table. No negotiating. Only silence. These three had witnessed a violent death and they had no desire to meet the same end. My departure was all they wanted at the moment. I said, "Put Heather on the phone."

Seconds later Heather answered, "Hello."

"Heather, it's me."

"Jake, what's going on?"

"I'm here with some people who you're familiar with: Bartholomew, Bonafini and Kellen." I had to laugh. "Sounds like one of those limited liability companies." She had no response. I guess she wasn't in the mood to laugh. "Davies is going to give you the key to his car so you and Collette can leave. Ask him for the keys and the two of you get out of there. Take the phone and talk to me as you move out."

I heard her ask for the keys and then she said, "I've got Collette by the arm and we are walking into the garage. There goes the garage door and now were getting into the Lexus." I looked at each of the men, moving the pistol as I met their eyes. I didn't want any of them to change their minds. "Collette's driving. We're backing out." Seconds more, then, "Now we're on River Road, heading for 94."

I said, "Sounds like he took you to his house."

"That's right. Guess he figured you wouldn't go to the police and steer them in his direction. Hey, he was right."

Beautiful. I knew she'd be okay. "Any cars behind you?"

"It's 3:00 AM and we're the only ones on the road. I'll know if anyone is following us."

"Heather, take Collette home with you. Keep her with you until I call back with our story's ending."

"We'll be waiting."

She was greater than great. My companions were staring at the phone and their faces showed they were impressed with this woman. "Bye, Heather."

# Chapter 53

Kellen asked, "You want me to hang it up?"

"Yes," and I began. "In all the confusion and mess," I waved the pistol in the general direction of the mess on the table, "you might not have noticed that your laptops are no longer here." They immediately looked around and under the table then back to me. I continued, "Quite a collection of pictures you boys have. It's not hard to imagine that some very large favors might be granted in exchange for them. I'll just bet there are many more big wheels in your collection. It will be interesting to see who else you've got on the hook." My three companions remained silent. A gun will do that to people.

I said, "Partner, I hope you're getting all this."

Aaron answered, "Loud and clear. You need me yet?"

"Why don't you drive up. Park down the hill from Kellen's. I'll be out as soon as we've finished negotiating."

"See you soon."

To my audience, I said, "This is how we're going to play the game. Play by my rules and everybody gets to live happily ever after." I had their attention. These big money boys always listen closely to deals. Suddenly, I remembered the three goons in the other room. "Let's move to the family room. It's kind of messy in here and I want to be sure your other associates are comfortable."

I followed them through the kitchen and into the family room where I ordered them to sit on the couch. When their backs were to me, I quickly checked the three leg humpers. Still secure. I walked around the couch and leaned against the wall in front of them. The .357 was still in my hand, but now it hung at my side.

I said, "I'll be going home soon, leaving you fellows to ponder the proposition I'm going to make.

When I came to Vegas I intended to kill the three of you and take my chances with the law. I figured it would be easy to cover up your deaths, literally. The desert would do nicely. Besides, with the evidence I could slip to the Feds they wouldn't look too hard for the people who rid the world of vermin such as yourselves."

I was getting worked up and took several deeps breaths to slow myself down. "I'm not a cold-blooded killer like your friend in the other room so as long as you stick to the plan you will be safe. Take my word for it, if I want to kill you it will get done." It was clear they wanted to hear the deal. They were tired of listening to my small talk. "It's simple. You leave me and mine alone and get out of the blackmail and bribery business. I keep the entire scheme under wraps.

If I suspect you're back in the business I will start to feed pictures and information to the Feds and any local officials who might be interested. Then, there's the news media." I let that settle in.

"You'll never spend the money you have, so stop trying to make more unlawfully." I had to do a little pontificating. The thought occurred to me that if they followed my ultimatum to the max, they'd probably be the only billionaires who didn't make some money illegally. Cynical I can be.

Well, here we were, all tied up in the bottom of the ninth. Two outs, bases loaded and the batter stood at the plate with a three and two count; a full count. And I had just pitched the ball. Would the runners advance or would the team be retired. I smiled at my musing and asked, "Sound fair to you, boys?"

Kellen, like the other two, had been watching me closely and now turned to them. The three men exchanged glances, Kellen nodded then turned to me. He said, "You leave us little choice, Mr. Tanner. You have evidence of our business dealings and you have the gun." He picked something out of his hair.

"I can see why you boneheads are so rich. You make the right decisions." I stood and walked over to the doorway where I stopped and turned back to them. They were still watching me. "Suffice it to say that if anything happens to me there will be an avalanche of information released by several different sources. If I get a hint that you are sniffing around the deal's off and I'll be coming around to collect." I thought of my analogy and said, "Be happy I left the game tied." I wondered if they understood.

I hurried from the house, down the steps and stopped at the three cars. I took out a back tire on each with three shots, then ran down the driveway. When I got to the road, I turned and looked back. All three were standing on the deck, watching me as I ran down the hill to meet Aaron. They must have left their help tied up because there hadn't been time to release them. Nice bosses.

Soon the trees blocked any view of me and I continued to walk until Aaron arrived. He turned the vehicle around and after I got in he asked, "Was it a sad good-bye?"

I laughed and said, "I'll miss the lively conversation."

It was his turn to laugh and then the questions came. I was still answering them when we reached I-15 and he asked, "Where to?"

"Take me back to the hotel and I'll check out. If it's okay with you, I'd like to go to your house and talk about the future. Mostly, whether or not I have one."

# Chapter 54

It was 3:00 AM when we got to Aaron's. Too tired to talk anymore, we went to bed. I did call Heather before I crashed. I was happy to hear her sleepy voice. It confirmed that she had gotten away from the kidnappers. I had been confident when I'd talked to her earlier, but it was nice to know for sure. I said, "This isn't quite over, Heather. I think you should take a trip up north for a few days. Until I finalize the deal."

The sleepiness was gone when she asked, "What about Collette?"

"Take her with. She can keep you company until I get home. If these guys have a sudden change of heart I want you gone. I don't think it will happen, but if it does it will happen in the next day or two. Best if we play it safe."

"Where are you going to be?"

"I'll be setting up our protection."

She yawned and asked, "How will I get in touch with you?"

"Keep your cell phone charged and on. I'll call you."

"Okay, Jake. We'll be out of here in an hour. Good luck and I'll talk to you soon."

"Bye, Heather."

# Chapter 55

Aaron and I went to his bank around noon and rented a safe deposit box into which we put two of the laptops and notebooks. The safe was at his house. We both signed the application so either one of us could get into the box.

From the bank we headed to Los Angeles. The talk was non-stop during the five hour trip to LAX. We worked out the details of my insurance plan and caught up on other events in our lives. It was six in the evening by the time we arrived at the airport.

Inside the terminal that housed United Airlines, I purchased a ticket for Des Moines, Iowa, using one of my fake ID's. I didn't want my name showing up anywhere. We said our good-byes and he left to drive back to Vegas. We'd be in touch. I couldn't wait to find out what was in the safe. If it was money, I'd claim some as my fee.

I was fortunate enough to catch the last flight that went non-stop to Des Moines. It didn't get in until one in the morning, at which time I made some calls to nearby hotels and finally found a room for the night. It was two by the time I crawled in and passed out.

In the morning, I caught a cab to the bus depot and bought a ticket for Minneapolis. It was late afternoon by the time the bus arrived. I took a cab to the airport, found my car and drove to the City Inn. I'd go home tomorrow, after I was finished at the lawyers.

It was 10:00 AM when I arrived, unannounced, at my lawyer's. There are six lawyers in the firm so things are a bit more casual than one of those large, stuffy firms. After a half hour wait, I was ushered into his office.

I've known Jim for twenty years and we see each other occasionally outside of business so ours isn't the normal attorney/client relationship. In his office we shook hands and I said, "Been awhile. You're looking good." It was true.

He was thin, balding, an inch or two shorter than me and he seemed to be happy that I was there. "How the hell are you, Jake. And talk about looking good. A little tired, but grand all the same. What's going on?"

"I need to make a change to my will and it involves you."

He moved to the chair behind his desk, pointed to one in front of it and said, "Have a seat and tell me about it."

He didn't need to know any of the details. I said, "I want you to do something for me upon my death." He leaned forward and I continued, "I have a safe deposit box with some items in it that I want you to disperse. The instructions will be in the box so no need to put them in the will. I'll work it out with the bank so you will have access when I die." I thought about it for a second then asked, "Can we make the change right now?"

He sat back, his face all serious looking and said, "Sounds very mysterious, Jake."

Why lie. "It is mysterious, Jim. And that's the way it's going to stay until I die. Okay with you?"

He took my meaning and stood up. "Stay right there and I'll have the addendum typed up for your signature." He left the room and returned in five minutes. He was holding a sheet of paper which he handed to me. "Read this. See if it's what you want."

I read it and said, "Exactly what I wanted. You do nice work, Jim."

He called in his assistant, the notary and another person to witness the signing. It was all over in five minutes. Jim and I were alone now and he asked, "Are you sure about leaving me in the dark?"

I said, "Everything will be explained when you open the box. Hopefully all of this will prove unnecessary. I'll get you a key so you won't have to look for mine after I'm gone. You will probably have to stop at the bank to sign an application. I'll arrange it."

Jim shook his head. He knew there was no sense in trying to talk any more details out of me. "Such morbid talk on this beautiful day. How's the rest of your life been, Jake"

We talked for ten more minutes then I left for the bank, where I deposited the third laptop and the instructions to Jim, which I'd written up on the bus.

It was just after noon when I left the bank and got into the SUV. I thought about the week that had gone by since I received that call from Donny. The thought that this case would never be over as long as I was alive did nothing to cheer my day up, but I wasn't going to let it drag me down. It was a beautiful day. The kind of day that was great for a drive.

I took my phone out and dialed Heather's number.
PART TWO

# Chapter 56

The weather reminded me of those phony snowfalls in the movies. The flakes were huge and fell slowly onto my windshield as I poked along Interstate 494, heading toward my townhome. I had just left the Rooster, which was packed with people who had been let out of work early because of the storm. You'd think they would go straight home, but not when there's a chance to party in the early afternoon. I joined in for a few rounds as the snow continued to come down. When I finally started home there were four more inches on top of the six that had already fallen since 9:00 this morning.

The highway was a virtual parking lot. I had the radio tuned to a channel that catered to those of us who enjoy listening to a mellow voice and keeping us in touch with local and world happenings. Who needs a lot of music and commercials or some obnoxious moron spewing his or her personal knowledge, or lack of, on every subject their callers ask about. At any rate, the traffic was stop and go, mostly stop, and with five miles left to my exit I figured it would take half an hour to get there.

My mind began to wander from the news. Like many times over the past four months, I thought about the events of mid-September. The frequency of these thoughts had decreased but they were never far from my conscious mind. My relationship with Heather had evolved to one of love and respect, with a good bit of loving I might add, and when we're not working we are with each other.

I don't get to my town house but once or twice a week to pick up mail or a piece of clothing that's not already at her house. We have become very close and have even talked about moving in together. I would have laughed at the idea four months ago. Even two months ago. But Heather is a woman of many talents, the most important of which is getting along with me. Not an easy job. She claims that it's my ability to put up with her that has led to our beautiful romance. Whatever it is, the chemistry has worked and it get better each day.

Heather was working a bit late tonight, despite the storm, so I planned to pick-up the mail and stop at the store for groceries. I was going to cook spaghetti and meatballs, which is one of my specialties. A little wine, soft music, great food, the warmth of a log fire............ who knows what else might happen. It would be a lovely evening if we got home at a decent hour. The storm, however, was conspiring against us.

My thoughts turned ugly as the scene in Vegas replayed itself for the umpteenth time in four months. I was still edgy about the standoff between myself and the Three Bears, as I now think of them. I don't consider myself to be Goldilocks, but the analogy could be made. Even though I have a shitload of evidence that could put the Bears away for a long time, I'd give odds that they've found time to plot against me and anyone associated with me. It has been an uneasy truce, at least for me. I couldn't vouch for the Bears.

I thought about the toll road issue and wondered if Collette Raymond and the others on the original 'bribe' list would vote for the public funding, as they had been partially bribed to do. I didn't know if Bartholomew had continued to pay them, ignoring the arrangement we had worked out in Vegas, or if he had even attempted to contact any of them. The legislature was now meeting and there was already plenty of media attention being given to the matter. The politicians would probably vote on it in February or March and then I would decide whether or not to do any further investigation to see if the "Vegas' agreement had been breached.

My thoughts were continually interrupted by the tendency of my car to slide sideways when I braked. It was getting slipperier by the minute so I tried to pay attention instead of slipping into automatic driving mode while my brain was elsewhere. The drastic change in the announcer voice captured my full attention. "We have just received a report of a shooting in downtown St Paul. According to a reporter on the scene, two men walked into a law office in the Empire Building at 3:30 this afternoon and opened fire with automatic weapons. The police have not released any information regarding any dead or wounded, but several ambulances have left the scene with victims. We hope to have a live report shortly."

"Holy Fuck! That's the building Heather works in.," I yelled to no one. My mind was conjuring up bloody visions and she was in the middle of all of them. I grabbed my cell and punched her office number in. The phone rang several times before it was answered. I could hear voices in the background and, finally, a man said, "This is Officer Gaffney."

Officer Gaffney? At present, I could think of only one reason a policeman would be answering the phone for a law office. With great trepidation I asked, "Officer Gaffney, is this the law office of Anderson, Marstadt and Rossini?"

"Yes it is."

Are you a police officer, Gaffney?"

"Yes I am, sir."

He wasn't volunteering anything. "Would you mind telling me why you're answering their phone?"

He hesitated then said, "There has been a crime committed at this location. At present we are working with the employees to determine what happened."

It was difficult to maintain a level tone. His seeming disinterest and my concern for Heather made me want to scream at him, but it would do no good. So I lied. "This is Jake Tanner. Could I please speak to my wife, Heather Rossini?"

I could tell he covered the mouthpiece and after a short time said, "You will have to come to the scene and asked for Sergeant Manke." His voice had softened. "Shit!" I hit the brakes too hard and slid toward the shoulder. The car stopped shy of going into the ditch. Just what I needed.

He obviously thought I was talking to him and said, "I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not allowed to give any information over the phone."

"I understand, Gaffney. I'll be there as soon as possible." I hung up and threw the phone on the passenger seat.

The next exit was I-94. It would take me downtown and the traffic wouldn't be so bad going that way. I still had to contend with the snow so it would probably take half an hour to get to Heather's office. I worked my way into the right lane and eventually on the exit ramp and onto I-94. The going was glacially slow. Which gave me plenty of time to think about the different reasons for shooting up a law office, but the leading one was revenge. Revenge against me and my friends. Sure, it might sound paranoid to think this was about me, but the fact that I was holding some powerful men at bay was overwhelming my deductive powers. If something had happened to Heather there would be a heavy price to pay.

If the Three Bears were behind the shooting, and I was getting way ahead of myself here, they would have to be sure that I couldn't hurt them with the information I had taken from them. The thought had always been with me, but short of getting into my safe deposit boxes, including the one in Vegas, I couldn't see how they could negate my power over them. So, the shooting must have been by a disgruntled client or random and Heather was fine. This was going to be my theory until I found out differently. Meanwhile I needed to concentrate on getting to Heather's office.

# Chapter 57

It was 6:00 when I parked a block from the Empire Building. There were several police cars and one ambulance, lights flashing, outside the ten story building. Nobody stopped me at the main entrance. It was quiet as I strode across the marble floor to the bank of elevators on the other side of the lobby. No police here. Nobody at all. I punched the up button and was immediately rewarded by a soft bell tone. A door opened and after entering, I pushed eight.

The scene on eight was quite different from the main floor. The lobby was small and reporters were everywhere. Some were giving live reports while others were on the phone or sitting on the floor, typing the story into their laptops. I turned left and walked toward the policeman who was standing guard at the entrance of the hallway that led to Heather's law firm. He stopped me and said, "Sorry, sir. This area has been designated a crime scene so access is limited to the investigators."

Instead of looking at the officer, I kept my eyes glued on an open doorway, twenty feet down the hall. It led to Heather's office. Inwardly I repeated 'She's fine' then said to the officer, "My name is Jake Tanner. I'm supposed to ask for Officer Manke," keeping my eyes on the doorway.

He walked to the doorway I was staring at, talked to someone then came back and said, "He'll be right out."

While I waited, I looked around at the people in the lobby. Several were staring in my direction. I suppose they were curious about the newcomer. Part of the whole story, but nobody approached me. I returned my gaze to the doorway and soon a tall, thin man with graying hair and wearing a blue suit with red tie came through it and headed my way. His look was somber.

He stopped in front of me and held out his hand. "Jake Tanner, I'm Sergeant Manke. Nice to see you again. I wish it were under other conditions."

I searched my memory for a hint of familiarity in the face. There was nothing. I shook his hand and said, "I'm sorry, but there seems to be a lapse in my memory. You said it was nice to see me again. When was the last time?"

He looked at the reporters. A couple were showing some interest in our conversation and he said, "Let's go down the hall and discuss this." He turned and walked down the hall. I followed. We walked past the doorway he'd come out of and entered one that was farther down and on the opposite side. The office was well appointed and good sized. Must belong to one of the partners. He pointed to a chair next to the large desk. When we were both seated, he said, "Jake, we were together at the Academy. Didn't hang out together or anything like that, but we competed against each other on several occasions. You beat me at all of them, including the hand-to-hand competition."

He paused to allow me to redeem myself, but I couldn't remember him. "Sorry, but I'm coming up blank."

"That's okay, Jake. It's probably the shock of hearing about the shooting." He looked at a pen on the desk and spun it with his index finger. After spinning it several times, he said, "Jake, I did some checking with several people in the law office and it seems that Heather was not married." He paused here to see if I had anything to say.

"Sorry about the husband thing, but we are working on that."

"That's what I've been told. So, even though we've been unable to reach her brother, who is listed on her employment application as the person to call in an emergency, I'm going to make an exception to our policy of not disclosing a victim's name before we have contacted the next of kin." he did the pen thing a couple of more times before saying, "I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, but your friend, Heather, was wounded by two men who walked into the office's across the hall and started firing automatic weapons. She, along with two others, was wounded and all three have been taken to Regions Hospital. I don't know how badly she was wounded or what progress has been made at the hospital."

He continued on with other details, but I wasn't listening anymore. I'd been expecting him to tell me exactly what he just did, but it was almost impossible to accept the reality. Heather my beautiful friend and lover. Some asshole had shot her and now she was in a hospital and maybe fighting for her life. It was all I could do to sit there and not bolt from the room. I was thinking about the Three Bears and how they were going to pay for this, if, in fact, they were responsible. My gut told me they were. There would be no more standoff. The rules had changed. But first things first. I asked, "What hospital?"

"She's at Regions, Jake."

"Do you have any idea who did the shooting? Or why?" I had to know if they had any suspects.

He looked at the pen, gave it another spin then looked at me and answered, "The witnesses said one of the men shouted, 'This is for Tommy Wiesner,' then proceeded to shoot up Heather's office, then did the same to the office of one of the junior partners."

"Who is Tommy Wiesner?"

"The other partner, Paul Marstadt, said Tommy Wiesner was a client of theirs. Heather did some work for the corporation that he owned. So when the guy got busted for selling drugs, he asked Heather to defend him. The cops had him dead to rights and he got two years in Stillwater. He was dead a month later. Knife through the heart."

I thought about that for a minute. Manke waited me out. Finally I said, "Guess it's possible." I wasn't going to mention the Three Bears.

He shrugged and said, "I'd like to make a quick check of her house. Just to make sure everything is as it should be. We'll be doing that at the homes of the other two tomorrow. Can you be there to let us in? You can tell me if anything isn't right." He picked the pen up, put it in his pocket and awaited my answer.

I thought about the idea of him snooping around Heather's house, but there was no sense making a fuss. It was something he had to do. I asked, "What time?"

"How does 10:00 AM sound?"

I stood and said, "See you then."

He nodded and I started to leave. I'd reached the door when he said, "Don't worry, Jake, we'll get the assholes who did this."

Without looking back, I gave him a small wave and thought, 'not if I get them first'.

# Chapter 58

It took all of my concentration to get through the snow-packed streets, which were getting worse because the snow was coming down harder. No more light, fluffy stuff floating to the ground. This was beating against my windshield. A blizzard was in the making. With wheels constantly spinning and the car swerving and sliding, I made my way to the hospital, just six blocks away. It took forty minutes.

I found the emergency room nurses' station and convinced a heavy-set nurse that I was Heather's husband. She told me that Heather was in an operating room on the third floor. The nurses' station on three was much quieter and more orderly. A nurse sat behind a chest high counter and I asked, "Can you tell me the status of Heather Rossini?"

She checked something that was out of my view then answered, "She is still in the operating room. There's a waiting room around the corner and I will let the doctor know you're here." Then she asked, "What is your relationship to the patient?"

Although Manke knew that Heather and I were not married, I decided to stick to the husband story. "I'm her husband."

She seemed to be struggling with the next question. Finally she said, "I have some forms that need to be filled out. Would you mind doing that for me?"

As pleasantly as possible, I answered, "She has her own insurance and I know nothing about it." I turned and walked toward the waiting room.

There was one other person in the room. She was reading a book. I sat on the opposite side of the room and took a magazine off the table next to me. I couldn't even concentrate on the pictures let alone read any articles. I threw the magazine on the table and went back to the nurse's desk. I asked, "How do I get to the cafeteria?"

She gave me directions and five minutes later I was waiting in line to pay for the sandwich, chips and soda I'd picked out. It suddenly occurred to me that my concern for Heather had hindered my logic. If the people who shot her were hired by the Three Bears, then I was probably a target, too. I found myself scanning the room to see if anyone was concentrating on me. Paranoia? It has saved my life a number of times, as I've said. I paid for the food and found a seat against the far wall.

Before starting in on my food, I pulled out my phone and called Aaron. There was no answer so I left the cell number. I put the phone back in my jacket and started eating my sandwich, which did not look at all appetizing. I wondered why the Three Bears had waited four months before attacking Heather. And why Heather? Why not me? Had they figured a way to negate the material I had in my possession? Or maybe they had found a way to retrieve it from the safe deposit boxes? I would check that in the morning.

The reason I'd called Aaron was to find out if he was okay and to have him check the box at his bank to make sure the laptops were still there. I couldn't think of how they could connect him to me unless they had broken into my home, checked my personal phone book and investigated him because he lived in Vegas. I hadn't seen any evidence of a break-in, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen. When I called him last September and asked him to meet me at the airport I'd used a public phone, so he wouldn't have shown up on my billing. All this paranoia, again.

In fact, I was so deep in thought I almost missed the page. "Mr. Tanner, please come to the third floor nurses station."

It dawned on me that I hadn't given my name to the nurse and I wondered how she knew it. For some strange reason I did not feel paranoid about this and that worried me. I reminded myself to remain attentive in spite of the fact my mind was on other things. I dumped my partially eaten food and hurried to the third floor.

I stepped off the elevator and saw the cop talking to the nurse. They both looked in my direction and I walked the twenty feet to the station. I looked at them both and said, "I'm Jake Tanner. You paged me."

The policeman looked like a giant next to the short, squat nurse. He said, "My name is Caulfield. Sergeant Manke phoned and told me you would be here to check on your girlfriend."

My ruse had been discovered. I asked, "Why would he do that?"

He answered, "There will be a twenty-four hour guard on Ms. Rossini and the other two who were wounded this afternoon. Manke wanted me to know that it was okay for you to hang around."

"I appreciate that, Officer Caulfield. Next time you talk to Sgt. Manke tell him thanks." I turned to the nurse and asked, "Is there any word on Heather?"She looked genuinely sympathetic when she said, "She is still in surgery, Mr. Tanner. She'll be put in one of the intensive care rooms over there." She pointed to the rooms along the curved wall that surrounded the desks and equipment in the center of the large area where several other people were busily working. With great sincerity she said, "I'll let you know the minute she is in her room."

I thanked them both then turned and walked past the elevators and down the hall. I plopped down in a recliner, leaned back and closed my eyes. Sleep was not going to come this early. What I needed was a beer. I must have gotten lost in my thoughts about Heather because suddenly someone was shaking me, "Mr. Tanner, wake up."

I pulled the chair to its upright position and looked up at the nurse. "Is she okay?"

She started out of the room. "Follow me, Mr. Tanner. I'll show you her room. The doctor is still on the floor so she can tell you the prognosis."

She moved fast and I followed her past the nurses station, around the work areas in the center to the doorway that Officer Caulfield was standing near. He nodded as we entered the room. An attractive woman, thirty-five or so, was checking the equipment that was attached to Heather, where my eyes were now glued. Although it was semi-dark in the room, Heather looked white as the new snow except for the right side of her face, which looked black. I felt extremely apprehensive about the news I was going to receive.

The nurse said, "Dr. Gallatan, this is Jake Tanner. He is a close friend of Ms. Rossini's."

The doctor looked at me and said, "Nice to meet you, Jake. Why don't we sit down and I will explain to you what has happened."

I said, "Thank you, Doctor."

There were two chrome framed, vinyl padded chairs in the corner of the room and after we were both seated she began, "I want to be up front with you, Jake. Heather is in rough shape. She was shot four times: one of the bullets grazed the left side of the head, doing little damage, one punctured her right lung and nicked the right kidney on its way out of her body, which caused a great loss of blood and may have damaged the lung beyond recovery. Another round went through her left shoulder, which,thankfully missed the artery and was easily repaired. The fourth round went through her upper forehead, punctured the right side of the brain and exited the back of the skull. This is the most serious of the wounds. We have stemmed all the bleeding we are aware of and repaired all the damage we can. The seriousness of the total damage to her brain or lung will have to await further tests."

She waited for my questions. I looked over at Heather then asked, "Is she in a coma?"

She sounded surprised and said, "She is in a medically induced coma. This will help reduce swelling in the brain. We may keep her in that state for several days."

I continued to stare at Heather. The large bandage covering the top of her head, the drug induced, peaceful look on her face and the sounds of the intensive care unit, led by the steady beat of her heart, all conspired to create in me a love and hate unlike anything I'd felt before.

"Jake, are you all right?" The doctor was gently shaking my arm.

I shook myself from my reverie, looked at her and asked, "Did you say she would be out for several days?"

"Two day at the very least. It could be three or more, depending on how her brain reacts to the trauma."

I thought about that briefly then stood and said, "Thanks for all you've done and will do for Heather. I won't take any more of your time, Dr. Gallatan."

She stood and said, "I'll be around until 8AM. The nurse will find me if she can't answer your questions." She started out of the room then stopped, turned and added, "We will do everything possible to make sure Heather comes out of this."

I said, "Thank you, again."

After she'd left, I sat back in the chair and watched Heather until my eye lids were too heavy to keep open. I walked to the side of her bed, held her right hand while I stared down at the woman I loved. It was going to be a long time, if ever, before I had Heather back. The fight to come back was going to be tough and I hoped she would win. She'd better. I squeezed her hand as tight as I dared and said, "See your very soon, Beautiful Heather," and left.

At the nurse's station I informed the attendant that I'd be in the waiting room then went to claim my recliner. There was no planning to dwell on because I'd already done that. Now I needed some sleep and the best place was right here. No sense in going out to the cold and snow. I'd wait for the plows to do their magic. The chair was empty and I fell asleep before the back was fully reclined.

# Chapter 59

The morning was beautiful and the plows were, indeed, doing their magic. The snow had stopped during the night and the sun was shining on the white carpet that covered everything. Unfortunately, I had no sunglasses and thought I would be blinded before I got to my car. Fortunately, I had parked in the ramp so there was no snow to sweep or windows to scrape.

Before leaving I'd gone into Heather's room and stood beside her bed. She'd looked so peaceful. It was hard to believe she was close to death. I'd leaned down and kissed her cheek, lingering for several seconds. The nurse had told me that it would be at least three days before they would bring Heather back to consciousness.

I opened the trunk and traded my suede jacket, leather gloves and ankle-high walking shoes for a down-filled parka, choppers and high boots. I put the winter gear in my trunk on the first of October because you never know when it will be needed.

Famished, I drove to a restaurant near the Minnesota Wild's hockey arena on the other side of downtown. By the time I had finished the restaurant's famous Cajun breakfast and drank a pot of coffee, it was after 9:00 and time to go check the safe deposit box at the bank.

The streets had been plowed so the going was okay. Still slippery, though. I parked in the bank's ramp and found my way to the safe deposit vault. I keep the box keys on my key ring in case of an incident like this one.

After signing the slip, I went to my box and pulled it out of the slot. I knew, as I walked into one of the private rooms, that the box was empty and once inside the room I confirmed it.

Aloud, I said, "Well I'll be dipped in shit." The laptop, printed material from Bartholomew's desktop computer and one of the laptops taken from Vegas were gone. The files from Butch's house were also gone. I wasn't surprised. In fact, I expected it because of the shooting. The Three Bears would have to make sure I couldn't hurt them before they carried out any revenge plot.

The fact that they found the box, got a key for it then forged my name to get into it spoke volumes about their resources. They could have gotten the key and box information from the file at my attorney's, which would be my next stop. If they had found my attorney, that meant they had been in my house and I hadn't known it. Since I hadn't been spending much time there, it was certainly possible.

Before leaving the bank I stopped at the clerk's desk and said, "The contents of my box are gone. I would like you to check how many times you've opened it since last August."

She was aghast. After regaining her composure she said, "Mr. Tanner, there are forms that need to be filled out before an investigation can begin. I have them right here."

She began to open a drawer on her right, but I stopped her by saying, "That's okay. I'll come back later and report it." She said nothing when I turned and walked away. I figured she would tell her boss and they would compare the signatures on file to the signatures of anyone who had recently accessed the box. I didn't plan to file any formal charge, but thought they should at least worry about it. After all, they let someone in the box who didn't belong there.

As I left the bank, I wondered what was waiting for me at home. It occurred to me that if I hadn't been listening to the radio and heard about the shooting, I'd have found out yesterday. If there was a surprise waiting for me it would have to wait a bit longer. I had other things on my list.

# Chapter 60

My attorney's office was two buildings away and I took the skyway, which is an enclosed walkway, one floor above street level, that connects most of the buildings downtown. Very convenient and comfortable in the winter.

Jim was in, which surprised me, and came out to get me five minutes after I arrived. Another surprise. From the doorway he said, "Come on in." I followed him to his office and after we were seated he asked, "What can I do for you, Jake?"

No sense beating around the bush. I said, "I stopped to check out my safe deposit box, that you have a key for, and found that it was empty. I'm thinking someone might have stolen the key from your file."

He got up and on his way out of the office said, with confidence, "Easy enough to check. Be right back."

There was talking in the outer office between Jim and his secretary. Then I heard some file drawers being opened and closed, then more talking, then more file drawers opening and closing. It was five minutes before Jim came back and sat heavily in his chair. He sounded shocked when he said, "The file is gone!"

I said, "Kind of what I expected. You can call the police if you want to, but I can tell you the people who did this are pros. I doubt you'll find anything else missing." Jim remained silent. Probably thinking about the ramifications of it all. I interrupted his thoughts. "I just wanted to be sure of my suspicions."

Words finally came out of his mouth. "Jake, I'm sorry. We'll turn this place upside down to find that folder. I can't believe someone broke in here and took it. This building is secure and the door has a deadbolt. Of course, we don't have an alarm system, but why would it be necessary with security downstairs."

I was ready to leave and said, "Call me if you find the file." He followed me through the outer office, apologizing all the way. He wasn't going to find the file.

# Chapter 61

It took just twenty minutes to drive to Heather's house. I would have made it in fifteen if the side streets had been plowed. Besides Heather, my mind was concentrating on whether or not Aaron was okay. I would work on finding him after dealing with Manke, who was sitting in his car awaiting my arrival. I pulled behind him, hoping my car wouldn't get stuck in the mounds of snow that had accumulated along the sides of the street.

We both got out of our cars and met in the middle of the unplowed street. I checked the cars in the area, but they were all snow covered. I didn't think that someone on a stakeout would have waited out the storm in his or her car and not cleared the windshield. I turned to Manke and said, "Winter wonderland, huh?"

"Yeah, I often wonder why I don't live down south." He shook his head in amazement as he looked around at all the white.

"Amen," I said as I pointed the garage door remote control. We started up the driveway and soon we were standing in the empty garage, stomping the snow off our boots. The door leading to the kitchen was wide open. I hadn't seen any footsteps in the snow around the house, so I figured whoever had been in the house was there no longer.

Manke had noticed too and asked, "Do you always leave this door open?"

I shook my head no and he moved ahead of me, withdrawing his pistol from a shoulder holster as he walked through the door. I'd left mine in the car. It's uncomfortable and I didn't think anyone would be here. We entered the kitchen and it was obvious that someone had.

The house wasn't as trashed as it could have been; no ripped up cushions, no tipped over furniture and clothes were still in the closet. But the drawers in all the rooms had been pulled open and their contents thrown on the floor. We hadn't talked the whole time we did the walk though and after checking the last bedroom, I said, "Could have been much worse."

"Yes, it could have been. Do you have any idea what the burglar was looking for?"

I shrugged my shoulders and innocently said, "How the hell would I know?"

He kept his eyes on me and said, "I'm not sure, Jake. But I do know you and Heather were mixed up in those Wisconsin murders. The ones that are still unsolved. I wonder if this and yesterday's shooting are connected to them."

His eyes bore into mine as he awaited the answer. Manke had done his homework since yesterday. My involvement in last fall's murders was obviously a matter of record at the St. Paul Police Department, along with all the other information they had on me. Being a PI and all. I reminded him, "What about the shooter yelling that guy's name. What could that have to do with this?"

Manke licked the tips of each index finger and thumb, like he was going to turn the page of a book, then said, "A ruse. Throw us off the trail." He was excited.

"It's possible," I agreed.

He started downstairs and I dutifully followed. It really didn't matter what Manke came up with because my plans would involve people much higher up the ladder than he was: police chiefs, news reporters, district attorneys and maybe even the U.S. Attorney General. Who knew how high it would go once I blew the lid on the organization.

Back in the kitchen I noticed the answering machine was blinking. I was on my way over to play the messages when Manke stopped me by saying, "Don't touch anything. I'm going to call in the lab boys and see if we can get any prints. It looks like a professional job so I doubt if they'll find anything, but it's worth a try."

I said, "Give me a break, Manke. I'll be cleaning up that fingerprint powder for a month. Can't we just agree there won't be any strange prints and let it go at that?"

"Not likely, Jake."

He went back through the garage and I hustled to the answering machine and pushed the play button. The first message was a call marketing lawn fertilization for the coming season. I punched the delete button and the next message began, "This is Bradley Bartholomew. Call me at your earliest convenience. I can be reached at: 612-555-4287?" A third message started, but I was busy looking for a paper and pen while repeating the number out loud. I found them in a drawer near the phone and quickly wrote the number down and put it in my pocket. The third message ended and the machine announced, "End of messages," and went silent.

I walked into the living room and looked out the front window. Manke was still in his car so I went back to the answering machine and punched play. I wanted to make sure I'd written the correct number down. After deleting the first message, I listened to the number again. I'd written the last two digits backwards. A bit of dyslexia in my old age, I guess. I corrected the number, put it back in my pocket and listened to the first part of the third message to make sure I hadn't missed anything. It was another marketing call and I hit the delete button to skip the rest. Back in the living room I watched Manke get out of his car and remembered that I had forgotten to erase the messages. Hurrying back to the kitchen I hit the delete button and a voice said, "Messages deleted."

Manke came in from the garage and asked, "Are you talking to yourself or did you ask me something."

Quickly I asked, "Are the lab people on the way?"

"Be here within the hour. I'll ask them to be gentle." He smiled as he looked around the kitchen.

I said, "If you don't need me anymore, I'm going back to the hospital."

"No problem. By the way, do you have a cell phone I could reach you on in case something develops and I need to ask you a few questions."

I gave him my home and cell numbers and said, "You know, Sarge, if this does have something to do with the murders last fall, whoever did this might have done the same to my house."

He seemed to think about it for a few seconds then said, "You may be right, Jake. Can you put off the hospital until the lab people get here and we'll go to your place?"

After hearing the message from Bartholomew, I was sure it would be safe to go home and get some things, But better be safe than sorry. "That would be fine. Maybe you should have a patrol car meet us. Just in case."

He thought that was a good idea and when the lab boys arrived, along with the patrol car that Manke had called for earlier, he had the newly arrived policeman call in to have another squad meet us a my house.

We arrived at my house fifteen minutes later. Except for the different floor plans of our homes, the mess was identical to the one at Heather's. Manke went to his car and did the phone thing and I checked the answering service. One message was left. It was from Bartholomew. No need to write the number down, It hadn't changed.

I talked Manke into letting me pack some clothes and toiletries before the gang arrived and then I was off.

# Chapter 62

I stopped at one of those cell phone stores. Twenty minutes later I walked out with a new phone and number. Amazing. I was almost positive that no one had been following me, but you never knew if someone was listening. By getting the new phone, I'd made it harder for whoever to eaves-drop.

Next stop, airport. It took some time, as it always does, to find a parking spot and after ten minutes I did. I decided to leave my guns in the car because I wanted to carry my bag onto the plane and besides, I didn't think there would be any trouble in Vegas. After all, I was only going to visit the bank, pick up a laptop and fly home.

There was a flight leaving for Vegas in two hours and I used a legitimate ID and credit card, in another name, to book a first class seat. A man in my position has to have several identities to survive. I used my old cell phone to call the hospital, only to find out that everything remained the same. At least Heather's condition hadn't deteriorated.

The next call I made was to Bartholomew. He answered, "Hello."

"Jake Tanner here. You left a message at my home." There was a lot of anger in my voice.

He sounded delighted, a ruse I was sure, when he said, "And at your girlfriends. By the way, how is she?"

I held my anger in check. "What do you want?"

He got right to the point. "The party is over, Tanner. You have something of ours and we want it back. Simple as that."

Just hearing the voice got my hackles up. "Here's what is simple, Bonehead. You and your buddies broke our agreement. That means I'm free to do what I want. How's that for simple?"

It took him a few seconds to respond. "My advice would be to give us the laptops and we'll call it even. Nor more shooting or scare tactics. Everyone goes back to their own lives."

"That's just about where I was until yesterday. I should have taken the three of you out at our last meeting. I won't make the same mistake again."

He sputtered, "Look, Jake. Let's not let this thing get out of control. Give us our equipment back and everything's forgiven. Call me in two days, we'll set up a meeting."

Everything's forgiven? Don't let things get out of control? Was this guy for real. They shot Heather. I could see no reason to continue this conversation. I said, "Fire up your lawyers." I pressed the disconnect button and turned the phone off.

I used my new phone to call my mother, who lives in Santa Barbara, California and my brother, in St. Paul, Minnesota. After explaining the situation, they both agreed to take a vacation for a week or so. I gave them my new number and told them to call me in a couple of days, when I'd know more about where I stood. After the attack on Heather, who knew how far The Bears were willing to go. I didn't think there were any limits.

# Chapter 63

The flight began boarding at 4:45 and at 5:15 PM we were airborne.

The plane touched down at McCarran International Airport in Vegas at 5:50 PM, too late to visit the bank and check the safe deposit box, so I called and reserved a room at the MGM and went outside to catch a cab. It was a short trip and by 6:30 I was in my room. The bank wouldn't be open until nine so I decided to walk the strip and get a up-close look at all that was new since I'd spent any time there. My last time in Vegas, 4 months ago, was not for sightseeing.

I gambled at Caesar's and The Flamingo for old time's sake and did a little gawking at the unbelievable 'resorts' that now lined Las Vegas Boulevard. My neck was sore from it. I felt like a hick who came to see the big city. All very grand. But it was late and I needed some sleep. My head hit the pillow at one or so. I hadn't lost too much at the tables so I fell quickly to sleep.

Which didn't last long. The ringing woke me at two and I finally figured out it was my old cell phone. I had turned it back on when I remembered that I'd left a message for Aaron to call me. Too late, I hit the button. I waited a minute or so and the screen told me there was a message. It was from Aaron. He'd left a phone number which I dialed on my new cell phone. If anyone had been listening on my old number and got the message, I doubted they would be able to hook up to Aaron's number that fast. Unless it was The NSA. Aaron

Answered, "Hello, Jake."

Thanks for calling back at two in the morning. Where are you?"

"Winter Haven, Florida."

I waited, but he didn't say anything more so I Asked, "What are you doing there?"

"Sorry about the late call, Jake. We're visiting relatives and we've been busy all day. Spent most of the day at Disney World then found a great place to drink and dance. I never checked my messages until we got in. It sounded urgent and I wasn't familiar with the number so I called right away. What's going on."

I was fully awake now and explained to him what had happened back in St. Paul and that I was now in Vegas to retrieve the computers. I asked, "Can you think of anything in your records at home that would indicate we rented that safe deposit box?"

"No. I have the key with me and there wouldn't be anything in my files. You paid for two years and kept the receipt. My records will show that I bank at First City and I suppose if they got into that bank's computer system they would find out that you had opened one up and that I'm allowed to use it."

The people who ransacked Heather's house and my townhome had done so because they were looking for the other two laptops. What other reason would there be? I figured that if they came across Aaron's name in my address file they would still have to get someone to break into his home. And if they figured out where he banked, so what. Even if they thought he might have a safe deposit box there they would have to gain access to the banks records. Finally, they would have to get by the security of the safe deposit people. I didn't figure they could do all of that before I visited the bank in the morning. I said, "Aaron, I don't know if they will want to hurt you because we're friends, but let's not take a chance on this. Can you and Liz disappear for a while?"

There was a pause and he said, "Sure can, Old Buddy. Got just the place. It's..."

I stopped him. "I don't want to know, Aaron." I gave him my new cell number and said, "Call me when you get situated and I'll bring you up-to-date." I almost forgot. "I've got some ideas on how to get these assholes, but I'd also like you to think about how we might best use the evidence we have."

"I'll work on it and call you tomorrow afternoon." "Do you mean tomorrow as in Thursday, today, or as in Friday?"

He laughed. "How about Friday morning?"

"Thanks, Aaron. Talk to you then."

"See you, Jake. Keep your head down."

I hung up and smiled, happy to have Aaron in my corner and confident he would come up with something more that we could use to bring down the Three Bears. It took a while, but eventually I went back to sleep.

# Chapter 64

More ringing. This time it was my wake-up call and within half an hour I climbed into a cab, with my small suitcase, and said to the driver, "Flamingo Hotel." I was in my go to the bank clothes, light jeans, short sleeved shirt, blue blazer and dark loafers with socks. It was chilly and I was glad to have the blazer. The Flamingo was only a short distance from the MGM and after handing the driver a ten, I got out and walked into the casino. If someone was following me I would soon know.

I went out one of the doors to the pool area and walked across to the smaller part of the hotel that housed a number of suites. I had stayed in one some years ago. Very nice. Inside the tinted door I stood and watched the door I had just come out of. Five minutes went by and no one came my way so I turned and walked to another entrance on the other side of the foyer. It came out on a side street which I followed until I came to a line of cabs in front of an off-strip hotel. I hopped into the lead cab and said, "First City Bank on Tropicana Boulevard."

"No sweat," and he was off.

Ten minutes later we arrived at the bank. I asked him to wait. Once inside the bank I walked directly to the safe deposit area. I stopped at the counter and a white haired lady asked, "May I help you?"

I'd already taken the key off my key chain and handed it and my driver's license to her. I said, "I would like to get into my safe deposit box."

"Certainly, sir." She sounded very official. This banking was serious stuff. She checked a card file and pulled one out. Then she place a receipt in front of me which I signed and she used to compare my signature with the one on file. Satisfied, she grabbed her keys, handed mine back and said, "Follow me, please."

We entered the vault through a barred doorway which she had to unlock. The walls on either side of us were filled with different size doors, anywhere from four inches up to a foot or so. Each door had two key holes above it. She stopped, checked the numbers on the doors then inserted her key on a lock that belonged to one of the larger doors.

She instructed me to insert my key in the keyhole next to the one her key was in. She turned hers then said, Turn your key to the right," which I did. She opened the door to the compartment that held my drawer and said, "If you want, you can use one of the private rooms in the back." She pointed the way and I could see several partially opened doors. "When you are finished, return the drawer to the compartment and lock the door. Ring the bell next to the gate when you're ready to leave. Any questions?"

I said, "Not at the moment. Thank you."

She left and I pulled the drawer out of its resting place. It was heavier then I remembered. Inside the small room I placed the box on the desk and pulled the top up. The two laptops were sitting on top of something in the bottom half of the drawer. I lifted them out and looked under an opaque piece of plastic that was under the laptops and nearly fell over. The rest of the drawer was filled with cash. I took out the first row of bundles. The wrapper on each bundle was marked, $10,000.00. There was another row which made a total of twenty bundles, $200,000.00. Aaron hadn't told me about the money. Wanted to surprise me, no doubt. It must have come from the safe we commandeered from Van der Kellen's last summer. I locked both laptops and three bundles of money, except for a few hundred that went into my pocket, into my suitcase and returned the drawer to its compartment. Shortly after I rang the bell and the nice lady let me out of my cage.

Outside the bank, as I walked to the waiting cab, I spotted a red Corvette parked on the street, about five cars back of the cab. Even though I didn't have a clear shot of the person behind the wheel, I would bet some of my new found money that he was one of the characters I had tied to the pool table. He made no move to get out and approach me and he was wearing sunglasses so I couldn't tell if he was eyeballing me, but his movements gave his anxiety away. If one of Kellen's goons was watching Aaron's bank, it was a safe bet that his house had the same mess as mine and Heather's.

Inside the cab, I pulled a hundred from my pocket and handed it to the driver. I said, "See the convertible that is parked a few cars back?"

Without looking, he answered, "I've been watching the idiot. Can you imagine having the top down in this freezing weather? Why, do you want me to lose him?" He looked at me, a big smile plastered on his face.

"As a matter of fact I do. And after you lose him take me to a K-Mart or Wal-Mart." He turned his attention to the front and wasted no time losing our tag-along.

The guy tried, I'll give him that, but he was no match for the cabby. I think my driver had the entire route fixed in his mind when he left the curb. Between all the turns and running a few red lights, he lost the Corvette in five minutes.

An hour later, after a quick shopping spree at Wal-Mart, the cab pulled in front of a small hotel near the airport. They had a room that I paid cash for then I went out and paid the cabby. He wished me luck and took off.

In my room, I called Southwest Airline and booked a flight to Dallas. Then one to Minneapolis/St. Paul International, both first class. Hell, I was rich. I used an alternate ID for which I have a legitimate driver's license and two valid credit cards. The two flights, my fake ID along with the disguise I would soon be wearing should get me back home without discovery. Maybe the next time I leave Vegas I will be able to go directly home.

I emptied the contents of the Wal-Mart bag onto the bed. It included underwear, jeans, a couple of long sleeve shirts and a costume make-up kit which consisted of fake mustaches and beards. It wasn't going to be a great disguise, but with the ID and the fact that I was taking a flight to Dallas I figured the ploy would work. The mustache and beard looked real, the Vegas baseball hat fit well and the Dallas Cowboy sweatshirt fit right in with the plans. I called down to the desk and asked them to call me a cab.

# Chapter 65

At 11:00 that night I arrived at the St. Paul/Minneapolis International Airport and soon I was in my car and heading for St. Paul. I was still wearing the mustache and using the alias of Bob Meiers when I checked into the Embassy Suites, located across the freeway from Region's Hospital. After I'd settled in my room, I called to see how Heather was doing. She wasn't. Still in a coma. Maybe tomorrow she'd be awake. C'mon, My Sweet Heather, you can do it.

After showering, I went immediately to bed. I was half awake when the phone rang. It was my wake-up call. Used to be a live person was there to say, "Good morning." Now it's a recording or nothing. Progress.

The hotel was perfect for what I was planning to do over the next day or two. It had a good restaurant, free happy hour with food and drinks, two good-size rooms, free Wi Fi hook-up with printer rental and it was close to the hospital.

It was Friday, which was fine because I figured to be scouring the information on the laptops all weekend before finalizing the demise of the Three Bears. I cleaned my face off, took a shower and donned a clean pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. I threw the dirty stuff in the laundry bag and dropped it off on my way to the free breakfast. I passed the pool and Jacuzzi thinking I might try them this afternoon.

Back in the room I set one of the laptops on the desk and plugged it in. Then I hooked up the printer I'd rented from the hotel. The computer screen was showing a box asking for the password.

One of the items that Aaron had left in the safe deposit box in Vegas was a small notebook with information that Kellen kept in his safe, the one we heisted from the house. I had seen in the book several items marked password and user name. I hoped they worked or my plan was not going to work well.

I input the password and Bingo! I was in. I counted the icons on the screen and came up with sixty-four, which in my limited experience seemed like a lot. Many had numbers for identification but most were in plain English. It was all new territory and I had plenty of time so I started at the left.

The first one was numbered 1234, which I thought was pretty original. I clicked on it and up popped a list of countries, followed by a number of cities within that country. At least that's the way the outline was set-up. I did recognize a few cities as being in those countries they were listed under. I was pretty sure London was in England and Paris was in France. Cities like that.

I clicked on London and a list of fifteen names appeared. Each name had a slash sign after it then an abbreviated designation like; gov't., bank, manf. or nothing. Physical address and e-mail address were noted. Nothing happened when I clicked on the names. End of road.

The next icon was 1235. It had four continents listed: Africa, Asia, Australia and Europe. I chose Europe and a map appeared. It showed the outlines of the various countries, along with the country's name and several cities were shown within each of them. I clicked on Switzerland and there appeared a ton of information about it: Economy, type of government, size, population, gross national product and anything else you needed to know about a country if you wanted to invest, move, visit or bribe an official there. Click on a city and information about it appeared. That was it for this folder. On to the next icon.

The number was, of course, 1236. The file was similar to the ones I'd seen on Bartholomew's computer. It was a listing of the names from the first file, but this time when I clicked on a name an entire page, listing specifics about that person, i.e., sex, age, height, weight, color of hair, color of eyes, color of skin and so on. Some even had a picture of the individual.

After the personal stuff came the interesting items: How much the person was getting paid, what they had done to get themselves into this mess, i.e.; extra-marital sex, homosexual activity, theft, murder etc. I looked at the names and recognized some from news reports I'd seen and read over the past twenty-odd years. And this was only the international stuff.

The next file was 1237 and the last of the 123 series. This contained information about operations that were fixed or helped along by some of the people listed in the previous file. I looked at several that involved a building contract to rebuild a bridge in Rome, government contracts for maintenance of facilities and roads in Bombay, a transportation issue in Montreal and a deal to run a prison in Mexico. One thing I noticed about these events was that they all had taken place in the last three years. So this part of the operation appeared to be relatively new and it was very interesting in that it gave me a feel for what these guys were all about, but I wanted to see what was going on in this country. I hoped the next series of icons would be just that.

This group, which also contained four icons, beginning with 2234 and ending with 2237. Same as the first series except for the first number. I clicked on the 2234 icon and up popped a list of states in the US and after many of the states there were cities listed. As in file 1234, when I clicked on a city a name or list of names appeared. The larger cities had more names listed. Made sense to me. Nothing happened when I clicked on the names. This file was probably used for quick reference, or overview. Many of the names were familiar to me. They were national figures, representatives, senators, judges and other people of similar stature. I was thinking ahead to file number 2236. That would be interesting.

File 2235 was the map. It highlighted cities in many states. Some states had no cities shown. Clicking on a city brought up the names of people from the first list. I assumed this was where these people lived because all of the names I recognized worked in Washington, DC.

File 2236 was more than interesting and more than I'd expected to find. If all these people were 'on the payroll', and it looked like they had no choice, then The Three Bears were a huge force in the nation's capital.

I don't remember a time in my life when my reaction to anything would have been described as flabbergasted, but this might be one. Congressional bills, presidential actions and even Supreme Court decisions were listed. All three branches of the federal government.

These national actions, and we're talking about headline stuff here, involved billions of tax payers dollars and the files I was now looking at were evidence of a network that was considerably more sinister than your run-of-the-mill lobbyist group. Names, from the previous file, appeared at the end of each incident and I assumed these people were instrumental in each event. I would be using this file to its fullest in the coming days.

I was still shaking my head in amazement when I looked at the alarm clock on the table next to the king-size bed. Two o'clock in the afternoon and I was hungry. The restaurant was on the main floor and I purposely walked down the eight flights to get the circulation back in my legs. This sitting for long periods was for the birds. Unless, of course, it was bullshitting with the guys at the Rooster. That was different. Besides, you got exercise getting up and going to the bathroom every half hour.

The restaurant was nearly empty and half an hour later I was back in the room.

# Chapter 66

The last set of numbered files began with 3234. This file listed major metropolitan areas in the U.S. I clicked on St. Paul/Minneapolis and up popped a list of names that included those people who were on the list in the black case that Walt Anderson had found last summer. There were several other names that I was unfamiliar with.

The next three files, 3235-3237 were laid out the same as the other sets. When I finished with them it was five o'clock and that meant the free happy hour had begun. Couldn't miss that.

I checked with the hospital and talked to Heather's brother. We'd met at Christmas. He told me that the guard was still there and that the other two victims of the shooting had been released from the hospital. Heather was still on the drugs that were keeping her out and the doctors had decided to keep her on them for a day or two longer. I told him I was out of town on business and would be back Sunday or Monday. He was going to stick around until Heather came out of her coma. He didn't sound happy, and it brought me down, too.

On my way downstairs, I thought about the last three days since I'd heard the radio announcement about the shooting at Heather's office. Thinking about the files and about the Assholes who were in charge of the whole thing, caused my sadness to slip away and be replaced by an anger that burned in the pit of my stomach. I hoped that the work I did this weekend would get this entire matter out of my hands and in the proper ones. It was my hope that the ball would roll downhill after that. A couple of beers, I thought, would be good for my morale.

I came out of the stairwell and walked to the area that was used for free breakfasts and happy hours. I ordered a beer then moved to the end of the bar and was soon talking to a guy from Michigan about the Big Ten basketball teams. I didn't have much to say on the issue because in Minnesota we don't have very competitive teams and if we do it ends up that someone did something wrong.

He, on the other hand, couldn't say enough about the football and basketball program at Michigan. They always seemed to be contenders. I don't follow it close enough to know any players names. Another guy at the bar joined in then and he seemed to know a lot more than I did so I more or less stayed out of the discussion.

I leaned against the bar and watched the action in the atrium where 'Happy Hour' was in full swing. All of the tables, interspersed amongst all the huge plants and trees throughout the room, were filled with people in serious and not so serious banter. It was a busy place. There was plenty of laughter and I could tell by the way people were dressed that most of them had come directly from work. Hell, the drinks and snacks were free. Why not have a meeting here?

I wondered if any of them were worried about a loved one who was close to death, or how many were involved in a multiple murder case that had international repercussions. I figured I was alone in at least one of those scenarios.

Two glass-enclosed elevators rose and descended through the trees and plants as the customers went to and from their rooms. Through all of the flora, I could see part of the front desk and noticed a man showing something to one of the clerks. He was wearing a pin-striped blue suit and his hair was dark and short. He was taller than the clerk, but was turned at an angle so I couldn't see what they were discussing. The clerk turned and called to someone. A moment later a woman appeared and the man turned toward her. Now I could see the object that he handed her. It looked like a picture and she took it from the man. After looking at it for a minute, she looked up and shook her head no. The man took the item back and put it in his top pocket.

He withdrew a couple of cards from the same area and handed one to each clerk, said something then turned and headed for the front door.

Ten minutes later I walked to the front desk and approached the female clerk. I asked, "How are you?"

She stared at me for several seconds then said, "A man was just here and he was looking for you."

I acted shocked, "How do you know he was looking for me? You don't even know my name."

"He showed me a picture and asked me to call him if you came around."

I asked, "Do you know who he was?"

She reached in her pocket and took out the card. After handing it to me she said, "He offered me a hundred dollars if I called him with any information about you."

I took a wad of bills from my pocket and peeled off four hundred dollar bills. I said, "I'll trade you these for this card and the one your fellow worked received." She called her cohort over and we did the deal.

I went to my room and thought about the ramifications of this latest episode. I took a closer look at the card. It had a bloodhound in the upper left corner, an ear in the upper right and an eye in the lower right. The name Barge Detective Agency was emblazoned in the middle and in smaller letters below the agency's name was written 'Ask and we will retrieve'. Cute. The name Arnold Frazier was in the lower left corner followed by a phone number.

I checked the phone book and found the agency listed. Phone number matched. For whatever reasons, it seemed that The Bears had chosen to use a detective agency instead of their own bozos. They could send in the clowns after I was located.

Back in the lobby, I found a public phone and called the police station. I asked for Manke and the operator gave me his voice mail. After the tone I said, "Sergeant Manke, this is Jake Tanner. I just found out that someone hired the Barge Detective Agency to find me. Find out who hired them and it might give you a lead in Heather's shooting. I'll call later." I hung up and went back to the room.

I couldn't stay here as the two hotel clerks might decide to collect twice, so I packed it up and left. I would call in the morning and have them bill the room to my credit card. Under the name of Bob Meiers, of course. I headed to my favorite hotel, City Inn, which was five miles from the hospital. I didn't think the detective agency would be checking every hotel in the Twin Cities.

After checking in, I ordered a sausage, pepperoni and onion pizza from room service. It was very good.

I set the laptop up and returned to the files. There were no more number files only word descriptions under the icons. Continuing from where I'd left off, I trudged through a bunch of files that were filled with accounting and bookkeeping information. Boring stuff to me, but probably exciting to someone who understood what all the numbers meant. I was keeping a notebook to remind me what was in each file and I jotted down the word 'accounting' for this set of files.

I was half way through the icons when I opened the folder marked 'pictures', which I thought might be interesting. The entire folder contained files of pictures, each marked with a name. Like the previous files, I recognized some of the names. At the bottom of each photo in each file was a date, name or names and a location. It was a gallery that any porn enthusiast would be proud of; man with woman, woman on man, oral sex, anal sex, group sex, animal sex and kiddy porn. It was all there, including the one I'd already seen of the president. This file was the final piece to the puzzle that would bring down The Three Bears. Or so I thought.

I got up to go to the bathroom and was overtaken by tiredness. I looked at the clock. Midnight. Time to wrap it up. I'd pick it up in the morning. I brushed my teeth, stripped, turned out the lights and got under the covers. There was no fitful tossing and turning or thinking about my plan to eliminate The Bears. My head hit the pillow and I was gone.

# Chapter 67

In the morning, I went next door for breakfast then returned to the room. I called the hospital on my old cell phone in case someone was tapped into the hospital's lines. Only to find out the situation was the same. It was now Saturday, which meant that Heather had been on the drugs for three plus days. I'd try to reach her brother later today. He might be able to give me a clearer picture of Heather's prognosis.

Back to it. Each of the next twenty icons that I looked at described future projects in different locations around the country. There were light rail contracts being bid on in three states, sewer replacement in ten cities, five federal contracts seeking bids to build new government offices and two counties needed bridges built. The files contained all the information needed to bid the jobs, including a dollar figure, which I figured was the amount bid by The Bears, and the company that was doing the bidding, which would be the company that hired The Bears to fix the bidding.

I had written the amounts of each contract in my notes. The total exceeded three billion. I did a quick mental calculation and came up with over three hundred million at ten percent. Ten percent was a guess on my part, but it seemed like a reasonable fee to guarantee a contract. It might have been more or less, but the result was definitely a large number. Especially if you figured they wouldn't be paying any taxes on it. By noon there were only five more icons to look at so I decided to forego eating until I'd finished. Ice water and some chips from the machine down the hall would have to do.

The next four icons consisted of miscellany; Casino plans, saved e-mail, address and phone directory, including the 'company' chain of command and a file of pictures that appeared to be of a family sort. Certainly they were unlike the other picture file. I assumed it was Bonifini's family because he was in a few of the pictures. The other Two Bears were not. Therefore this must be Bonifini's laptop. Those powers of deduction again.

The last icon was icing on the cake. Up to this point there was enough information to proceed with my plan, but there would be a lot more note taking and cross referencing of the files and folders before I could put everything together. This file was going to make the going much easier.

Bonafini had kept a log, going back eight years, of all the bribes they had paid, for what jobs, to whom and when they were paid. It included net income for each job. "Holy Shit!" I said under my breath. "Motherfucker!" I said much louder. The money was astronomical. Billions in untaxed dollars. This folder and the files in it would direct me to the names and places I would need. The was unbelievable.

Of course, there was nothing substantial to link Bartholomew, Kellen or Bonafini to all of this, at least that I could see, but that wasn't necessary for my plan to work. People's fears and instincts to survive were going to fuel the strategy I had in mind.

My stomach was growling. I decided to eat at another restaurant, where I could also make a few phone calls on a public phone and digest what I had learned. I had tonight and all day Sunday to initiate my plan and I needed energy. Better grab a six pack while I'm out, I thought.

After eating, I phoned the hospital. Heather's brother was not around so I talked to the nurse on duty. She told me that Heather's doctor was going to continue the drugs for at least another two days. The swelling had stopped and was beginning to recede, but not at the rate expected.

Next I called Manke. No answer so I left another message and went for the six pack.

# Chapter 68

Thirty minutes later I was back in the room composing an e-mail that I intended to send to those chosen. By eleven o'clock I had the final draft typed on the computer. It read:

I am in possession of a file that indicates you have been blackmailed and/or bribed into using your influence to win large contracts for certain companies and individuals (see attached file). The people who are using you and others must be stopped. I am asking you to step forward and tell your story before the local authorities contact you. Three days from the date of this e-mail I will be sending a copy of this letter and the attached file/pictures to the prosecuting authority in your area. I am confident this will be enough to warrant your prosecution. In all likelihood it would be in your best interest to give yourself up and volunteer information about the people you have consorted with in these matters.

My plan was to not only send copies to the prosecutors, but to the local or national media, depending on the person involved. Thirty seemed like a good number and whether or not anybody came forward of their own volition didn't matter. The follow-ups would guarantee a large audience. One that the authorities could not ignore. If they did, I would send more to other prosecuting attorneys. Simple as that, right?

Wrong. I had no idea how this was going to play out. I was pretty sure the media would love it. I was confident they would get reporters on it immediately and it wouldn't be long before they would come up with something. There was not much in the files that would lead authorities to The Three Bears, except for the fact that I was using Bonafini's email address, which I had gotten from his email file on this computer. So when I emailed the media, I would put the bug in their ears about his connection to the scams. They could run with it.

Prosecutors loved high profile cases and all of these people were high profile, so it stood to reason that there would be investigations. Especially if the media was after them for information.

As far as the individuals were concerned, I had no idea how many would come forward and confess their sins. It would be their testimony that helped bring The Bears to justice. I figured five of the thirty would come forward in the first three days. Some would wait until the authorities came to the door while others would opt for trial. At first.

It was exciting to think about the possible results of my efforts, but it was after midnight and I was beat. I cleaned up my act and crawled in. Lying in bed, on the edge of sleep, my thoughts were of Heather. She'd always been there, but shoved to the back while I concentrated on the bad guys. After this was over, we were going on an extended vacation to some exotic, faraway place. Maybe Paris. Then I was out.

# Chapter 69

After breakfast I drove to Target and picked up some supplies.

Back in the room I started by setting up a paper file for each person I was going to e-mail. I had selected thirty people from the files. These people were from ten large metropolitan areas in the U.S. and had been blackmailed and bribed. There were five congressmen, fifteen state legislators and ten locally elected officials. I had chosen the cities where these people lived using a file showing the territory covered by each Bear. Spread the wealth. Three in the East (Bonafini): Miami, Pittsburgh and Philadelphia. Three in the Midwest(Bartholomew): St. Paul/Minneapolis, Dallas/Ft. Worth and Kansas City. Four from the West (Kellen): San Francisco, Phoenix, Las Vegas and Seattle.

Now that I'd picked the targets it was time to search the files and folders to determine which ones I would need to attach to each e-mail. I wanted to send one to the president with picture attached(there were several other pictures with the same woman), but there was no file with information regarding any blackmail attempts. I figured they hadn't used the pictures yet or, if they had, the file was in a database not in this computer. If things didn't go the way I planned on the first try, I might fire off an e-mail to the Pres, with pictures attached, just to stir the pot a bit more. A bigger stick couldn't hurt.

By four o'clock I was ready to send. I called to room service and order three beers and a small cheese and onion pizza then started in. By ten I was finished. I would do the same thing on Wednesday when I notified the proper authorities and on Friday when I would e-mail the news people.

The pizza and beer were long gone and I was beat, but it was time to pack up and move to another motel. If and how soon the e-mails I'd sent could be traced to this room I didn't know. Why take chances? I was about to walk out the door when my old cell phone rang. It was Manke.

"Jake, it's Manke. Sorry to bother you so late, but I've been very busy and this is the first chance I've gotten to call you. How's everything going?"

I didn't want to tell him that I'd been hiding out since we'd gone through my house so I said, "I'm fine. Did you find out anything about that detective?"

"The agency is for real but the person that was looking for you is not a detective for their company. They have no idea who it might be." He wasn't done. "What aren't you telling me, Jake?"

Manke was no dummy. And it wouldn't hurt to include him in some of what I was doing. I said, "What is your e-mail address?" He gave it to me and I continued, "I'll send you an explanation after we hang up. There may be people listening in."

"What the hell do you mean listening in? You mean like tapping your phone? I can't wait to get your explanation." Then he said, "If it's good enough maybe they'll keep the guard on your girlfriend."

"Why the fuck would they remove the guard, Manke?" No time for niceties.

"Money. And the fact that the higher ups think this was a onetime thing and the perps have flown the coop."

I calmed myself down. "When are they removing the guard?"

"Tonight at midnight. So I hope your e-mail is enough to convince someone that the protection is necessary."

At first I was hesitant about giving the information to Manke knowing he would have to share it with his superiors, but in two days I was going to inform the authorities anyway so what was the big deal. I didn't think it would screw anything up. The ball was already rolling and the only thing that would stop it was if someone stopped me. I wasn't going to let that happen. I said, "I'm setting up the equipment now. Let me know what you think."

"I'll call as soon as I've read it."

We both disconnected and I got the laptop out and plugged it in. Within minutes, I'd begun a brief explanation of what I'd found out. I attached two files, with pictures, that related to local graft. I was anxious to hear Manke's take on the e-mail.

I repacked the laptop and headed downstairs to check out and find another hotel.

I was in the SUV and heading for the strip of hotels near the airport when the phone rang. "Manke?""I got the mail, Jake. It is a very interesting story your tell. And you say there is much more?"

"A whole lot more. What I sent you is but a small part of the big picture. These people are killers. I've been on the move since I saw you last and if they can't get to me they might make another move on Heather. Can you convince your superiors to keep up the protection until this is over?"

"I think the powers that are will go along." Then he said, "Jake, you said these people were only a small part of a big picture. Is it possible that it could include people in this department?"

"Anything is possible, Sergeant Manke. I'll call you in the morning. I need some sleep and I would suggest you get some, too. You might need it."

I pulled into another Embassy Suites and registered under the name of Bob Meiers. In the room I threw my clothes over a chair, pulled the covers back and fell in. Soon I was fast asleep in the king sized bed.

# Chapter 70

I missed Heather. Like I said earlier, "We'd gotten close in the last four months." Thinking of her in that hospital bed, connected to all those tubes and wires, and me not able to help or even go see her was frustrating. But no matter how much I wanted to help or see her there was no way to pull it off. I was positive the hospital was being watched and this was a critical time in my plan. I couldn't give the opposition a chance to stop me and I was sure they were calling in all favors owed to them. Maybe I was overrating my importance, but I didn't think so.

I'd spent most of the morning researching newspapers and TV stations in the cities where the emails were sent. One of the cell phones rang. It was my old one. I answered, "Hello."

A voice I recognized said, "You should have gone along with the proposition I made to you last week, Tanner."

It was Bartholomew. I shouldn't have been surprised that they knew the number. After all, I gotten a new one because I figured they were listening or tracking this one. But it did throw me for a second. After a moment I said, "You gave me no choice. It was you or me and I've opted for me."

I could hear him breathing. Then he said, "You didn't really think a guard in the hospital would be able to protect her, did You?"

That was about the only thing he could have said to scare me. And it did. Without another word I disconnected and dialed the hospital. I knew the number by heart. The operator answered and I said, "Intensive Care, please."

The phone rang several times. "ICU."

Throughout life I've heard people say, "Don't ask a question if you don't want to hear the answer." Now I know exactly what that means. The nurse repeated herself, "ICU."

I was surprised at how calmly I asked, "How is Heather Rossini doing?"

There was a small hesitation before she asked, "Who is calling, please?"

I said, "Jake Tanner."

Another hesitation then, "I'll connect you to Dr. Gallatin."

The longest minute of my life went by as I listened to several advertisements from the local radio station their system was plugged into. "Dr. Gallatin."

"Dr. Gallatin, this is Jake Tanner. I was calling to check on Heather Rossini's condition and the nurse transferred me to you. What is going on?"

After a pause, she answered, "Jake, I'm terribly sorry. Heather died about one hour ago."

The anger and pain I was feeling seemed to offset each other and I was able to ask, "What happened?"

We took her off the coma inducing drug last night and she was doing fine. In fact there were signs that she was coming out of the sleep state. Two hours ago the alarms went off. Her heart had stopped." I didn't say a thing so she continued. "We did everything possible to bring her back, but it wasn't enough. Again, I'm very sorry, Jake."

I continued in a calmness that surprised me. The emotions would come later. "Do you know what went wrong?"

"Her brother has given permission to do an autopsy. We'll know by tomorrow morning."

There was nothing further to talk about. I said, "Thank you, Doctor," and disconnected.

Part of my brain was attempting to grieve over the news I'd just received. Another part was telling me to move. I'd spent some time on the cell phone and it was possible that someone could figure out where I was. Not the room, but the hotel and that was all they would need. Just a matter of time to find me.

I made myself pack everything into the suitcase, put on my suede jacket and left. I'd call later and tell them to check me out as I didn't want to show my face in the lobby on the off chance the enemy had already found my lair. I slipped out the back entrance and was soon heading west on I-494.

I drove on automatic pilot. Heather was dead and there was nothing I could do to bring her back. Her brother would probably make all the necessary arrangements and I planned to call him tomorrow. Hopefully, the hospital or maybe Sergeant Manke would know where he was staying so I could get a hold of him. The grieving would have to wait. I wasn't good with grief. Anger won the war in my head. I was much better dealing with anger and there were three people on this earth who would soon find that out.

Nothing would be known until the autopsy was finished and maybe not even then. There were poisons that would disappear after they had done the job. Actually it didn't matter what they found tomorrow. The Three Bears were ultimately responsible and I was going to be their judge, jury and executioner. I would continue with my plan to tear their operation apart, but there was more work to be done after that. I don't know how I talked myself into believing a deal could be struck with these assholes. Even if my present efforts resulted in their arrests and incarceration, life would still be spent looking over my shoulder. It was, in fact, them or me.

By the time I'd mentally worked things out I had driven one and a half times around the beltway that surrounds Minneapolis and St Paul. Two hours had gone by and it was now the middle of Monday afternoon. I found a Holiday Inn north of St Paul and checked in as Bob Meiers. The room was decent and the king bed was waiting for me. I dropped the suitcase and crashed on the bed.

# Chapter 71

I woke up at seven o'clock and went out in search of something to eat. I'd missed lunch and hadn't felt much like eating since receiving the news about Heather, but now I was famished. There was an oriental restaurant down the road and I pigged out on the buffet. Back in the room I tried to work on the computer. But all I could think of was Heather.

I watched a little late night TV, dozed off, watched a little more TV and dozed off again. This went on until the sun came up. I forced myself to shower and get some breakfast, but my heart wasn't in in.

I'm not that familiar with grief, but it was the only thing I could think of that could be causing my what, lethargy? Well, I wasn't going to a doctor to get medicine so it was up to me to pull myself out of this.

I had just begun to compose an e-mail to the authorities, the second part of my plan, when it occurred to me that I didn't want to wait around until Friday, which was when the letters and evidence were going to the media. Why wait until then.

The plan was to give the crooks and authorities time to get their shit together before everything became public. Trying to be fair, I guess. Well, circumstances had changed significantly since yesterday and I didn't give a damn about fairness. Heather was gone and I was going to seek another, more exacting revenge on the men who had ordered her death.

I had finished the research on the authorities and media so all that remained was to e-mail them. It would take a good part of the day to put everything together, but this part of my plan would be finished and I could get on to the next phase. First things first though and I forced myself to concentrate on the task at hand.

By three o'clock I had sent the last e-mail out. None of the e-mails I'd sent mentioned the names of Bartholomew, Bonafini or Kellen. The names were not part of the evidence. It was my hope that confessions and researching the evidence would eventually turn up their names. They wouldn't be available for prosecution, but their system would be busted.

There were no rejects of the mail sent and so far I hadn't received any responses from the first batch of mail sent Sunday Night. It was now up to others. I had done my part. Good luck, I thought, then shut the computer off and packed it away.

In the hotel lobby I picked up a newspaper from St Paul and one from Minneapolis. Back in the room I pulled out the classified section of each paper and found the 'Sports and Leisure' classified section.

It's an amazing thing about our country. All this talk about stricter gun laws and gun registration and here in the local newspapers people were advertising guns for sale. There would be no background check, no registering with the authorities and no taxes. Just pay the money and take the weapon.

There were four rifles and two pistols for sale in the Minneapolis paper and two rifles in the St Paul paper. Both the St Paul ones were .30/06's with 8x power scopes. I called the first one and the owner was home. He gave me his address and one hour later I put a rifle, with scope and fifty rounds of ammunition into my trunk. I had paid cash and no one knew that I now owned this rifle.

With my small armory, which now consisted of an Uzi, a .357, a .38, and a .30/06, all purchased in the same manner, I returned to the hotel and called one of the car rental companies. Because it was winter and I would be doing a lot of driving in the coming days, I wanted a four wheel drive. They had a Cadillac Escalade at their downtown Minneapolis facility.

I drove my car to one of the long term parking ramps near the airport and caught a cab to the downtown rental office, rented the SUV(in another name, of course) and went back to my car to load up all my baggage, including weapons. Within minutes I was on I-494 heading east toward Wisconsin.

The hell with Manke, the hell with Heather's brother, the hell with everyone. I couldn't attend the funeral anyway. There would be people watching for me. No, I would visit Heather's grave site after my work was done.

# Chapter 72

It was late Friday morning when I reached Glens Falls, NY. According to the file in the computer this was the city where Aloysious Bonafini lived. The map showed Glens Falls, about fifteen thousand people, was on the eastern edge of the Adirondack Mountains and just south of Lake George. Probably a tourist town in the summer. Of course with the winter sports craze it could be booming now. There was snow on the ground, but the streets were fine.

Last night I had called the number listed in the file and asked for him. The lady who answered called him to the phone, but I'd hung up before he got there.

Actually, I was hoping he'd gone south to the Florida address that was also listed in the file. Get out of the cold for a while. There was a third address, obviously a business one, also in Glens Falls. It was a company called 'Fresh Start'. One would only guess what type of business it was.

I stopped for gas and found out that indeed it was a tourist oriented town. There was a rack of brochures advertising all the summer and winter activities available in the area. I grabbed a couple along with a map of the area then drove to a local restaurant for lunch. The map had all the information I needed to find the business and home of Bonafini.

While I ate, I thought about the trip here. I kept the old cell phone off because I didn't want to talk to Manke or anyone who would use that number. The new one I kept on and had gotten calls from my mother, brother and Aaron. They were the only people I'd given the number to. I had asked them all to be patient and stay put until I called them back. There was no problem with Aaron or my mother, but my brother was a different story. He had the time coming, but he was working on an important project and had to get back. He agreed to stay hidden for one more week.

My e-mail address was still void of any responses to the mail I'd sent. It seemed strange to me that no one wanted to know who I was, or if I had more evidence, or where did I get the information. No questions at all. Maybe they needed more time to sort everything out. I didn't care, but it was almost eerie.

Bonafini's home, unlike Kellen's in the mountains and Bartholmew's on a lake, was in an old money neighborhood. Two and three story homes, many made of brick, and most had hedges that surrounded the large, tree studded lots. There were some homes with gates and walls, but Bonafini's was not one of them. It would make my job easier if, indeed, I did it here.

I parked down from the house and across the street. Behind the house were more trees, not really a woods, because the grounds were landscaped. Through them I could see another house. I had the map on the steering wheel, pretending to study it as though I was lost, while keeping my eye on the surrounding neighborhood. There was no activity. At least not during this time of the day. I'd be back tonight. I pulled away from the curb and headed toward the downtown area.

Bonafini's business, 'Fresh Start', was, of all things, a flower shop. It was located on the main drag, nestled in between an antique store and a restaurant. I found a parking space across the street and settled in to watch. It was a sunny day and the temperature was in the mid-twenties according to the sign on top of a bank on the corner. The traffic was fairly heavy and there were some pedestrians about, so I didn't feel naked sitting in the SUV.

A middle-aged woman was operating the flower shop. For the remainder of the afternoon I watched her make up flower arrangements, wait on customers(all two of them) and answer phone calls. At five o'clock she walked to the front of the store and turned the 'Open' sign off. As she was walking back to the register area a back door in the shop opened and out came Bonafini wearing a black trench coat and carrying a leather briefcase. He stopped and said a few words to the clerk then went out the front door. He crossed the sidewalk and walked to the silver Mercedes parked in front of his shop. Obviously he wasn't worried about customer parking. Unlike Kellen, Bonafini had no bodyguards.

I started the Escalade and pulled away from the curb. At the corner I turned around and by the time I'd come back up the street, Bonafini had pulled out and was heading in the direction of his home. It had been dark for half an hour and there was enough traffic that he wouldn't notice me following, but I knew where he was going and hung back a block or so. He had turned into his drive and was waiting for the garage door to finish opening when I drove by.

Other than an occasional street light and the light from Bonafini's garage the neighborhood was eerily dark. I turned around and returned to the spot I'd parked in earlier. Several light came on I Bonafini's house. There were no lights on in any of the homes within my sight. I'd read that many homes in Glens Falls were used only in the summer, but an entire neighborhood? Too good to be true.

I wasn't going to wait around thinking about it. Time to act. Now or never. All that horseshit. The rifle would not be necessary this time. I reached under the front seat and pulled out the .357. Why keep all the artillery in the trunk. Outside the car, I threw on my parka, put a stocking cap on top of my head, tucked the pistol in my waistband and started toward Bonafini's.

My gloved hands were shaking. I've killed before, but never in such a deliberate manner and it was having some kind of effect on my conscience. Some people might call this cold blooded murder. I preferred to think of is a self-defense for Heather. Better late than never, I thought.

"C'mon, Jake. Shake it off," I whispered to myself and started up the driveway. It was a long walk, probably fifty yards, which gave me time to settle down. By the time I reached the bottom of the front steps my conscience was back to normal and the hands were steady. I climbed cement stairs to the landing then pushed the lighted doorbell button. The storm door was unlocked so I opened it and held it there with my left foot. The .357 was now in my right hand.

From inside I heard, "Be right there." Seconds later the door opened and I was face to face with one of Heather's killers. He started to say something then he saw my pistol and without a word from me he backed slowly into the house.

I followed, closing the door behind me. He continued to back up in the hallway until he reached what looked like the living room. If he was frightened there was no hint of it in his voice when he asked, "Where to?"

I took my hat off and answered, "Right there will be fine."

He hadn't recognized me, or maybe the idea of my being here was so farfetched that his brain wouldn't compute that fact, until the hat had come off. He made a dash to his left, but I was on him instantly I grabbed the back of his shirt, he was three or four inches shorter than me and on the heavy side, and I shoved him onto a leather sofa. Only a small light on top of an end table illuminated this room, but it was enough to allow me the pleasure of seeing the now frightened look on his face. I've never been one who cared for long speeches. I said, "You'll be happy to know that you're the first," and I pulled the trigger. I was only five feet away and the bullet went where I'd aimed it, right between his eyes. The eyes remained open, but they were no longer able to see.

To be sure, I checked his pulse. Gone. I turned off the table lamp, the light in the hallway and shut off the outside light before leaving. I put the pistol back in my waistband and walked out the front door. I locked it, of course.

Ten minutes later I was on I-87 heading south. Next stop, Las Vegas. I would save Bartholomew for last.

# Chapter 73

That night I stayed somewhere in Southern Pennsylvania. For this entire trip I had and would continue to stay in local motels where cash was all you needed to get a decent room, with no questions asked. Any signature would do. Following the interstate system south so I could hopefully avoid any winter weather, I made Nashville on Saturday, Oklahoma City on Sunday and Flagstaff, Arizona on Monday and Vegas on Tuesday.

I had dumped the .357 into a river somewhere in the Appalachian Mountains as it could only cause trouble if found it in my possession. I did get a Sunday New York Times in Oklahoma City, but there was no mention of the shooting. Maybe they hadn't found him yet or he wasn't worthy of coverage in the prestigious paper.

The traffic in Vegas was slow through the strip area, but soon I was leaving Vegas behind, heading northwest on Highway 95. The day was clear and mild. The oldies station said it was fifty-five degrees. Very warm for a Minnesotan at this time of the year. When I reached 157 I turned left and started into the foothills that led to Mt Charleston. The mountain was snow covered and I knew, from my previous trip, that a ski resort was up there somewhere.

The road rose gradually, the landscape changing from cacti and scrubs to larger trees and rocks. Then suddenly the trees rose high in the sky, almost blocking out the light, and snow lined the shoulders and ditches along the road. The road itself was clear of snow and ice, but I noticed that the driveways of the few homes I'd passed were snow-filled. Obviously they were summer homes or the owners hadn't been there since it last snowed. I opted for the former and hoped that Kellen was not one of them. There were no other addresses listed for him in the file.

I could see the clearing in the pine trees ahead and I slowed the SUV. The large front yard was covered with a foot of snow, but the driveway had been cleared and the limo and an SUV were parked up by the house. That didn't mean Kellen was home, but it seemed like a good sign.

I also noticed that there were no paths coming out of the trees, on either side of the yard, to indicate outside guards. Of course, that didn't mean they weren't there and had stayed inside the tree line on their patrols. I didn't think outside guards would affect my plans for this evening.

I drove to the next driveway, turned around and headed back to town. It wouldn't be dark for a couple of hours and I was hungry so I pulled off at an exit that indicated there were several restaurants. I chose the one I'd never heard of. Live a little. I'd bought a Las Vegas's newspaper on the way in and after the waitress poured my coffee I opened it up and perused the first page.

A short article in the lower right portion of the second page caught my attention: Partner in new casino murdered. I went on to read:

Glens Falls, NY.-The murdered body of Aloysious Bonafini, a partner in the new Great Wall of China' resort here in Las Vegas, was found Monday afternoon. The police in this quaint town, located two hundred miles north of New York City, reported that he had been shot once in the head by a large caliber handgun. The time of death was unknown, but the police believe that Bonafini had been dead for at least two days. Rumors of Bonafini's ties to the Mafia have led some to speculate that the killing was mob related.

A spokesperson for the 'Great Wall of China' Casino and Hotel, here in Vegas, issued a statement of condolence to family and friends of the deceased. The grand opening of the newest resort in Vegas will be held as scheduled. Ceremonies to begin at noon on Wednesday, February 2.

February 2 was tomorrow. That probably meant that Bartholomew was in town and I might get a chance to take out both of the assholes. Wouldn't that be nice. Maybe he was staying at Kellen's. I couldn't concentrate on the paper any longer and hardly tasted my food. Thought of ending this tonight had taken over my entire being.

# Chapter 74

Darkness had descended on Kellen's by the time I drove past his house for the second time that day. The cars were still there and lights were on in the house. I pulled into the same driveway and backed out and parked the SUV so it was facing downhill. I shut off the light and engine then walked to the back of the vehicle and opened the hatch.

It took ten minutes to don my winter gear, including heavy duty waterproof pants, parka, boots and choppers. I slung the rifle over my shoulder and started down the hill.

Five minutes later I crossed the road and entered the woods. Walking about ten yards inside the tree line was slow going, but after fifteen minutes I'd reached my destination, directly across the road from Kellen's. I moved to the edge of the trees, about five feet from the road, and knelt down.

The snow between the road and trees was piled four feet high from plowing. It was packed solid from the effects of the sun's heat and evening's cold and it wasn't long before I had leveled out a spot to lay my rifle. I laid on the bank of plowed snow and positioned myself so the rifle butt fit easily into my shoulder and then I was peering through the scope checking out the windows of the house, one hundred yards away. No cars had driven by since I had arrived.

The floor below the deck was dark, as was the third floor, but the expanse of windows on the middle floor was lit all the way across. I stared at the door on the right then moved the scope to the kitchen. The windows were floor to ceiling and it was totally exposed to the outside world. From my angle, which was downhill from the house, I could see the pots and pans hanging from the kitchen ceiling above the center island, the cupboards, counters and appliances that lined the walls on two sides and now the two men who entered the kitchen and walked through to the conference room. Luck was indeed on my side. It was Kellen and Bartholomew.

The light above the front door went on and I quickly moved the scope. Out came one of the men that I had tied to the pool table on my last visit. He hopped down the steps, walked to the SUV and got in. He drove quickly out of the drive and down the mountain. One less person to worry about.

I pivoted the rifle back to the conference room where my targets were now seated and facing each other across the table. They were talking animatedly. I was looking at their profiles. There would be no better time than right now.

I hesitated briefly, a pang of guilt trying to dissuade my conscience, but then a picture of Heather pushed it away. I had stopped in a remote area of Indiana and shot five rounds at a target two hundred yards away. The rifle shot low and left. Since I was about 100 hundred yards from these guys I aimed at the top right of Van der Kellen's head.

As I squeezed the trigger the guilt tried one last time, but Heather came back and fought it off. I fired the rifle. Kellen's head snapped and I saw the wall behind him turn red as I moved the cross hairs to Bartholomew's head.

He was looking toward the spot where Kellen was probably lying. Then his head turned and stared out the window into the darkness. His eyes were open wide and his mouth was a gaping hole in his face. He reminded me of an animal caught in the headlight of an oncoming car and he couldn't move. I aimed for the right eye and squeezed the trigger. Another red spot appeared on the same wall. Bartholomew's head hit the table as his body fell out of the chair.

I waited a full minute to see if there was someone else in the house that would come to investigate the noise. No one did. Both shots entered and left the head. If either man was still alive, they wouldn't be by the time help arrived.

It was time to go. I stood and picked up the empty casings then walked back through the trees the way I had come. At the SUV I removed the rifle and cold weather gear. Within minutes I was heading down the mountain. When I drove by Kellen's I stopped and scanned the scene. All was quiet. The red spots on the wall looked like some kind of modern art. I took my foot off the brake and stepped on the accelerator. I would be well on my way before the police arrived.

Returning the way I'd come, I drove south to Flagstaff. Somewhere in the Black Mountains, south of Hoover Dam, I stopped at a scenic overlook and dropped the rifle and shells, which I'd wiped clean, into a deep canyon. It would be a while, if ever, before they would be found. Wednesday I made it to Oklahoma City and on Thursday I drove home. It was eleven o'clock when I pulled into my garage.

# Chapter 75

Friday morning was spent answering the messages that filled my machine. I called my mother and brother and told them it would be okay to go home. They were delighted and I told them I would explain later.

The call to Sergeant Manke was interesting. He asked, "Where have you been, Tanner?"

I had my answer ready. "Heather's death just blew me away. I went south to reason it all out."

"Did you find one?"

"One what?"

"Reason."

"No. I decided it must have been all about that client who went to jail. Nothing else makes sense."

There was a small pause then he asked, "What about the e-mail you sent me?" He was working now. "The one about the bribes and blackmail. You were pretty sure the people behind them were trying to kill her."

"I did and still do, Sergeant, but now it doesn't seem possible that she is dead because of people being bribed or blackmailed. She wasn't even involved in the matter."

"She may not have been, but you were and that might be the answer." He waited for me to say something. I didn't and he went on, "I'm sorry about Heather, Jake and my sympathy's go out to you and her family and friends."

"Thank you, Sergeant Manke."

"Call me George. When can you come in and talk to me about your knowledge of the scandal that is unfolding here."

I asked, "What scandal?"

"Some prosecutors and news media people received e-mails showing pictures and laying out evidence of bribes and blackmail of some heavy-duty politicos. Surprisingly similar to the one I received. I thought you might enlighten me on the subject."

"How does nine o'clock Monday morning sound?"

I heard some paper rattling then he said, "That will work out fine, Jake. See you then," and he hung up.

I didn't know how much he'd learned since I'd talked to him last, but it didn't matter. If the victims, authorities and media around the country were doing their jobs it wouldn't be long before Kellen, Bartholomew and Bonafini were associated with the scandal. Their fates would not upset the authorities and somehow I didn't think much of an effort would be spent on rounding up whoever was responsible for their demise. Besides, I'd covered my tracks fairly well.

# Chapter 76

I called my cleaning service and explained to them about the fingerprint investigation by the police. They would be over this afternoon.

It was almost lunch time before the messages were all handled and I had cleaned myself up. Time to go to Heather's, which I wasn't looking forward to. When I arrived there was a moving van in the driveway. Several men were carrying furniture out of the house. I approached one of them and asked, "Who's in charge here."

A man standing inside the garage said, "I am."

Like I said earlier, we'd met at Christmas. I walked over to him, shook his hand and said, "Nice to see you again, Roger."

We were the same height and he stared directly into my eyes and said, "Missed you at the funeral, Jake."

He was angry that I had not attended the funeral. I couldn't blame him. He knew none of the details and I wasn't going to explain them now. "It was impossible for me to be there."

He shrugged as though he didn't care then asked, "Why are you here?"

The movers, who had stopped working to watch our conversation, now walked back into the house. I said, "To pick up my things and to find out where Heather is buried."

His eyes became sad. I knew he and Heather had been close, even though he'd lived in Houston for the past five years. He was still hurting from her death, as I was, and it must have shown in my eyes as well, because something passed between us and everything was okay. He said, "We buried Heather in Winona. Let's go inside and I'll draw you a map of how to get to the grave site." We turned and started in. Roger said, "I've got all of your stuff in one area." He laughed, "I was going to trash it all."

I smiled. "That's probably where most of it belongs."

# Chapter 77

It hadn't snowed since they'd buried Heather, so it was easy to find the grave site. It was a flat headstone, as they all are today. I stared down at her name, Heather Marie Rossini, and thought about the short, wonderful time we'd had together. It was hard for me not to blame myself for her death. I know it wasn't my fault, but I couldn't help thinking that I could have done more to protect her. Something I would have to live with until my death. The tears came. Some of them were caused by the cold wind that blew through the barren trees, but most of them were for Heather.

I thought about the people who had done this to her and realized that I was no longer concerned about killers lurking around every corner, waiting to do me in. If someone was still after me, so be it. I wasn't going to hide anymore. Heather was gone and I had avenged her. Nothing more needed doing.

She probably would not have agreed with the way I had achieved it, she was a lawyer after all, but it was the only thing I could have done that would allow me to be at peace with myself.

My voice broke as I said, "Good bye, My Beautiful Heather." I turned and walked back to my car.

# # #
