 
The Abandoned Hotel

A Nikki Hamilton Mystery

By Darryl Matter

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2020 by Darryl Matter

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The Abandoned Hotel

A Nikki Hamilton Mystery

This is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

* * * * *
Prologue

30 years ago:

It was just before eight o'clock in the evening when the young couple pulled into the parking lot of the Fairfield Brother's Hotel. Theirs was only the third vehicle to occupy the guest parking area so far that night. Perhaps others would arrive later, but that wasn't too likely. In fact, the small, three-story hotel, established in 1885, as noted by a faded sign over the main entrance, appeared to be badly weather-beaten and ill-maintained--unlikely to attract many modern-day customers. Few guests would be staying at the hotel that night--or ever again. Not with the many modern motels and hotels now available in the area.

Moments later, the young man retrieved a small overnight bag and a briefcase from the trunk of their car. The young woman took the briefcase and, together, hand-in-hand, the young couple walked up the well-worn steps to the hotel's entrance, and into the sparsely furnished hotel lobby.

"We'd like a room for three nights," the young man told the man at the counter.

The desk clerk studied the registration book. "Okay."

Moments later, after paying the room charge, the young couple climbed the stairs to the room to which they'd been assigned, room number 312.

* * * * *

The man seated in the car across the street from the hotel entrance watched as the young couple entered the hotel. He'd shadowed them ever since they'd left their apartment earlier that afternoon, shadowed them for almost 100 miles as they arrived in town and then made several stops around the city. Now that he knew where they were staying that night, all he had to do was to determine which room they'd occupy and wait until they were sound asleep.

He drove slowly around the building and watched the lights come on in the far back corner of the hotel. Third floor. Corner room. That light told him exactly which room the young couple would occupy that night. He waited patiently and watched until the lights in room 312 went out about an hour later. Waited until he was sure they were asleep.

Once he was certain that the people were asleep, the man parked in the alley and walked quietly to the back door of the hotel. He was wearing dark clothing and he kept to the shadows, making sure that no one saw him as he did so. Having been relatively certain that the young couple would stay at that particular hotel, he'd cautiously studied the layout of the building on two separate occasions, both late at night when no one else was around. Practiced climbing that back stairs to the second and third floors. Walked up and down the halls, alert to any floor boards that might creak under his step. Checked to see how the hall lights worked.

Once inside the hotel building that night, he climbed the back stairs to the third floor, then cautiously and quietly made his way to room number 312. The pass-key he'd acquired a few days ago in anticipation of his assignment that night worked smoothly in the lock. Before he eased open the door, however, he removed the light bulb from the hall light fixture. Its light would not now awaken the sleeping couple. Moments later, he was inside that room. Silently closed the door. He'd worn gloves to insure that he'd leave no fingerprints.

Very little light came in through the windows, but there was enough for the intruder to see that the young man and woman were sound asleep in bed. Moments later, he had the silenced Colt pistol in his hand.

WHUMP! WHUMP!

There was almost no sound from the pistol as the intruder shot each of the occupants in the head. No one outside of that room could have heard the shots. He smiled at the ease with which he'd completed his assignment.

After making certain that they both were dead, the intruder picked up the briefcase and silently let himself out of the room, locking the door behind him. He then replaced the bulb in the hall light. He'd deliver the briefcase to the man who'd paid him to do the job, and then catch a flight out of town yet that night. Establish himself as having been out of town when the murders took place.

* * * * *

One of the maids discovered the bodies in room number 312 when she came to work at the hotel the following morning. She immediately alerted the hotel manager. He immediately called the police.

It was easy for the police to identify the victims. Documents in the man's wallet and the woman's purse identified them as Ross and Crystal Becker, both 30 years old.

Ross was a high school science teacher in a near-by community. Crystal worked as a nurse in the local hospital.

Robbery was apparently not a motive for the double-murders. Neither the man's wallet, containing about $200 in cash and several credit cards, or the woman's purse, containing $60 in cash and several credit cards, had been taken. Watches and the woman's jewelry were found on the bed-side table. In fact, nothing seemed to have been taken from the room.

Exactly what the couple was doing in town was unknown, although their friends told the police that Ross and Crystal enjoyed traveling and visiting different communities. They both had an interest in local history, and their friends said they were not surprised to learn that they'd selected a 100-year-old hotel as their destination.

"They've stayed in older hotels before," one of Crystal's friends confided, "and they seemed to enjoy those visits."

"They especially were interested in older buildings with sordid histories," one of Ross's friends told the police. When asked what he meant by 'sordid' histories, he replied that the Beckers had stayed at one old hotel that had been a brothel back in the 1920s and another hotel that had housed a disreputable bar during the prohibition era. Still another had been a reputed hangout for gangsters during the 1920s and 1930s. "They'd read up on the history of those hotels in the library archives and then go spend a few nights there, just looking around the place to see what remained of those events," he'd said. What sordid history the Fairfield Brother's Hotel possessed that might have interested Ross and Crystal--nobody seemed to know.

Did the young couple have any enemies? Not that their friends could identify. Certainly none that wished them dead. In fact, the Beckers were well respected and liked by their co-workers.

The police appealed to the public for help with the murder investigation--but to no avail. No one came forward with any helpful information. Several months after the murders, having completely exhausted the few leads that they had, the police reluctantly turned their attention to other criminal activity in the area.
Chapter 1

The present:

Detective Nikki Hamilton had almost finished cleaning out her desk. It was a Thursday afternoon, and Friday would be her last day at work. She'd put in 30 years as a cop after graduating from college and a stint in the service as an intelligence officer.

Being a cop had been her life's work. It hadn't been an 8 to 5 job either. Rather, as a detective, she'd often worked around the clock--24 hours a day, seven days a week--or so it seemed. It was time for her to have some fun, she told herself, and at 60 years of age, looking at least 10 years younger, her friends said, and in good health, she could and would have some fun on her terms. Make some new friends. Reconnect with some old ones. Enjoy life.

Still, she knew she'd miss working as a detective. She had enjoyed her work. It was going to be hard to give it up. But then, while she was considering what she might do after she retired, she'd read an article in the local newspaper about how a retired cop in New York City had solved a murder that had been committed 40-some years ago, had solved it and sent the killer, by now a well-placed politician, to prison for the rest of his life. Yes! That story resonated with her. No! Nikki wasn't through being a cop. She'd work on some of the unsolved cases in her own city.

Nikki had expected her boss, Police Chief Ryan Denison, to be pleased with her decision to investigate unsolved cases in her retirement. Not so! He'd scowled when she told him of her plans, and only reluctantly agreed to support her doing so. Finally, however, he did agree to her using resources within the police department as necessary to aid her investigations. As long as she didn't interfere with on-going investigations, he emphasized.

Maybe that reaction shouldn't have surprised her, Nikki reasoned later. She'd brought heat on Chief Denison several times, most recently when she'd arrested the mayor's son for a string of arson fires--including one in which two people died. When the mayor tried a cover-up, with the apparent cooperation of Chief Denison, and the news media found out about it, the bad publicity had cost the mayor his re-election bid.

In fact, it was early in her career when Nikki had discovered that Chief Denison was not quite the squeaky-clean cop he wanted people to think he was. After determining that he played favorites with his staff, promoting those he liked and making life hard for those he didn't, she'd gathered some information on her boss that he'd be very unhappy to have brought to light. In fact, he'd probably have lost his job had Nikki shared what she knew with Internal Affairs and the Police Commissioner. Instead, she'd secreted that information away in a safe-deposit box at one of the local banks. Hinted to Denison about what she knew. Considered it as an insurance policy.

Later on, she'd caught Denison in the evidence room, about to destroy some evidence on a case she was working on that involved a friend of his--a woman who ran a call-girl ring. Nikki had let him know that she had copies of the evidence stashed away where he'd never find them. From then on, Denison was quite cool to her, most likely very happy with the understanding that she was going to retire.

No, Nikki told herself, she should not have expected the Chief to be pleased when she told him of her plans to look into some of the unsolved mysteries within the community.

Still, despite the problems with Chief Denison, she'd had a good record as a detective, and had a number of commendations to prove it. Now she could and would turn her attention to some of the unsolved cases. Those cases would provide the challenge she needed to enjoy her new life as a retired cop.

Nikki's friend, Gail Frost, the policewoman who headed up Internal Affairs within the Police Department, had been delighted when Nikki told her of her plans to work on unsolved crime cases. "I'll give you all the help I can," she'd told Nikki, "so keep me informed about what you're working on and how I can help you."

One of the unsolved cases that had intrigued Nikki for several years was the murder of a young couple, Ross and Crystal Becker, that took place about 30 years ago, not all that long after she became a cop. With the possibility of investigating that double-murder in her retirement, Nikki photocopied all of the information she could find in the "Cold Case" file related to that case.

Well, tomorrow would be her last official day at work. The next day, Saturday, she'd take a careful look at the file on the Ross and Crystal Becker murders. See what direction her investigation might take. Tonight, though, she'd have some fun--the kind of fun she hadn't had much of in the past.
Chapter 2

Nikki Hamilton expertly maneuvered her big Harley-Davidson through the parking lot of Barefoot Tom's Bar and parked in the part of the lot reserved for bikers. Although the evening was still young, there already were six motorcycles parked there. Vehicles of all kinds were starting to fill up the rest of the parking lot. Barefoot Tom's Bar would be lively tonight.

She'd ridden a motorcycle since she'd been eighteen, and was looking forward to having even more time to ride now that she was retired. And that was something else that Chief Denison hadn't appreciated about her lifestyle; he'd said the way she rode a bike was "not becoming" to a "lady detective." Those were his words.

But for Nikki there wasn't much that could top the thrill of riding a big ol' Harley-Davidson. Settle back into that comfortable leather seat, hit the starter, feel the rumble of the engine throughout her entire body--and then twist the throttle open! Feel the wind in her face. That was the most exhilaration to be found on this planet!

Red and black neon signs welcomed Nikki to Barefoot Tom's Bar. She'd been there several times in the past few evenings, getting acquainted with the place and with its patrons. The place was lively, with her favorite country music, sometimes live and sometimes from the jukebox.

There could be no doubt about something else. Nikki had particularly enjoyed the attention she'd received from several of the men who frequented Barefoot Tom's, especially Greg Browning.

Greg Browning was about Nikki's age, she judged, around 60 years of age. Maybe a year or two older. Because she stood almost six feet tall, a lot of guys seemed insecure around her, but not Greg. He was a good two or three inches taller than she was. He'd invited her to dance with him a few nights ago, and then to play pool. She couldn't recall when, if ever, she'd had such a good time.

Nikki had enjoyed getting acquainted with Greg Browning. He was a retired marine, having served in a variety of trouble spots around the world. Not that he bragged about his service record, nor did he try to impress her with his exploits. No. They'd hit it off well together, and neither found it necessary to "show off" to the other.

Of course, a number of the guys in Barefoot Tom's Bar had looked her over. That was okay with Nikki. She had the figure to turn heads, and she knew it--and she dressed accordingly. She also knew that she hadn't had much time for guys since she began working as a detective. That was going to change in her retirement. She'd have time for guys in her life now.

A live band playing country music welcomed Nikki as she walked in to the bar that Thursday night. About half of the tables were occupied, but the one she favored was vacant and she took her time looking over the people gathered there so far in the bar as she made her way to that table. Waved at a couple of them. Moments later, she slipped off her jacket and hung it over the back of her chair.

One of the bar maids, a girl named Janet came right over. "What can I get for you, Nikki?" she asked.

Nikki studied the menu written on a chalk board behind the bar, and then ordered her usual bacon-burger, fries, and a Coke. People might think she was strange for avoiding alcoholic beverages, but that was her choice. Let people think what they wanted. She didn't like what alcohol did to her, and she also knew that it was easy to poison or dope alcoholic beverages. No. Coke in the bottle was what she wanted that night--and likely would want every night she was there.

* * * * *

Of all the men in Barefoot Tom's Bar who looked over Nikki that night, none was more interested in her presence there than Chad Jackson. He and his friend, Jeff Miller, were seated on stools at the far side of the bar, looking over the women, when Nikki walked in.

"Wow! Take a look at that babe," Miller whispered as he eyed Nikki, nudging Jackson with his elbow as he spoke.

"Yeah, I see her," Jackson growled, ducking his head slightly. "Let's you an' me get the hell out of here."

"What . . . What's going on?"

Jackson didn't answer. He reached into his pocket and retrieved two twenty dollar bills. Tossed them on the counter. Nodded to the bartender. The cash would more than cover both of the men's bar tabs.

"Come on, let's go, Jeff," Jackson whispered again.

Both men slipped away from the bar and silently made their way to the back door. Once they were in the alley behind the bar, Miller turned to Jackson. "What's going on that made you want to leave in such a hurry, Chad?" he asked.

"You saw that tall bitch come in, right? The one you pointed out to me? Know who I mean?"

"Yeah. Damned good looker. I wouldn't mind gettin' acquainted with her."

"You don't know who she is, do you?"

"No. Who is she?"

"That's Nikki Hamilton."

"Nikki Hamilton? Yeah? So, who is Nikki Hamilton, or what's the big deal with us leaving the bar in a toot when she comes in?"

Jackson scowled. "She's the bitch who put me away for seventeen years."

"She's a cop?"

"Yeah, she's a damned detective. It's because of her that I spent the last seventeen years in the pen."

"You think she'd recognize you now?"

Jackson grinned, but his eyes were hard. "I hope not, but I don't want to take the chance, 'cause I've got plans for her."

"Plans for her? You've got plans for her?"

"Damned right, I do. That sexy bitch was in Barefoot Tom's two nights ago. Last night, too. I saw her both nights, but I made sure she didn't see me. Right then I got some new ideas about how she's gonna pay for what she did to me."

Miller grinned. He had a good idea of the kind of plans his friend had for the lady cop. "It's too early to call it a night, Chad. Whatdaya say we head on over to Whisky Joe's? Have another drink? Tell me what you know about this gal?"

"Yeah."

The two men climbed into Jeff Miller's Ford Mustang, which was parked behind the bar. He drove them around to where Chad Jackson had parked his Toyota Camry. "I'll follow you over to Whisky Joe's," Miller told his friend.

Once they were seated at an out-of-the-way table in Whisky Joe's Bar, beer mugs in hand, Miller turned to Jackson. "You say you saw this gal in Barefoot Tom's two nights ago?"

"Yeah. Saw her there last night, too. Actually, it was damned nice of her to show up that way. Saved me some trouble."

"Saved you some trouble? How so?"

Jackson laughed. "I followed her home. Found out where she lived."

Miller nodded. "She go home alone?"

"Both nights she did. I doubt she will after she gets to know some of the guys that hang out there. Barefoot Tom's is pretty much a hang out for older guys and gals. Good lookin' as she is, she won't leave by herself after she gets acquainted."

"What's she drive?"

"The first time I followed her home she was riding a big ol' Harley-Davidson."

"Girl on a motorcycle, eh? That's a little different."

"Yeah. It's a big bike, too. Probably the biggest one Harley-Davidson makes. From what I know about riding bikes, she's a damned good rider, too. Not a reckless type, but she moves on out."

"You said you saw her on a bike the first time you followed her home. How about the second time? What's she drivin' then?"

Jackson grinned. "She was drivin' a blue Ford Escape."

"A Harley-Davidson and a Ford Escape. Now those are two different kinds of rides."

"Yeah."

"How's the parking where she lives?"

"Good--for the residents. She's got secured underground parking for both her bike and the Escape. Keeps 'em both out of the weather."

"So you got plans for her, eh?"

Jackson scowled. "Damned right, I do. I had seventeen years to plan what I was going to do to her when I got out, and one of the first things I had to do was find out where she lived. Now I know." He laughed. "When I get through with her, ain't nobody ever gonna find her."

"She's pretty hot!"

"Yeah," Jackson agreed, "but she won't be so hot when I get through with her. The fact is, she'll be ice-cold."

* * * * *

Nikki was just finishing her burger and fries when she saw Greg Browning walk in. Moments later, just as the band was starting to play another slow song, he spotted her and came right over. "How about a dance?" he asked.

"Sure."

It had been years since Nikki had danced, or done anything other than work as a cop, for that matter. Now was her chance to have some fun, to make up for some of the fun she'd missed along the way, and she was going to do just that. Moments later, she was snuggled into Greg's muscular arms, swaying with him to the music.

As the dance ended, Greg took her hand and led Nikki back to her table. "Like some company?" he asked.

"Sure thing."

"So, you'll be retiring tomorrow?" Greg questioned.

"Yes."

"Have you made some plans for what you're gonna do after you retire?"

Nikki smiled. "Have I ever!"

"Want to share 'em?"

"Yes, but not here. Why don't you come over to my apartment? I'll tell you what I've got in mind."

Greg smiled. "That sounds like a plan. Did you ride your bike over here tonight?"

"Yes." Nikki took Greg's hand as she stood up. "Come on. Jump into your truck and follow me over to my apartment, okay?"

* * * * *

"So you're going to investigate unsolved mysteries," Greg reflected, as Nikki summarized her plans for her retirement. "What's the one you're going to look into first?"

Nikki briefly noted the crime she had in mind, the 30-year-old murders of Ross and Crystal Becker.

Greg studied Nikki's face for several moments before he spoke. "How would you like a partner?" he asked.

"You're serious?"

Greg smiled and put his arm around Nikki. "Sure! If you'll take me on as a partner, I'll help you any way I can."

Nikki smiled as Greg drew her close to him. "It's a deal, partner."

Moments later, they were locked together in the hottest embrace that Nikki had experienced for ages. Maybe forever. "Let's you and me go to bed," she whispered.

* * * * *

"What do you say we get together tomorrow evening? You can fill me in on what you've got on the case so far and give me some ideas as to how I can help you," Greg invited later that night.

"Okay, partner. Want to meet me at Barefoot Tom's for a snack and then come over here later?"

Greg readily agreed. This gal was terrific, and he was looking forward to working with her on this decades-old mystery.
Chapter 3

It was Friday evening. Nikki was now officially retired as a detective. Once again, she found herself looking forward to eating a bite at Barefoot Tom's Bar and seeing Greg Browning.

Nikki had just finished eating when Greg walked in. He spotted Nikki and came right over. "How about a game of pool?" he invited.

"Sure thing."

Nikki hadn't played pool for years, but she remembered the basics. With a little practice, her old skills began to return, and she was able to give Greg a little competition. When two of Greg's friends, Richard and Kathy Miles, came in to Barefoot Tom's a little later that evening, the four of them enjoyed playing pool until the band began to play. Then it was off to the dance floor for both couples.

"I'm going to be out of town for two or three days," Greg told Nikki later that evening as he was leaving her apartment. "I'll call you when I'm back, and I'll be ready to help you look into that old murder case."

"Wonderful! I'll do a little preliminary work, and be ready for some help," Nikki told him, hugging him tight as she did so. Greg's super-hugs were the most excitement she'd had in years, and she'd certainly look forward to working with him--and more hugs. Lot's more hugs.

* * * * *

"So tell me what you've been doing by way of the investigation?" Greg asked, now back in town and seated in Nikki's apartment.

"I've run into several related mysteries so far," Nikki responded, "mostly surrounding that old hotel where the murders were committed."

"So, tell me about the mysteries you've uncovered, and how you'd like to proceed with our investigation?"

"Okay. My initial step will be to visit the crime scene, that's room number 312 at the old Fairfield Brother's Hotel."

"Okay. You want to see the actual room where those people were murdered, right?"

"Yes. I want us to look over the actual crime scene. That's where we'll start."

"Okay. So, is the old hotel actually abandoned?" Greg asked.

"That's a good question, and one of my mysteries. I thought the old hotel was abandoned, but then I took a close look at it--and now I'm not so sure. Somebody has boarded up the first floor windows and there's a chain and padlock securing the front doors. All said, it appears to be abandoned.

"Anyway, I thought I'd just check and see if anyone was actually paying taxes on the building--and this led to my first mystery. People at the court house tell me that someone indeed does pay taxes on that building yet today, but they don't know who the owner is--or exactly who pays the taxes. Seems as if they send tax statements to a bank in one of those little island countries where banks don't reveal much information. The bank sends them a cashier's check by way of payment, a check which doesn't name the person who owns the building. That's the way they do it now, but in the future the payment will be by electronic funds transfer. The account owner won't be named then, either.

"Then there's another part to the mystery. I noticed that there's an electric meter in back of the building, so I checked with the power company. Same deal. The power is turned on. Somebody pays the electric bill every month with a cashier's check from an off-short bank, with no individual's name listed as the payee."

"So you think somebody is using the building yet today?"

"Makes one wonder, doesn't it. At least, they're paying the taxes and there's electric power to the building. Now, how they get in to the building, I don't know. Well, I should say I haven't decided yet. The chain and padlock through the handles on the front door are rusty and don't look like they've been touched in years. Of course, there's a back door. It's also locked tight and the lock looks rusty, like it hasn't had a key in it in years.

"Oh, yes! I checked with the gas company, too, and they tell me the gas has been shut off at that building for at least 20 years. Same deal with the water. It's been shut off for years."

"What else did you determine about the building itself?"

"It looks run down, but it's in a scruffy part of town, so a lot of the buildings around it look run down, too. Still, I'm determined to get inside and take a careful look at room 312--now more than ever--and I've determined at least two, maybe three, ways I can get inside without too much trouble."

"How?"

"The building has a fire escape on the back corner of each side. The one goes right up to and on past the window on, I think, room 312. So, I could climb up that fire escape and go in through the window. Second, there's a coal chute on the back of the building that isn't used any more but probably would let me into the basement. It's locked, but it isn't much of a lock, and I think I could open it with a pick. Also, I think there must be an entryway of some sort on the roof because someone installed air conditioning units on the roof and probably had an entryway of some sort to the roof to service them.

"And then there's that back door. Like I said, the lock doesn't look like it's been used in years, but I don't think it would give me much trouble."

"Do you know how to pick locks?"

Nikki smiled. "Yes."

Greg thought for a moment. "Nikki?"

"Yes?"

"I know you want to go inside that old hotel, but I don't want you going into that old building by yourself--and that's an order." Greg wasn't smiling now. "I mean that, Nikki, and I've got a plan."

"Okay. What's your plan?"

"I have a friend named Richard Miles, the guy you met the other night at Barefoot Tom's, who will help us. He's an ex-serviceman, career military, and he has a drone. Learned how to use it in the service. We can fly it up close to the windows in that old hotel and see what might be lurking there. Also, we might want to fly it around and see what's on the roof and what's on the roof of the other buildings around there. See if anyone has surveillance cameras set up to watch the building. After all, if someone is keeping the taxes paid and electric service paid, they just might be doing something in that building they don't want anyone to know about. They just might not like unannounced visitors. After all, we don't have anyone's permission to go inside that old building. You understand what I'm saying?"

"I sure do."

"There's something else we can do if we need to," Greg continued. "We can put up a couple of surveillance cameras of our own. See if we can spot anyone going in or out of the old building.

"Then, when the time comes that you and me go into that building," Greg said, "Richard can provide us some backup. He can keep an eye on things outside, and if we find ourselves in a trap, he can help us out."

Nikki smiled. "Sounds good to me, Greg."

"Okay. I'll get in touch with Richard tomorrow. Can you get us some surveillance cameras if we decide to put some up? Maybe keep our own watch on the old hotel building? See if anyone goes in or out and where they go in?"

"Yes. I can get some cameras if we decide to do that."

"What if I talk to Richard tomorrow morning. See what his schedule is. See when he can help us out. Then I'll get back in touch with you. Why don't we have lunch together? I'll pick you up here at your apartment, and then we'll talk over our plans? Can we do that?"

"Okay. I'm going to go to the library tomorrow morning and start looking through some of the archived newspapers to find out what I can about the Fairfield Brother's Hotel. I've also got the name of the man who was on duty at the hotel the night when Ross and Crystal Becker checked into the hotel. I'm going to try to locate him if he's still alive. If I can locate him, we'll pay him a visit. See what he can tell us."

"You're going to look into the history of the hotel, then?"

"Yes. You see, Ross and Crystal Becker were said to have an interest in old hotels and other old building with what one of their friends called "a sordid past." Now maybe the Fairfield Brother's Hotel didn't have a sordid past, but then again, if it did, newspaper accounts might give us a hint at what that past might have been."

"Sounds like you've got quite a task set out for yourself. Why don't you let me help you do the library work. After we have lunch and I've filled you in on when Richard can help us, let's stop at the library. You can show me how to go about finding newspaper articles about the hotel or anything else that might interest us."

How she'd ever been so lucky as to have a friend like Greg Browning who was interested in helping her investigate that 30-year-old murder, Nikki wasn't sure--but she sure was enjoying having a "partner" on that case. Greg may not have been a cop, but he was one sharp fellow. Furthermore, Nikki liked the fact that he was interested in her! She'd never in her entire life met a man like Greg Browning. Fact was, she'd never been in love before--but Greg just might prove to be the love of her life!

* * * * *

The faded sign above the door on the Fairfield Brother's Hotel indicated that it was built in 1885. Nikki searched the newspapers that were published in 1885 and found that the hotel was very much in the news. It was one of the first hotels in the city and was located not far from the main highway leading into the city at that time. At the grand opening of the hotel, the city mayor was quoted as being "delighted" that the city could offer travelers such "excellent accommodations" as the "new and modern" Fairfield Brother's Hotel.

Exactly who were the Fairfield brothers? Walter and Bill Fairfield were pictured standing in front of their newly completed hotel along with the mayor and several other government officials at the hotel's grand opening, but very little information was available on the brothers--at least not in those newspapers published in 1885 or the previous years.

The library had indexed the early newspapers and was working on later issues. Nikki and Greg inspected the index for any references to the hotel or to the Fairfield brothers. There was no indication that either of the brothers had ever married. No marriage licenses had been issued in their names and no wedding announcements involved the brothers. Of course, they could have been married in another community.

In fact, there were few references to the Fairfield brothers in the entire newspaper index--until their death notices in December of 1939 and February of 1940. But then Nikki found an interesting reference to the brothers in the newspapers immediately following the second one's death--in the legal notices. Among the few heirs to that brother's estate was a man by the name of David Denison.

She would check out David Denison, but if she remembered correctly, that man was the father of the present Chief of Police--Ryan Denison. Exactly what was the relationship between the Fairfield brothers and David Denison? Nikki would check that out, too.

What did she know about Ryan Denison or his father anyway? Not much, Nikki told herself. She'd see what she could find out, especially about any connection between the Denisons and the Fairfield brothers.

Was there any reference to crime or questionable activities that could in any way be associated with the Fairfield brothers or their hotel? The fact that Ross and Crystal Becker seemed to have had an interest in buildings with "sordid" pasts gave Nikki the idea that she'd best check out that possibility.

With that possible connection in mind, Nikki and Greg scanned the newspapers for any "sordid" activities associated with the hotel. While they didn't find anything in print, Nikki knew that nefarious activities could be covered up if the people involved were influential enough. Who knew what political connections the Fairfield brothers had in the late 1800s or early 1900s.

Nikki and Greg would continue to examine the newspapers as time permitted. She wasn't certain as to what they might find about the hotel that would relate to the murders of Ross and Crystal Becker, or to the mystery surrounding the present owners of the hotel. Or what they might find related to the hotel's potential "sordid past" that might have interested the Beckers. Still, Nikki had learned to follow her hunches, and right now she was sure that there were connections between the hotel's past, its present owners, and the victims--Ross and Crystal Becker.

* * * * *

While Greg examined the older newspapers with an eye to finding anything that might pertain to the Fairfield Brother's Hotel or the brothers themselves, Nikki turned her attention to locating John Lewis, the desk clerk at that hotel who was on duty the night when the Beckiers checked in.

The police who'd investigated the murder those thirty years ago had interviewed him, but he'd had little information that would have been of any help in solving the murders. Nikki had that information from the police files. According to the police report, Lewis was about 50 years old at the time. He would be at least 80 years old now, and Nikki checked the listings of obituaries. His name was not on the list, so it was likely that he was still alive--perhaps living in a nursing home in the area.

Seven phone calls to area nursing homes later, Nikki had her answer. John Lewis was indeed alive and living in a nursing home. He sounded alert when she spoke with him and, after Nikki described her investigation of the Beckers murders, invited her to come see him. "I'll do some thinking about those days when I worked at that hotel," he told Nikki, "and I'll tell you what I can remember." Nikki immediately arranged for her and Greg to visit him on the following afternoon.

* * * * *

John Lewis was seated in a comfortable chair in a room reserved for visitors when Nikki and Greg arrived. Even before they were seated, Lewis spoke up. "I was wondering if anyone would ever look into those kid's murders," he said, "and kinda hoping they would."

"We're hopeful that you can tell us what you remember about them, Mr. Lewis," Nikki said.

"I remember the years I spent as a desk clerk at the Fairfield Brother's Hotel just like they were yesterday," Lewis began. "The hotel wasn't doing very well by the time those kids were murdered there, though. Maybe that's why I remember them so well. There weren't very many guests, and I figured they'd probably have to close the hotel before very long. In fact, right about then I was looking around for another job--just in case."

"Why wasn't the hotel doing well?"

"Well, it was quite old, you know," Lewis replied. "There were two or three new hotels or motels in the area, and nobody wanted to stay at the old Fairfield Brother's Hotel when they could drive down the road a mile or so and stay at a nice new place.

"The fact is," he continued, "there were only three or four rooms, four, I believe, rented the night when the Beckers were there--the night they were killed."

"What do you remember about them?"

"They were young people, and I didn't see many young people wanting to stay at the hotel, so I was wondering if they had a special interest in the hotel. In fact, I asked them if they had any particular interest in the hotel, and they told me they liked to stay at some of the older hotels, just because they liked older buildings, liked history--rather like the old hotel kind of connected them with the way things were a long time ago. Oh, and they liked to see the older style of woodwork, the construction, and things like that. That's what they told me, anyway.

"I asked them if they had a particular floor they'd like to be on, and they said they'd like a room on the top floor. Well, you already know they were in room number 312."

"Yes."

"There wasn't really anything unusual about them. The young man had a small suitcase and the woman was carrying a briefcase. They paid cash for, I believe, a three night stay, and I gave them the key to their room, then pointed them to the stairway. Of course, I never saw them again."

"The young woman had a briefcase and the man was carrying a suitcase?" Nikki questioned.

"Yes. It was quite common for businessmen to carry briefcases in those days, you know. Quite a few of the men who stayed there carried them. I figured it was the fellow's briefcase. Figured his wife was carrying it because he had the suitcase in one hand and they were holding hands when they came in."

So Ross and Crystal Becker brought a briefcase into the hotel with them. That was news to Nikki. The police report she'd read had not mentioned a briefcase. If the young couple had a briefcase, it was missing when the police inventoried the room and the Becker's car. That would be something to check out, because it just might be that whoever killed the Beckers took the briefcase with him. Nikki quickly made a note to check on that briefcase.

"Did you tell the police about the briefcase?"

Lewis thought for a moment. "I don't remember. Seems like nobody ever questioned me about it. Guess I just assumed the police had it. Didn't they?"

"I don't know. It wasn't mentioned in the reports I read. Anyway, what did the briefcase look like? Do you remember?"

"Yeah, I remember it. It was a rather small, brown leather briefcase. Nothing unusual about it. Like I said, quite a few of the guys carried them back then."

"Do you have any thoughts about who might have killed the young couple? Or why they were killed?"

Lewis thought for a few moments. "No. The police asked me that back when they investigated the murders, and I couldn't help them then either."

"You said you thought the hotel might have to close while you were working there. Did it close right about then? Soon after the murders?"

"Yeah, I was sure it would be closing, so I got another job. Then, a few months later, I heard it had closed." Lewis paused a moment, thinking. "Funny thing, though, I drove by the hotel a few months later and saw that someone was working on the building. So then I thought maybe it didn't close."

"Someone was working on the building, you say? Is that when they boarded up the first floor windows?"

"No. I don't know when they did that. What I remember was that they were working on the exterior, doing some painting. And they were working on the shrubs that were around the entrance. I thought maybe they were going to spruce up the building and get it going as a hotel again, but I don't think it ever reopened as a hotel."

"One more question regarding the Beckers." Nikki would refocus on the murders she was investigating.

"What's that?"

"How do you think the killer got into the room where they were sleeping without waking them?"

Lewis looked startled, his eyes suddenly more alert than they'd been. "That's a question I've asked myself over and over again," he declared. "The killer would almost certainly have had to have had a pass-key--like the maids used to open each room when they went in to clean and change the bedding."

"Where would he have obtained a pass-key?"

"We kept the pass-keys locked in a cabinet behind the desk where people checked in to the hotel. The maids got them when they came to work of a morning and returned them when they left at night. Workmen could pick them up, of course, when they went into the rooms to do work. Still, we clerks kept close track of the pass-keys so they wouldn't fall into the wrong hands. So, I really don't know how to answer your question."

"So any of the hotel employees would have had access to the pass-keys?"

"Yes."

Lewis appeared tired and Nikki thought for a moment that they'd gained all the information he could give them. "Gonna be time for a nap soon," he told them.

"We can come back and talk more some other time if you'd like to take a nap now," Nikki told him.

"No. No. I'm okay." Lewis shook his head and scowled. "I worked in hotels most of my life, but there were some funny things about working in that particular hotel," he said.

"Funny things?"

"Yeah, well, not funny funny, but odd things, I should say."

"How so?"

Lewis thought a moment. "You know it was a three-story hotel, right?"

"Yes."

"The guest rooms were on the second and third floors."

"Okay. So you're saying there weren't any guest rooms on the first floor?"

"No, there weren't. Maybe there had been at one time, but not while I was working there. The manager's suite was on the first floor, and there was a snack room where the guests could get a cup of coffee or a Coke or a candy bar, and maybe some other stuff from a vending machine. That room had some chairs and a table in it. Guests could drink coffee and visit there."

"What else was on the first floor?"

Lewis thought for a few moments. "There was a laundry room and two public rest rooms, and then there were a couple of rooms that were always locked. I never got to see inside them. Maybe they were offices, or had been at one time. I . . . I just don't know." Lewis was getting tired--or a little upset.

"What about the basement?" Greg asked.

Lewis appeared startled. "The . . . The basement?"

"Yes. The heating system must have been located there. Was there anything else in the basement?"

"I . . . I . . . I . . . I don't know."

"You don't know what was in the basement?"

"That . . . That was . . . That was one of the funny thngs about that hotel."

"What was that, Mr. Lewis?" Nikki questioned.

"The basement. I . . . I never got to go down there. In fact, I'd just been working at the hotel for a few days when I started to go down there to the basement. It was when I was looking for the manager. Anyway, the door to the stairs leading to the basement was locked. And . . . And then the manager came around and saw me trying that door and said I shouldn't have any need to go into the basement. I'm sure the heating plant must have been down there, but I just don't know what else was there. Never . . . Never did see anyone going down there."

It was obvious that John Lewis was getting tired, ready, as he put it, "for a nap." When a nurse stopped by, Nikki told her that they would be leaving soon, that Mr. Lewis was about ready for a nap. The nurse said that she'd help Mr. Lewis get back to his room. Give him something to help him nap.

"Wait a minute!" Lewis exclaimed.

"Okay."

Lewis fumbled in a bag that was on the floor beside his chair, produced a small photograph, and handed it to Nikki. "That's me behind the desk at the hotel," he told her.

Nikki studied the photograph before handing it to Greg. The photo showed a much younger John Lewis standing behind the desk where he worked as a clerk. It was probably just as the Beckers would have seen him when they walked into the hotel.

"See the stairs in the background, way to the back of the hotel?" Lewis asked.

"Yes?"

"Those stairs lead up to the second and third floors. The Beckers would have climbed those stairs to get to their room on the third floor." Lewis sighed. "That was the last I ever saw of them." He turned to the nurse. "Now, I'll let you take me back to my room."

Nikki and Greg thanked Lewis for the information he'd given them. Nikki handed him her business card and ask that he call her if he thought of anything that might help them determine who killed Ross and Crystal Becker--and why. As they started to leave the room, however, the nurse whispered, "Wait a minute. I'd like to talk to you."

Moments later the nurse came back from taking John Lewis to his room. "I just wanted to caution you," she told Nikki and Greg, "that Mr. Lewis isn't quite, well, with-it, these days. He's developing a little dementia, I'm afraid. You understand what I'm saying. I don't know how much you can trust anything he told you."
Chapter 4

Nikki and Greg drove by the old hotel on their way from visiting John Lewis at the nursing home and back toward Nikki's apartment. It wasn't that they were expecting to see anything different about the building or the immediate surroundings, and they didn't. From all appearances the old hotel was totally abandoned.

Both Nikki and Greg knew, however, that those appearances could be deceiving. Someone was paying the taxes and keeping electric service to the old building. The question was who--and why?

"So what did you think were most significant about the things John Lewis had to say about the hotel and the Beckers?" Greg asked.

"Several things were very significant, and we'll be checking them out," Nikki replied. "First of all was the statement that Crystal Becker was carrying a briefcase when the couple checked into the hotel. Lewis may or may not have told the police about it, but it was not noted in the police report detailing the initial investigation, at least not the one that I saw and copied."

"Assuming there was a briefcase, if it wasn't found in the couple's room when the police arrived, what happened to it?"

"That's a very good question. Maybe one of several things. Let's assume Lewis is right and that Crystal Becker was carrying a briefcase. Maybe it was the one thing that was stolen by the killer. Maybe that's what the killer was after that night. Of course, there's the chance that Lewis was giving us false information, but then I don't see why he would." Nikki hesitated. "And then, there's the possibility that we don't like to think about--but we'd better."

"What's that?"

"It may be that the original police report noted the missing briefcase, and then that wasn't mentioned in the official report. Somebody may have edited it out. And then, there's the possibility of a cover-up. Like maybe the cops--or somebody who was quite influential--didn't want that briefcase found."

"Whoa! Are you suggesting that--"

"I sure am."

Greg thought over what Nikki was suggesting. "Do you know who the cops were who investigated the murders?"

"I've got their names from the police reports, and I checked to see if they were still around. Two or three cops did most of the work. One of 'em is known to be dead and I've not been able to locate the others, not that I've been able to work much on locating them. Of course, they may be dead, too."

"Do you want me to try to locate the ones who may still be living?" Greg asked.

"Have you got an idea as to how we might go about doing that?"

"Yep. I've got a friend who's an MP. He likes tracking down people--and he's good at it. If anyone could find those two retired cops, he could."

"Let's think about that. Maybe we'll want to do that later, but let's do a little more work on our own first. See what we can turn up."

"Okay. What else do you react to in what John Lewis had to say?"

"The manager apparently didn't want him in the basement of the old hotel. Didn't want him in a couple of rooms on the first floor either. Sounds a little strange, doesn't it. After all, John Lewis was an employee. Why shouldn't he have access to the entire building?"

"Sure does sound strange to me, too. So," Greg turned to Nikki, "What do you want we should do with the rest of this afternoon?"

Nikki glanced at her watch. "What do you say we get something to eat--and then head on over to my apartment? Stay with me tonight and we'll get working on our investigation bright and early in the morning."

Greg smiled. "Wow! Sounds like a plan."

"Okay. Let's do it. There's one other thing I want your reaction to before we go to eat, though."

"Okay? What's that?"

"The nurse said that John Lewis wasn't, to use her words, quite 'with-it.' She mentioned that he had a little dementia setting in. That we couldn't quite trust him--or what he said. What do you think, Greg? Can we trust what he had to say?"

Greg thought for a few minutes. "Yeah, I heard what the nurse said, but I thought John Lewis was sharp enough when he was talking with us. Could there be any reason for the nurse to cast doubt on what he told us?"

"I don't know," Nikki replied. "We'll keep that possibility in mind."

* * * * *

Nikki drove them to Barefoot Tom's Bar. The two went inside and found a table in an out-of-the-way corner. Over bacon-burgers and fries they made plans for the next day. Greg's friend, Richard Miles, had said he'd be glad to bring his drone over on the following morning, and Greg called him to confirm those plans.

Greg was proving to be a real partner. A great friend--and a real partner. Nikki had checked him out with a friend of hers, Gail Frost, in the police department, and she felt that she could trust him one hundred percent. Not only did she hope she could trust him as her partner in this investigation, but just maybe she'd trust him as her partner in everything--for the rest of her life. Well, time would tell!

* * * * *

Chad Jackson and his friend, Jeff Miller, were seated in a dark corner at the bar when Nikki and Greg walked in. "Ya wantta leave?" Miller asked Jackson when he saw them.

"No. I think they're just gonna eat and run tonight," Jackson replied. He pulled the baseball cap he was wearing down lower on his forehead. "They're all wrapped up in each other, so they won't even notice us."

"I still think she's a damned good lookin' babe," Miller whispered.

Jackson smiled, but his eyes were hard as he responded. "Yeah, Jeff, she's hot, all right. Did I tell you I found out where she lives?"

"Yeah. You said you followed her to her apartment."

"I've been keeping an eye on her apartment off and on ever since. Wanted to see what she was doing these days. This morning after she and her boyfriend left the building, I went inside her apartment building, too. Looked around a bit. Interesting place she's got."

"You went inside the apartment building?"

"Yeah. I wanted to check out the security."

"Okay. What kind of security is there?"

Jackson laughed. "No big deal. They've got some surveillance cameras around the main entrance. I avoided getting my picture on any of them. No big deal."

"Right. Where'd you say she lives?"

"Tell you what, Jeff. Let's you and me get outta here and I'll drive you by her apartment building. Point out where her apartment is. We'll stop over at Whiskey Joe's later," Jackson said. He tossed two twenty-dollar bills on the counter to cover their drinks, and the two men left the bar by the back entrance. From there they made their way to Jackson's Toyota and climbed in.

"There it is. That's where she lives," Jackson told his friend a little later, pointing out the large apartment building where Nikki lived.

"Wow! That's some place!" Miller exclaimed.

"Yeah, ain't it though. It's an old warehouse that they've redone into an apartment building. Kept some of the original warehouse features, too."

Miller looked things over as Jackson drove through the parking lot. "Underground parking for the residents, eh?"

"Yeah."

"Secured underground parking, no less."

"Yeah."

"You said you went inside the apartment building?"

"Yeah."

"What's it like?"

"It's cool. Like I said, they've kept a lot of the old warehouse feataures. Great big windows. Heavy duty elevators. The works. And the view! Wow! People who live on the one side have a great view of the mountains in the distance. The babe's view isn't quite so great, but she's got a fairly scenic view as well. Her view overlooks some of the mountains as well as the river in the distance."

"Wow! I'd sure like to see inside her apartment."

Chad Jackson smiled, but his eyes were icy cold. "One of these days before too long we will. We'll get ourselves in there and look around."

* * * * *

Richard Miles met Nikki and Greg the following morning. They parked around the corner from the old Fairfield Brother's Hotel and walked down the alley, looking around carefully to see if anyone was paying any attention to them. There was no human activity to be seen around the hotel.

Greg and Richard had planned the drone surveillance carefully to avoid spending any more time around the old hotel than was absolutely necessary. They'd spotted a place in the alley where the three of them could watch the drone yet remain mostly out of sight. They'd get videos of everything the drone saw.

Richard first flew the drone over the rooftops of the surrounding buildings to see if there were any surveillance cameras watching the old hotel. There were none to be seen, a fact that surprised both Nikki and Greg.

A view of the old hotel's roof revealed a door that maintenance personnel could use to reach the roof from inside the hotel to service the air conditioners and to make repairs to the roof when required. A careful study of the door showed no visible locking mechanism, suggesting that the door was likely barred from inside, if it was locked at all.

Now for the view Nikki wanted most, the view through the window of room number 312. Although the window was dirty, probably not having been cleaned for the past 30 years, they were able to get a fairly good view inside that room--the crime scene.

It appeared that the room had not been cleaned up much if at all following the police investigation. The sheets and pillows had been removed from the bed, but the blood-stained mattress was still there, and there appeared to be blood stains on the wall near the head of the bed. No way could that room have been rented to any guests after that night of murder. Not without some serious refurbishing. But then, if John Lewis was correct, they apparently had few guests at that time. If that was so, they wouldn't have needed the room.

The window latching mechanism for the window in room 312 appeared to be unlatched, and Nikki wondered if the couple might have had the window open on the night they went to sleep in that room. Regardless, it would seem that Nikki and Greg could enter the room easily by climbing the fire-escape ladder to that window, pushing it open, and then climbing directly into the room.

Richard flew the drone slowly around the hotel and they took a quick look inside the other windows on both the second and third floors. Most of the rooms that they examined carefully appeared about as they would have been when the hotel closed. Beds appeared to be neatly made. Furniture was in place. Nothing in those rooms appeared to have been disturbed.

To judge by the views they had of the guest rooms, the hotel's owner or owners must have just walked out and locked the doors when they closed the hotel. They'd apparently not sold off the furniture or bedding. Nikki wondered if they'd cleaned out the first floor where the manager's office was located. She and Greg would get in there before long and see what remained.

In less than twenty minutes they were back at Nikki's apartment. They'd recorded the videos taken from the drone and would have time to study them in more detail. To the best of their knowledge, no one had observed their activities.

"We've got to pay a visit to the crime-scene, room number 312," Nikki told Greg and Richard. "That's our next objective."

"What do you hope to find there?" Richard asked.

"I don't know," Nikki admitted, "but that's where I like to start any investigation--at the crime-scene."

"Any particular things we'll be looking for?" Greg asked.

"We're going to do a thorough search of the room," Nikki replied, "and I mean thorough. We'll see if the cops missed anything the first time around, and we'll also get some ideas as to how the killer gained access. If he came from outside the hotel, he probably came up those back stairs we saw in John Lewis's photograph, but he'd have to have been somewhat familiar with those stairs and the location of the room where the victims were sleeping."

"Could the killer have come in and left through the window? Climbed up and down the fire-escape? Richard asked.

"We can't be sure," Nikki said, "but from the description in the police report, the killer was on the side of the bed closest to the door when he shot the Beckers.

"Regarding that particular window," Nikki continued, "we're going to get an idea as to whether it would have been easy to open and close. We'll also try to determine if there was anything inside the room under that window, like a desk or table, that would have made silent entry through that window more difficult."

"The cops might have moved the furniture," Greg said.

"Yes," Nikki replied, "so we'll have to examine the floor to see if we can tell where the furniture was positioned, and we may have to look at some of the other rooms with that in mind. We can do that, too."

"When do you want to go into that room?" Greg asked.

"I'd like to do that tomorrown morning." Nikki turned to Richard. "Can you back us up tomorrow morning?"

"Sure. I'll keep an eye on things outside the hotel and call or send a text message if there are any problems."

"Okay. Let's plan to examine that room tomorrow morning."

"If you guys run into any problems inside the hotel, you'll let me know right away, right?" Richard said.

"Yes."

"I'll have a flashlight and a few tools with me. Is there any special equipment I should bring?" Greg asked.

"Your gun," Nikki replied. She turned to Richard. "We don't know what we're getting into, so I want you to be armed, too."

Both men nodded. They knew the score.

* * * * *

Nikki and Greg spent most of that afternoon going over the police reports that had been developed when the Beckers murder was first investigated some 30 years ago, looking carefully to determine if there were particular things they should pay attention to the following morning when they inspected the crime-scene.

That evening they drove out to Barefoot Tom's Bar where they ate their usual bacon-burgers and relaxed a bit, enjoying the live music from a small local band. It was when Greg picked up a copy of the evening newspaper that he saw an item that gave both of them pause: John Lewis's name was listed in the death-notice column. He certainly hadn't seemed to be in bad health when they'd visited with him a few days ago. Nikki would check out the cause of his death--right away.

Upon seeing that death notice, Nikki immediately called her friend, Gail Frost, and explained her interest in John Lewis's seemingly untimely death. "Is there any question about what happened to him?" she asked.

"I'll make a phone call or two and see what I can find out," Gail promised.

It was later that evening when Gail returned Nikki's call. "The story on John Lewis is that he had a heart attack and fell down some stairs at the nursing home. He was taken to a hospital, but was pronounced dead upon his arrival. I talked to the doctor who pronounced him dead, and he didn't seem to think there was anything suspicious about his death. And, guess what, Nikki, it's too late to autopsy the body because they've already cremated him."

"Somebody was in a great hurry to get rid of the body, weren't they?"

"That's what I was thinking."

Nikki thanked Gail for her help.

Then, as Gail was about to say "goodbye" she paused. Hesitated. "Nikki?"

"Yes?"

"Neither one of us believes much in coincidence. Did you talk to John Lewis about anything that might have concerned somebody? Concerned them enough to want to shut him up permanently?"

Nikki would be honest. "I didn't think so, but I really don't know. Of course, it may be that we didn't get around to whatever he might have known that would have concerned somebody--but that somebody was afraid we might discuss on our next visit. And we were planning a next visit."

Gail though for a moment. "I don't know what you've walked into with your investigation, Nikki," she said, "but . . . watch your back!"
Chapter 5

Nikki and Greg met Richard in the alley behind the Fairfield Brother's Hotel the next morning as planned. There was no activity around the old hotel and Nikki immediately made the decision: "Let's do it!"

The fire-escape was essentially a sturdy steel ladder that extended from the ground to both second and third story windows. Greg climbed first, pausing every so often to be sure the ladder was sturdy and not about to collapse under his weight. He carefully studied the second-floor window that he passed, and then climbed to the third-floor window. They'd been correct about that third-floor window not being latched, once again bringing to mind the question of whether the killer might have entered and/or left the room that way.

After a little work with his pry-bar and one hard tug, Greg had the window open far enough for him to climb through. That done, he surveyed the room and then motioned for Nikki to join him.

While Nikki quietly surveyed the room and took several photos with her smart-phone and more with her digital camera, Greg eased open the door to the room and surveyed the third-floor hallway. He listened intently for sounds that might indicate that someone else was inside the hotel, but heard nothing. Although they didn't expect to find any surveillance cameras or listening devices in the room, both Greg and Nikki spent several moments making certain they weren't being observed.

Greg cautiously examined the lock on the door. Yes, if the Beckers had locked the door when they went to bed, and he had to assume that they had, it would have taken the pass-key that John Lewis had mentioned to open that door. Of course, the question remained as to where the killer had acquired that pass-key. It must have demanded the cooperation of someone who worked at or who had worked at the hotel--someone who might have had a key, or had made a copy of the pass-key.

If the killer hadn't come in through the window, Greg's best guess was that he'd come up the back stairs and then the short way down the hall to room 312. Once they finished examining the room, they'd take a closer look at that stairway and the back entrance to the hotel.

Nikki went to work at examining the room while Greg kept watch out the door and down the hall. She examined the blood-stained mattress and checked under it to see if anything was hidden there. Nothing. She checked the chest of drawers, removing each drawer and checking the bottom and back. Nothing. She checked the bathroom cabinet, again removing each drawer and checking the bottom and back. Nothing. The carpet was loose in one corner of the room and Nikki checked to see if anything were under it. Nothing. She searched the overhead light fixture and the lamp on the bedside table, even unscrewing the bulbs. Nothing. She searched all around and under the steam radiators that once heated the room. Nothing.

It did not appear that any furniture had ever been placed under the window through which they'd gained entrance to the room. That would make sense because the hotel manager would want to keep the fire-escape easily accessible. It just might have been possible that the killer came in through that window. Unlikely, yes, but possible. They'd keep that possibility in mind.

"Trade off with me, Greg," Nikki whispered, once she'd finished her initial search of the room. "I'll watch the hallway while you search the room."

"Anywhere in particular you want me to search?"

"Yes. First, give the room a once-over. See if I've missed anything. Then take off the covers on the electrical outlets and on the air-conditioning vents. Check inside those covers."

"Okay."

Nikki watched the hall, alert to any sounds that might indicate they weren't alone in the hotel, while Greg went to work. Moments later, she heard him whisper, "Bingo!"

"What do you have?"

Greg handed her the small pocket notebook he'd found hidden inside an electrical outlet box, and she quietly slipped it into her pocket. "Two more places to search," he whispered.

Nikki studied the hallway, all the time listening intently for any sounds within the old hotel--and not hearing a sound. The back stairs landing in the hotel was only a few feet from the doorway of room number 312. That would seem to be the logical way for an intruder to come to the room if he didn't come in through the window.

If the killer opened the room door without removing the light bulb from the fixture in the hall, the light would have shined directly on the sleeping couple--possibly waking them. Therefore, Nikki reasoned, the killer probably had removed the bulb before he opened the door.

The bulb was an easy reach for Nikki. She tried removing it. No problem there. The killer could have easily replaced it once he'd killed the Beckers.

Once Greg had finished searching the air conditioning vents and finding nothing, he and Nikki walked to the back stairs. "I'll keep an eye on the hallway from here while you climb down those stairs and look around," he whispered.

"Okay."

Nikki silently walked down the stairs to the second floor landing. She stood there for a moment listening, her eyes searching out any surveillance cameras that might have been installed but finding none. She also found herself admiring the architecture of the hotel. Indeed, back when it was built, that hotel would have been a beauty. The Fairfield brothers could have been quite proud of it.

The stairs were very solid under her feet. They did not squeak as she walked on them, suggesting that the building was well constructed. If the killer had come up those stairs, he would have made almost no sound.

At the bottom of those stairs, across from the landing that led to the first floor, was a door that would appear to open on stairs leading down to the basement--the door John Lewis had said was locked when he'd tried it. Also at the bottom of those stairs was the back door of the hotel.

Nikki studied the first-floor hallway and listened intently. There didn't seem to be any human activity. Only silence. Nor did she see any security cameras. Once again, she had to admire the structure. It would have been a beautiful building in its day. It would be an attraction to many people yet today if it were spruced up to its orignial beauty. If the hotel were modernized just a little, spruced up, and promoted as a historical attraction, Nikki guessed that it would attract guests yet today.

Back to the investigation. Would that back door of the hotel have remained unlocked during the night while the hotel was in operation? Not too likely, but maybe. If not, then the killer would have to have had a key to unlock that door--or the help of someone inside the hotel. Who might have helped the killer from inside the hotel? Who besides John Lewis was working that night?

In fact, with those thoughts aside, as Nikki studied the layout of the hotel, she saw how interesting it would be to explore the entire building--not just with the aim of solving a 30-year-old murder, but with the aim of exploring what appeared to be an abandoned hotel. It was easy for her to see the fascination of the old hotel to the Beckers--although she now suspected that the attraction to them was more than the building itself.

Enough of those thoughts. Nikki quickly climbed the stairs and kept a watch on the second floor hallway while Greg climbed down the stairs and looked around.

Greg came back upstairs moments later. "Time to go for today?" he whispered.

"Yes." They'd observed that the traffic around the hotel picked up late in the aftrernoon. They'd leave before the traffic picked up to lessen the chance they'd be observed there.

Moments later, Nikki and Greg rejoined Richard, having closed the window to room number 312 behind them before climbing down the fire-escape ladder.

"How did things go?" Richard asked.

"Good. Why don't you and Kathy join us out at Barefoot Tom's this evening and we'll tell you about our search afterwards? Treats are on us. Can you do that?"

"Yes. We'll see you there."

* * * * *

Nikki and Greg studied the small pocket-notebook Greg had found. It had belonged to Ross Becker, all right, because his name was printed on the first page. Now, why had he stashed it in perhaps the most secure place he could find that night when he and his wife had stayed at the Fairfield Brother's Hotel? Had he anticipated trouble? Had he known he was getting into dangerous territory?

There was a pencil-sketch of the hotel on the first page of the notebook. It was a sketch as the hotel would have appeared when it was operational, complete with shrubs around the front entrance. Nikki's guess was that he'd seen a photo of the hotel when it was in its prime in one of the early newspapers and made his sketch from that photo. Or perhaps he'd spent some time observing and sketching the hotel before he and his wife stayed there that fateful night some thirty years ago.

On the second page, there was an outline-sketch of the hotel and the other buildings on the block. The hotel itself sat on a corner of the block but just down the street was a bar, and just beyond that was a restaurant. Both buildings appeared to be as old as the hotel. Nikki made a mental note for them to look over those two buildings.

The bar was named The Twisted Heart Bar, the name it went by yet today, although Nikki wasn't sure just how much it was open these days. Maybe it was now only open on the weekends? Becker had written the name David Denison under the sketch of that bar. Very interesting! Could there be a connection between that bar and the Fairfield Brother's Hotel? And what might be David Denison's connection with the bar or the hotel?

Further on down the street was a restaurant, The Golden Eagle Restaurant. The name James Simolink was written under the sketch of the restaurant.

James Simolink! Now that was a very familiar name. James Simolink had enjoyed a tremendous political career as governor and later as a senator. Furthermore, he was known as a "king-maker" and had built a powerful dynasty in the political world. His backing of a candidate for public office virtually assured victory for that individual. Such was his reputation. Nikki would try to find out if there was a connection between James Simolink and The Golden Eagle Restaurant.

There had been a great deal of behind-his-back criticism of James Simolink over the years, and some said that he managed to simply buy himself out of a good many problems. He'd obviously had plenty of money, although exactly who backed him financially had been questioned by his rivals. And then there were the questions about two of his political arivals who disappeared and were presumed to have been murdered, although there were no formal charges ever brought against James Simolink--or anyone else. Of course, some people said that he "owned" most of the cops on the police force--and that they took good care of him.

Walter and Bill Fairfield, the brothers who owned and operated the Fairfield Brother's Hotel were noted on that second page--as was David Denison! Nikki would pursue that relationship.

David Denison--the father of Police Chief Ryan Denison? What connection did he have with the Fairfield brothers--if any?

Nikki and Greg would take a close look at the three buildings noted and pictured in Ross Becker's notebook, and then they'd take a look in the library to see if they could determine the connection between the men listed with those businesses.

"We may be on to something if we can link those three businesses or the people who owned them," Greg spoke up.

"Yes!"

"Nikki?"

"Yes?"

"I know you want to take a close look at those buildings, but I've got to be out of town for a few days starting tomorrow and I want you to wait until I'm back before you do that. Then we'll take a look at them together. Richard will back us up like he did when we went into that hotel. Okay?"

"I guess so."

"Nikki, I think that the bar and restaurant are still operating--at least part time. Even so, we may be getting close to whatever got the Beckers killed--and I don't want you going into those places by yourself. I want you to wait 'till I can go with you."

Nikki nodded. "Okay. I'll do some library work on those businesses and on the relationships between the men listed with them in the Becker's notebook." She'd see what connections existed between those men that she could determine.

Greg reached out to Nikki and put his arms around her. "I don't mean to imply that you're not able to take care of yourself or that you're not a good cop, but I don't want you getting hurt."

After a long hug and several kisses, Nikki turned their attention back to the Becker's notebook. On the page following the one noting the three buildings, was a large paper clip holding two folded ten-dollar bills. Greg carefully removed the paper clip, unfolded the currency, and handed them to Nikki. "What do you make of these?" he asked.

"Wait."

"You have something else?"

"Yes. See that line under the drawings of the three businesses, the lines with the little loops and arrows on the ends?"

"Yes."

"Well, there's a faint line drawn from the mid-point of that line, drawn up and down to the bottom of the page. Flip the page and we'll see if it's continued on the next page."

Greg flipped the page. The line Nikki had referred to was indeed continued on the next page and ended with a circle around the wording "El Salvador." "Okay," Greg said, "We've got a t-shaped diagram. The three businesses are underlined at the top of the 'T' and the vertical line leads to 'El Salvador.' What do you make of all that?"

"I don't know. What do you think?"

"I don't know, either, but there's a name on the next page that could be that of a person in El Salvador. What it represents, I don't know, but I've got a feeling that we should check it out."

"We'll do that."

Greg flipped the page. On that next page in the little notebook were several series of numbers and dates--dates from the year when the Beckers were murdered. "We'll need to spend some time with those numbers," he said, "because they resemble codes of some sort."

"Yes," Nikki agreed. "Now what about the two ten dollar bills?"

Nikki and Greg studied the two bills. "They appear to be genuine," Nikki said, "although I'm a little skeptical because of the way the paper feels. Of course, that might be because these are older, they're dated 1970. And the serial numbers are one number apart." She handed the money to Greg. "I've got a friend in the police department who can give us an opinion on these," she added, "and I'll show them to her tomorrow."

Greg examined the two ten dollar bills, then turned to Nikki. "What's that written on the page of the notebook where these were clipped?"

Nikki studied the page for a moment. "It's a name. Wow! Ever hear of Orville McKnight?"

"Orville McKnight?" Greg grinned. "Is he the one they called 'Big O' McKnight?"

"Orville 'Big O' McKnight, I'd guess that's him, all right. What do you know about him?"

Greg thought a moment. "That was the name of a reputed underworld 'boss' if I remember correctly."

"That's right. Orville McKnight was mixed up in a host of illegal activities in the 1930s and 1940s and 1950s, maybe later. Gambling. Prostitution. Extortion. You name it, McKnight was involved with it. Well, he was reputed to be involved, but he was never brought to trial. People said that was because he had more cops on his payroll than the city so nobody could touch him."

"Is he still alive?"

"I don't know. We can find out. Even if he's not alive, his organization is probably still active with new leadership. Now, why do you think his name would be recorded next to those ten dollar bills?"

"Was he into counterfeiting?"

"Probably. He was into almost everything else that was illegal, reputed to be, anyway, I should say. I'll look into some of his reputed activities. Gail Frost will help me, because she's had her eye on Orville McKnight and what influence he and his organization may have had with the police for some time now."

"Nikki?"

Nikki sighed. "Yeah, Greg?"

"You know what I'm going to say, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"I don't want you around those three buildings the Becker's named in that notebook until I'm back. Do the library work and anything else you can with your friends on the force, but leave the buildings until Richard and I can help. We'll back you up. Okay?"

Nikki nodded. "Okay."

Yes, Nikki understood Greg's concern. Ross Becker may have assumed that he was getting into dangerous territory by staying at the Fairfield Brother's Hotel, so he stashed his notebook in the most secure place he could find. He was apparently making some connections between the three business owners and someone in El Salvador, as well as with a known underworld character--Orville McKnight. Now to decipher Becker's notebook. Nikki and Greg would, with Gail Frost's help, work hard on that notebook. Determine what information it might yet hold for them.

* * * * *

There were pumpkins and jack-o-lanterns all around the main entrance to Barefoot Tom's Bar when Nikki and Greg arrived late that afternoon. Indeed, Halloween was less than a week away, and announcements of the upcoming Halloween Costume Party were posted out front and all around inside the bar.

"Are you going to be here for Halloween?" Nikki asked.

Greg shook his head. "No. I hate to miss the party, but my friend in Chicago is getting married, and he asked me to be his best man. They're actually getting married on Halloween, so I'm going to have to miss the party."

It had been over 10 years since Nikki had been to a Halloween party. While she was disappointed at Greg's not being there to go to the party with her, she wasn't going to miss that party at Barefoot Tom's. No way. She knew exactly the costume she'd wear--that of a wicked witch. Yes. She'd go as the "Mistress of Evil!" Slinky black dress. Black eye-mask. Pointed black hat! Black shoes. Yes! Yes! Yes! It wouldn't take long for her to put that outfit together.

Just thinking about her "evil" costume brought a smile to Nikki's face. She'd worn it once to a Halloween party hosted by the Chief of Police, Ryan Denison--and had gotten a reprimand for doing so. Denison had actually told her that she was showing much too much celavage! She didn't think she'd get any such reprimand from the guys at Barefoot Tom's!

Nikki and Greg ordered bacon-burgers and fries. A little later Richard and Kathy joined them. When the band began to play a slow number, both couples got up to dance. On the next dance, they traded partners. Nikki snuggled close to Richard, enjoying his company as she'd enjoyed Greg's.

"Will you guys be here for the Halloween party?" Nikki asked Kathy once the dance was over.

"No, I'm afraid not," Kathy replied. "We're going to be away until after Halloween."

Not long afterward both couples left Barefoot Tom's. They sat in Greg's four-door truck while he and Nikki filled Richard and Kathy in on their findings at the old hotel, and then Greg drove Nikki back to her apartment. Richard and Kathy left as well. They'd get together again--and soon.

* * * * *

Chad Jackson and Jeff Miller watched Nikki leave with Greg. "Do you think they'll show up for the Halloween party?" Jeff asked.

Chad grinned. "I sure hope she does," he whispered.
Chapter 6

On her way to visit Gail Frost, her friend in Internal Affairs within the Police Department, Nikki drove by the three businesses noted in the Becker's notebook. The Fairfield Brother's Hotel, the Twisted Heart Bar, and the Golden Eagle Restaurant sat there in a row just as the Beckers had positioned them in their notebook. What role, if any, the three businesses or their owners played in the murder of Ross and Crystal Becker was yet to be determined.

Gail was quite interested in Nikki's investigation of the 30-year-old murders of Ross and Crystal Becker--and in Greg Browning's involvement with Nikki. Gail had checked out Greg Browning with a couple of MPs she knew as soon as she learned that he was interested in helping Nikki--and the MPs had recommended him as someone who had the skills to be extremely helpful. "He's a good man," both of the MPs had said, "and you can trust him with sensitive material."

Nikki and Gail had been good friends for years. In fact, Gail felt quite protective of Nikki. There was no way she wanted Nikki to get involved with a guy who wasn't worthy of her, and she was pleased to learn that Greg was well thought of by the MPs she'd checked with.

Of course, Gail was quite interested in the notebook Greg had found in the room where the Beckers had been murdered. She studied the drawings and the names mentioned in the notebook, and then examined the two ten dollar bills that were in that notebook. "If you'll leave the currency with me for a few days, I'll get you an opinion as to whether it's counterfeit," she told Nikki. That was fine with Nikki.

Gail studied the names noted in the notebook along with the three businesses for several minutes, deep in thought. When she looked up at Nikki, her eyes were hard. "I hope you're not getting mixed up with the Orville McKnight mess," she whispered.

"What can you tell us about Orville McKnight?"

"Okay, we'll get to him," Gail replied, "but let's start with the other men listed in that notebook."

"Okay."

"David Denison, as you likely know, is the father of Ryan Denison, our Chief of Police."

"Yes."

"If I remember correctly, David Denison had connections to the Twisted Heart Bar. Maybe he owned it, or managed it, or whatever--I'm not sure. Now, you'll check this out, but I believe the Twisted Heart Bar had a twisted reputation all it's own during the 1920s when prohibition was in."

"What reputation was that?"

"Somehow that place stayed open at a time when the cops were closing down a number of bars around the city because they were selling illegal booze. There was the rumor that the cops simply looked the other way because the people who owned the Twisted Heart Bar were very influential and paid off the cops in various ways.

"It wasn't just that people could get a drink at that bar during prohibition, but there were rumored to be other connections with the underworld. This is all hearsay, mind you," Gail said, "but I'm telling you that the Twisted Heart Bar had a bad reputation with many of the honest cops way back then."

"The Twisted Heart Bar had other connections with the underworld, you say?" Nikki asked. "Like what?"

"I don't know the specifics, but my impression is that the owners had their fingers in organized crime circles. Let me tell you what I know about the other two names in that notebook and you'll get the idea, okay?"

"Okay."

"James Simolink, the name linked with the Golden Eagle Restaurant in that notebook, was a powerful political figure beginning way back in the late 1950s and 1960s and 1970s. He was a state senator and later the governor, or maybe it was the other way around, and was then known as a 'king-maker.' His fortune, and I don't know exactly how he came by the money, supported a series of senators and maybe others who held positions of power.

"And then," Gail continued, "we come to Orville McKnight. He was known as 'Big O' and was a reputed underworld crime boss. He was said to have more cops on his payroll than did the city." She turned to Nikki. "I hope you're not getting mixed up with the Orville McKnight affairs."

Nikki would be honest. "I don't know exactly what we're getting into. Is Orville McKnight still alive?"

"Yes, he sure is. He lives in a mansion toward the north edge of the city, and he's rumored to have his fingers in organized crime yet today."

"He must be getting pretty old?"

"Yes. He's at least 90 years old, maybe mid-90s, but he's still very active. If he had any connection with David Denison or James Simolink, I'd guess it involved criminal activity. Like I said, I hope you're not getting mixed up with McKnight. He's bad news."

"I don't know how these names in the Becker's notebook fit together with their murder, but we'll be cautious," Nikki assured Gail. "Now, let me ask you another question."

"Okay."

"There were three cops involved in the investigation of the Becker's murder. I know that one of 'em is dead. The two other cops who investigated the Becker's murder were Alan Thornburg and Ron Ziggler. Do you have any idea as to where they are now?"

Gail smiled. "I knew those guys, and I can find out where they are now," she said, "and I'll also have somebody check out those ten dollar bills.

"Now Nikki," Gail continued after a moment's pause. "I agree with Greg's advice to you about not going into any of those buildings alone. If you absolutely have to go inside one of them and he isn't available, let me know. I'll back you up."

* * * * *

Nikki's next stop that morning was at the city library. She expected to find newspaper accounts of the openings of the Twisted Heart Bar and of the Golden Eagle Restaurant and she found brief mentions of each establishment.

David Denison's father, Herman Denison, was shown with two other men at the grand opening of the Twisted Heart Bar in 1886, almost one year to the day after the Fairfield Brother's Hotel opened. The establishment was praised by the mayor as a "high-class" bar designed as a place for the "elite of the community to come together."

The city mayor was interviewed at the time the Golden Eagle Restaurant opened. That was not long after the grand opening of the Twisted Heart Bar. He had praise for all three businesses. In reference to the restaurant, the mayor praised the establishment as featuring "fine dining for the elite of the community."

Herman Denison, David Denison, and James Simolink were constantly in the news. Simolink had indeed been active in politics, and the Denisons appeared to be a part of Simolink's inner circle. In fact, the Denisons had sponsored several large newspaper and radio endorsements of James Simolink as a candidate for senator and governor.

Orville "Big O" McKnight apparently kept himself out of the news because Nikki could find very few references to him.

So much for newspaper references to the Twisted Heart Bar and the Golden Eagle Restaurant or the men associated with them--for now. Well, there was one more thing she could check out regarding the Twisted Heart Bar and the Golden Eagle Restaurant--who was paying the taxes on those businesses. A visit to the court house revealed that taxes on both businesses were paid in much the same way she'd found them to be paid on the Fairfield Brother's Hotel--by cashiers checks from an off-shore bank.

Both the bar and restaurant businesses were served by electric, water, and gas utilities, and all utilities were paid from an off-shore bank account, as was electric service to the hotel. Could it be that the same person now owned all three businesses? Whoever owned those businesses certainly went to some effort to remain anonymous. Nikki wondered why that was necessary.

* * * * *

Halloween night. Time to party at Barefoot Tom's Halloween Costume Party. Nikki became the "Mistress of Evil" in her black dress and pointed hat, low, pointed-toe boots, and sinister make-up. Yes! She'd turn heads in that outfit, all right, Nikki told herself, as she climbed into her Ford Escape and drove to Barefoot Tom's Bar.

Janet, Nikki's regular bar-maid, now costumed as a sexy goblin, came over the moment she saw Nikki. They complimented each other on the costumes, and Nikki ordered her usual bacon-burger, fries, and Coke.

And what a party it was! Patrons had come dressed as all the traditional Halloween characters--ghosts, witches, zombies, and other "creatures of the night." Nikki wished Greg could have been there with her and speculated just a bit as to what kind of creature he might have represented. She'd get him to go with her to the party next year! Help him get up a costume! Yes! Yes! Yes!

* * * * *

"There she is, Chad! Get a look at that sexy witch with the short skirt! Whooeee! Would you look at those legs! Wow! Nice low-cut top, too!" Jeff Miller whispered to Chad Jackson the moment he saw Nikki enter the bar.

"Yeah, Jeff, I see her, and whatdaya know--she's all by herself tonight. Boyfriend must be out of town. Are you gonna ask her to dance?"

"Damned right, I am. I've got enough face paint on with this zombie costume so she couldn't recognize me even if she knew who I was--and she don't."

"Are you gonna tell her your name?"

"Hell yes. I could go for a babe like her. Show her one helluva good time. You can bet that I'll tell her my name. Get her phone number, too."

"Kinda old for ya, ain't she, Jeff?"

"Hell no. She's one hot babe, regardless of her age."

"All right, Jeff. Ask her for a dance. She won't know you, and I don't think she can recognize me either," Jackson replied, "but I'm getting out of her right after I see you dance with her. Goin' over to Whiskey Joe's. If things don't work out like you plan, meet me over there. There'll be a lot of girls there lookin' to be picked up. We can show 'em a good time."

"I won't be goin' over to Whiskey Joe's, unless she makes a fuss. Tell's me to get outta here or something. Maybe I'll get lucky and get a second dance. Maybe buy her a drink. Maybe take her home."

"Not a chance, Jeff. She's been drinkin' Coke every time I've seen her here. Probably doesn't want some guy to get her drunk--or drug her drink. You know what I mean."

"Yeah, but I thought you wanted to get even with her. We could set her up tonight after I dance with her. Would you like that?"

"No way, not tonight." Jackson turned to his friend. "Tonight, she's yours, pal--all yours. One of these nights she's gonna be mine--all mine." He scanned the area, making sure no one could hear him before he continued in a cold whisper, "And when I'm through with her, you ain't gonna want what's left of her. Just remember that before you get too attached to her."

Chad Jackson watched as Jeff Miller walked right up to Nikki's table, a confident smile on his zombi-painted face. Jeff was smooth, all right, a real ladies man. Chad could read Jeff's lips as he said, "Beautiful Mistress of Evil, would you like to dance?" and saw the smile in response that said, "Yes." Moments later, as the band was beginning to play another slow song, Nikki snuggled into Jeff Miller's arms and the couple began to sway to the music. Once the music stopped and Nikki invited her new dance partner to sit at her table, Chad Jackson slipped away from his seat at the bar and out the back door of Barefoot Tom's.

"You better not get too attached to that bitch, Jeff," Chad Jackson mumbled to himself as he left Barefoot Tom's, "'cause when I'm through with her, you ain't gonna want what's left."

* * * * *

Less than an hour later, Jeff Miller joined Chad Jackson at Whiskey Joe's Bar, where another Halloween Costume Party, although with a younger group of patrons than at Barefoot Tom's, was in full swing.

"Ya didn't get to take the witch-bitch home, eh?" Jackson asked.

Miller grinned. "Didn't take her home, but we had a helluva good time."

"Yeah? What happened?"

"We danced three dances. Hugged her tight, and I got in three hot kisses. Got her name and phone number. Even got a look down her dress. Wow! Double-Wow!" Miller grinned. "She's one hot babe!"

"So you danced three dances with her. What happened then?"

"She told me that she had to leave, that she'd enjoyed meeting me and hoped she'd see me again. I walked her out to her car and gave her another hot kiss to remember me by. After she took off, I followed her. She headed straight for her place. You showed me where she lived, so I didn't have to follow very close. Anyway, she went straight up to her apartment. When I saw her light come on, I took off. Came straight over here. Figured there might be some hot chicks here, too."

"There's some hot chicks here, all right," Jackson said. "Some of 'em are gettin' drunk, too. You see that one over there? The one dressed like a goblin?" He pointed.

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna move in on her right now. Buy her another drink." Jackson motioned to the bartender and then toward the girl. Handed the bartender a ten dollar bill. The bartender knew what he wanted.

"Is that her friend? The one dressed like a black cat?" Miller asked.

"Yeah, the one with the pointed ears and the long black tail. You interested in her?"

"Yeah." It was Miller's turn to buy a girl a drink. Not that she was as hot as the one he'd met and danced with at Barefoot Tom's earlier that evening, but a good-lookin' girl nonetheless. She'd be ready to go someplace cozy with him, maybe to her apartment--or his, later that night.

* * * * *

It was late that Halloween evening when Nikki's telephone rang.

"Hello?"

"Gail Frost, here, Nikki. Hope I'm not calling you too late."

"No. What's new?"

"We talked about the two cops who investigated the murder you're looking into, remember?"

"Yes?"

"I've got some information about them for you. Can you come in to my office tomorrow morning?"

"I sure can. I'll plan on that. See you then."
Chapter 7

Gail invited Nikki into her office the following morning and immediately closed the door. "Pull up a chair," she invited, and Nikki did just that.

"I don't know exactly what you may have gotten us into," Gail began, keeping her voice low as she spoke, "but I've got the addresses of the two cops who investigated the murders of Ross and Crystal Becker. The two that are still alive, that is."

"Alan Thornburg and Ron Ziggler, right?"

"Yes." Gail hesitated.

"Is there a problem?"

"Maybe I'm just being overly cautious, but I want the two of us to plan very carefully how we approach those two men."

"I agree. What's your thinking, Gail?"

"First off, as you probably know or can guess, they're both well along in years. Thornburg is in his mid 80's, 86 or 87, I believe; Ziggler is 90, near 91. They're both living in posh nursing homes, more high-class than most retired cops could afford."

"Where are they living?"

"Thornburg lives in Detroit; Ziggler lives in Arizona."

"What do you know about their professional activities after they moved away from here? Did they simply retire, or did they continue to work as cops?"

"They were in their early 60s when they moved away, and I don't think either one worked as a cop after they moved away. Thornburg was a bachelor; he was never married. Ziggler's wife passed away around 10 years ago, and they never had any children."

"Are you thinking 'worse-case scenarios' like I am?"

"Yes. Want to go first?"

"All right," Nikki began. "We've got two cops who are ready to retire. They don't solve the murder--and somebody helps 'em or encourages 'em to retire and move a long ways from here where they don't give anybody any fresh ideas about the case. Maybe somebody paid 'em off to retire early and get out of here. Maybe that somebody is still paying their bills--paying for those posh nursing homes. Maybe that somebody wouldn't be happy to learn that we were looking into that old murder--for sure not if we're talking to those old cops."

"My thinking, too. We also can't be sure but what somebody killed John Lewis right after you talked to him."

"I know that," Nikki agreed.

"Something I've been wondering, did you notice anyone paying special attention to you and Greg when you talked to John Lewis? Anyone standing near the door where they could hear you, things like that?"

Nikki thought for a few moments. "No, we didn't. I think the nurse who eventually took Lewis back to his room after we were finished looked in on us a time or two, but that was all. Of course, she could have been listening in, or the room might have been bugged. If I had to guess, I'd guess the room was bugged. We should have thought about that.

"Greg was seated where he could see the door, which was open while we talked," Nikki added, "but he didn't see anyone paying any particular attention to us. Of course, like I said, the room could have been bugged and we'd have had no clue."

"So maybe somebody got paid off to keep a record of who John Lewis talked to and what he told you guys?" Gail questioned.

"I know that's possible," Nikki replied, "and it's something we'll be much more concerned about in the future. Now back to the two retired cops, I'd like to talk to both of them, but I think it would be best if we--that might mean you and me, let's say--talked to both of them at the same time, the same hour if we could. That way, one wouldn't be able to warn the other that we were going to talk to him."

"Okay. We've got two additional things to think about." Gail thought for a moment. "I probably can't get away to go talk with either one, but I have a good friend with the Detroit Police Department. She could talk to Thornburg and you and Greg could talk to Ziggler there in Arizona. We could do our best to coordinate the visits. Talk to 'em both before one had the chance to alert the other about what was coming down.

"The second thing we have to ask ourselves is this; If somebody killed John Lewis because you came around talking to him about the Becker's murders, they might well assume you'd be interested in talking to the cops who first investigated that murder. If so, they've probably already warned Thornburg and Ziggler to be on the lookout for you, and told 'em what to say."

"I understand what you're saying," Nikki agreed, "but I'd still like to talk with both of them. See what they've got to say. We might or might not learn anything new, but then again we just might."

Gail was smiling now. "And we'll probably, well maybe, be able to figure out if there was a cover-up."

"Greg's going to be back in two days. What do you say the three of us get together as soon as he's back and plan out visits to these two old cops? See what we can stir up. Get things going."

"We'll do it," Gail replied. "We just have to remember the possibility that somebody may be very unhappy that we're looking into those old murders. Regardless of whether those old cops can tell us anything new, somebody may think they could or did. You and Greg are going to be very wary, now as always, but for sure after you talk to those guys."

"I agree. There's one other thing I've been thinking about," Nikki said.

"What's that?"

"We can't be sure but what one or both of those old cops will call someone as soon as we leave, that is if we are able to take them by surprise. What if we were to leave a listening device in their room, assuming we can talk to them in their own rooms? See if we pick up anything. Maybe go back a day or so later and remove it? See if they called anyone? See who they called and what they said?"

Gail smiled but her eyes were hard. "Good idea."

Nikki returned the smile. "Yes."

Greg had promised to call her regularly. That night when he called, Nikki told him she had an assignment for him just as soon as he returned. No way would she talk about that assignment on her phone, knowing what she did about how insecure phone conversations were these days, but she'd said enough to get his attention. "I'll be home in two more days," he responded, "and I'm looking forward to being with you." He meant that, too. The "assignment" would be most interesting, for sure, but being with Nikki was what Greg was most interested in.

* * * * *

Nikki spent the aftrernoon studying intently the original police files that Alan Thornburg and Ron Ziggler had submitted years ago, and considering how she and Greg might ask questions of the two old cops in a couple or three days. Stir things up a little.

She wasn't going back to Barefoot Tom's that evening, but she did want to relax, and that was best done with a ride on her Harley-Davidson. Besides, she'd wanted to look over the Twisted Heart Bar and the Golden Eagle Restaurant after dark--just to see the activity, if any, around each establishment. See if they were actually open for business. And once she'd done that and then settled back into the leather seat on her Harley, she just might be ready for a long night's ride before returning to her apartment.

There were six motorcycles, mostly big Harley's except for one or two foreign makes, in the Twisted Heart Bar parking lot, all positioned near the entrance. A small red and blue neon sign in the shape of a twisted heart announced that the bar was "open" for business. The Golden Eagle Restaurant did not appear to be open, and Nikki could detect absolutely no activity around the Fairfield Brother's Hotel.

Nikki idled the big Harley as she rode down the alley behind the three businesses that interested her, not wanting to call undue attention to herself but wanting to see any activity she could spot. There were two motorcycles, both big Harleys, and a small SUV parked behind the bar. Although she didn't expect to find any activity around the restaurant, Nikki was surprised to see two large SUVs parked there. Those vehicles parked behind the restaurant were parked in the shadow of the building and were almost undetectable from the street.

The motorcycles and vehicles parked behind the buildings were all backed into their parking spaces, so it wouldn't be easy for her to get the tag numbers, and she knew that neither Greg or Gail wouldn't want her getting up close to get those by herself. One of these nights when Greg was back, they'd get the tag numbers of any vehicles parked there--just to find out who was there. Maybe they'd get some clues as to who was there and what they were doing.

Although Nikki could not see them, the tingle of fear she experienced assured her that icy-cold eyes watched from those darkened windows as she rode down that alley. Few people would have ridden down that alley, especially well after dark. Greg certainly wouldn't have approved of her being there by herself.

* * * * *

Gail called the following afternoon and asked Nikki to come to her office. "I faxed a copy of the old police report on the Becker's murder to my friend in Detroit," she told Nikki. "She's going to study it and we'll talk about it tomorrow. I also noted our concerns as well as the major take-aways from your interview with John Lewis. She may be able to follow up on some of those question."

"She's okay with interviewing Alan Thornburg?"

"Oh yes, and she'll coordinate the actual interview to take place near the time when you and Greg are ready to interview Ron Ziggler. She's an experienced cop and she understands the need for that."

"You've given her the cautions that we've discussed?"

"Yes, and she's a tough ol' cop. I think she'll pick up on anything that might help us with the investigation."

"Greg will be back late tonight," Nikki told Gail. "We've got an apointment for breakfast together tomorrow, and then we'll discuss how we're going to get to Arizona and see Ron Ziggler. We'll get in touch with you as soon as we've made plans to do that, because I want to get those interviews underway right away."

* * * * *

Nikki and Greg boarded the flight to Tucson, Arizona. Ron Ziggler was now residing in a nursing home on the outskirts of Tucson, and plans were for them to call on him the following afternoon--at the same time Gail's friend in Detroit was calling on Alan Thornburg.

Ron Ziggler, at 90 years of age, was the older of the two men. When Nikki talked to him, however, he seemed to be quite alert and in good spirits. "Sure, I'll be happy to talk to another cop about that old murder," he told her, "and maybe you can actually solve it."

By the time she and Greg were seated in Ziggler's room a short time later, however, he seemed much less enthusiastic. "Ya know," he told them, before they could ask any questions, "sometimes, it's just best to let those ol' sleeping dogs lie."

"We're not going do that, Mr. Ziggler," Nikki responded, "and we're hoping you can help us."

"Well, okay," Ziggler responded, caution evident in his voice, "but ya never know what you'll stir up."

"That's true, but we're going to look into things, anyway. See what we can stir up."

"Well, okay, then. How can I help you?"

"Do you remember the incident--the murder of Ross and Crystal Becker?"

"Like it happened yesterday."

Well, then, Nikki would get right to her questions. "Mr. Lewis, the desk clerk that night, told us that Crystal Ross was carrying a brief case when they checked into the hotel. It apparently wasn't in their room when you investigated the following morning, because it wasn't mentioned in the police report. Am I right?"

"A brief case? What brief case? Nobody said anything about a brief case, not to me, anyway."

"Mr. Lewis didn't mention a brief case?"

"No. The fact is, he wasn't very cooperative. Didn't much want to talk to us cops. Don't know why, but he didn't."

Nikki wouldn't pursue that comment, but she'd keep that statement in mind. "How do you think the killer got into their hotel room without waking them?"

"Always figured he had to have had a key to their room. Now, where'd he get the key? We asked around some, but nobody seemed to know. The hotel manager claimed that none of the hotel keys to that room were missing."

"Could the killer have come in through the window? It opens on the fire escape, you know."

"I know the window you mean, but I doubt it. Getting that window open would have made enough noise to wake the Beckers."

"Did you try to open that window to see how much noise it would have made?"

"Yeah, I did. It squeaked somethin' awful when I tugged it open. It wasn't so easy to open, either."

"So the killer almost certainly had to have had a key to their room, and also a key to the back door of the hotel--if that's the way he came in."

"Yeah. The hotel manager told us they kept that back door locked at night. That was part of the desk clerk's job, to make sure that door was locked at night. Anyone who came into the hotel after dark had to come in by the front door."

"The desk-clerk's job was to make sure the back door was locked at night?"

"Yeah. It was part of the desk-clerk's job to make sure that door was locked at night. That's what the manager said."

"Have you had any thoughts abut who killed the Beckers--and why?"

Ron Ziggler thought for several minutes. "I didn't have much time to think about it. Ryan Denison, he was the Chief, you know, pulled me and Alan off that case and assigned us to another murder investigation. We were both about ready to retire, so we both did so within a year or so." Ziggler leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, apparently deep in thought for several moments. "No, I don't have a clue as to who killed those two."

"Well, then, I've got a couple more questions for you," Nikki said.

"Okay. Whatcha got?" Ziggler didn't appear happy about that.

"Did you know a man by the name of Herman Denison?"

Ziggler's eyes flew open. "Yeah, I knew Herman Denison. He was the grandfather of Ryan Denison, the Chief of Police."

"Herman Denison wasn't a policeman though, was he?"

"No." Ziggler paused. "Come to think of it, I don't know what he did for a living. He was pretty old when I knew him. Probably retired."

"Did he own a business of any kind?"

"I'm afraid I can't help you there. Ask David or Ryan Denison. They oughta know."

"Okay. Another question. Did you know a man by the name of James Simolink?"

Ziggler smiled. "Sure, I knew him. Everybody did back 30 or 40 years ago. He was the governor for two terms, and I think he was a senator. Held several elected offices, anyway. What about him?"

"Was he connected with Herman Denison in any way?"

Ziggler shook his head. Shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know."

"Okay, then, Mr. Ziggler, just one more question. Did you know a man by the name of Orville McKnight?"

Ron Ziggler sat bolt upright in his chair, clutching for the chair arms for support. He was breathing hard and his eyes now were icy-hard. "Listen to me, both of you," he rasped, then fell silent, thinking for several moments, before he continued. "If you're getting mixed up with Orville McKnight, I've got one piece of advice."

"What's that?"

"Drop it. Looking around in that man's affairs will get you killed--and damned fast."

It was obvious that was all Nikki and Greg were going to get from Ron Ziggler. Nikki thanked him for his time and let him know she'd be back. "I'll stop by again in a few days, Mr. Ziggler," she told him, "and if you think of anything that might help us investigate the Becker's murder, we'd certainly appreciate hearing it."

"Okay, I'll do some thinking," Ziggler replied, "but I think I've told you about everything I can remember."

* * * * *

While Nikki and Ron Ziggler had been talking, Greg had listened intently, watching Ziggler's body language for any clues it might provide. He'd recorded the conversation--and he'd also placed a tiny listening device under Ziggler's bedside table. They'd pick up that device when they came back for a second visit in a few days. Maybe Ziggler would place a call to someone or have another visitor; if so, Nikki and Greg wanted to know about it.

* * * * *

Alan Thornburg, the cop who'd partnered with Ron Ziggler investigating the Becker's murder, proved to be of little help. He did not wish to talk about that investigation and told Gail's friend in Detroit that he'd "forgotten all about the case." When she appealed to his having been a "good cop" and ask him to read over the police report he and Ziggler had submitted years ago, however, he reluctantly agreed and asked her to come back in a few days. "I'll see if I can come up with anything for you," he told her.

And, yes, she'd managed to plant a tiny listening device in Alan Thornburg's room.
Chapter 8

Two days later, Nikki and Greg had the listening device they'd placed in Ron Ziggler's room--but no new information about the murders from the retired cop. Fact was, the old cop wasn't any too pleased to see them again. Let them know in no uncertain terms that he didn't have any new information for them, and that he didn't want to talk any more about that "ancient history."

He'd made a significant telephone call right after they'd left his room, all right, a call to Orville McKnight--and because Ziggler had used a speaker phone, the listening device had picked up both sides of the conversation.

"This retired cop," Ziggler informed McKnight, "has been here asking me questions about Ross and Crystal Becker's murder, that's back some 30 years ago now. Seems as if this cop is investigating it again--like what they call a cold case. I . . . I thought you'd want to know."

"I sure do want to know. What's the cop's name, Ron?"

"Nikki Hamilton. She's a retired detective."

"You didn't tell her anything, did you, Ron?"

"No, sir. Not a thing. But then she started asking me if I knew anything about several people. Seemed like she was making connections between people we know who worked out of that bar together back 30 years and more ago. Like maybe she knew how the three of you worked together. You know who I mean?"

"Who does she want to know about, Ron?"

"Herman Denison, James Simolink, and you, Orville."

"You didn't tell her anything, did you?" McKnight's voice was hard.

"No, sir. I . . . I didn't tell her a thing--and I won't. You can count on me."

McKnight's voice softened. "Don't you worry about a thing, Ron, but do let me know if she comes back. Maybe let James Simolink know, too. If she pursues anything related to that old murder and the way the three of us guys worked together, we'll take care of her, make her regret she ever worked on that case--and when we're through with her, we'll take care of her permanently."

* * * * *

Gail's friend in Detroit managed to pick up a similar exchange on the listening device she'd planted in Alan Thornburg's room. He, too, wanted to make sure that Orville McKnight knew that some retired cop named Nikki Hamilton was investigating the 30-year-old murders of Ross and Crystal Becker. As he had told Ron Ziggler, McKnight told Alan Thornburg not to worry, that if the cop persisted with her investigation, his organization would take care of her--permanently.

One question that Orville McKnight asked Alan Thornburg was of particular interest to Gail as well as Greg and Nikki. McKnight had asked quite pointedly if Thornburg was "quite comfortable" where he was residing--and Thornburg assured him that he was. It was unlikely that Thornburg could have afforded the nursing home he resided in without serious financial help--likely from Orville McKnight and his organization. The question about Thornburg being comfortable there was almost certainly an implied threat--and Orville McKnight was long known as the master of the implied threat.

Well, as Gail Frost had said, if Orville McKnight and his friends didn't know that the murder of Ross and Crystal Becker was being investigated anew, they did now. What they might do to hinder the investigation was anybody's guess.

* * * * *

Greg was not pleased when Nikki told him about her late-night ride down the alley behind the Twisted Heart Bar and the Golden Eagle Restaurant. "Next time, please wait until I can back you up," he told her, as he held her in his arms later that next night in her apartment. Nikki snuggled against him as she insisted that she wanted to check out the vehicles parked around those establishments as the next part of her investigation.

"Let's check out those parking lots during late daylight hours," Greg suggested, "and then we'll come back to see who's there at night. I'll go with you," he assured her.

Greg drove Nikki's Ford Escape past the Twisted Heart Bar late the following afternoon while Nikki prepared to take photos of the vehicles parked by the bar. There were eight motorcycles, mostly big Harley-Davidsons, parked in front of the Twisted Heart Bar. Nikki used her digital camera with a telephoto lens setting to get close-up photographs of those motorcycles and their tags. The bikes parked behind the bar were backed up to the building, so they couldn't easily drive by and photograph the tags. There were no vehicles parked around the restaurant at that hour.

"What do those motorcycles parked out front remind you of?" Greg asked.

"A gangland-style distribution system."

"My thoughts exactly." Greg continued to drive down the street. "It'd be interesting to note when those guys leave. Can we do that without being obvious?"

"About two or three blocks on down the street there's another bar," Nikki said. "I saw it when I was driving around over in this part of town. If we were to spend a little time there, do you think we could tell when those eight bikes leave the Twisted Heart Bar and which way they go?"

"Maybe. Depends on where we can sit and how dark it is inside. Wantta go find out?"

"Sure. We've got to eat something soon anyway."

In the third block down the street from the Twisted Heart Bar was the Red Light Bar. Four motorcycles and two pickup trucks were parked in the parking lot. A blinking red and blue neon "OPEN" sign in the window and a small blinking red light bulb over the door welcomed guests. Juke-box honky-tonk music welcomed Nikki and Greg to the dimly lighted interior and they made their way to a table where they could look up the street and observe activity around the Twisted Heart Bar. Once seated, they each took a long, cautious look around the bar, checking to see where the exits were located and looking over the patrons for anyone who might give them trouble. That information might come in handy.

The Red Light Bar catered to a much younger group than did Barefoot Tom's. Most of the patrons appeared to be singles in their 20s and 30s, with a few older people who seemed to cluster in one corner of the bar. Nikki noted with interest that signs posted around the room advertised a twice-a-week wet t-shirt contest--a contest of certain interest to the younger guys and gals.

A scantily-dressed bar maid came over, pointed out the menu posted on a chalk-board behind the bar, and took their order for Cokes. "What sandwiches do you recommend?" Greg asked.

"The burgers are yummy," she replied.

Nikki and Greg ordered burgers and fries, then settled back in their seats to watch for any action both up the street and in the Red Light Bar.

It wasn't long before a big SUV pulled up in front of the Red Light Bar. Six girls and two guys, all looking to be in their late-teens scrambled out and headed for the front door. That's when two husky young men who appeared to be bouncers took up positions on each side of the door, checking identifications as the young people came through the door.

Moments later, another SUV pulled up and four other young people joined the eight who'd just arrived. And then another biker arrived. Things were beginning to get lively--and rowdy.

It was now even more obvious that the Red Light Bar appealed to a younger and rowdier crowd than did Barefoot Tom's. For a moment, it appeared that a couple of the guys were going to get into a fight over one of the girls, but then one of them backed off. If I were the other guy, Nikki thought, I'd watch my back--tonight, and forever. It was just that kind of a situation.

Once the young people had found tables and ordered drinks, one of the fellows put a handful of quarters in the juke-box, then led one of the girls to the dance floor. Another couple followed, and then another.

All the time, Nikki and Greg were keeping an eye on any activities around the Twisted Heart Bar. One more biker had arrived, but that was all--so far.

The young people who'd arrived at the Red Light Bar were throwing down drinks--one right after after another. When somebody got a lively song going on the juke-box, one of the girls jumped onto a table, ripped off her top, tossed it to one of the guys, and started to dance. Guys and gals crowded around that table, watching and encouraging the girl. The bouncers didn't seem to mind. They looked like they'd seen it all before.

It was getting dark outside. As Nikki and Greg watched, the bikers who'd been parked in front of the Twisted Heart Bar began to leave--one at a time, every few minutes. About half of them went right and the others went left--right on past the Red Light Bar.

Nikki and Greg waited until the bikers were gone, then went out to Nikki's Ford Escape. "What's that parade of bikers look like to you, Greg," Nikki asked.

"Like those guys are on a mission," Greg replied, "either distributing something or running errands."

"Yeah. I'd agree. Let's drive down by the Twisted Heart Bar and the restaurant and see if anyone is still around."

Vehicles were around at the back of the bar all right, although the "open" sign on the bar was not now lighted. The restaurant also had vehicles parked behind it, although it was not lighted inside either.

"We'd better get out of here," Greg advised, "because they'll recognize your Ford Escape if we drive by again, and they'll not like us keeping an eye on them."

* * * * *

Nikki and Greg drove to Gail's office after breakfast the following morning. They gave her a listing of the motorcycle tag numbers they'd obtained from the motorcycles parked in front of the Twisted Heart Bar. Within minutes, she had obtained a list of the names of the bikers to whom those tags were issued. After a moment of looking over the names, Gail said, "Unless I miss my guess, you're tangling with some major gang members. Let me check."

A call to friends of hers in Vice confirmed Gail's suspicions. "Those guys are known to be members of the Hooligans, as they call themselves, or the Hooligan Motorcycle Gang as they're sometimes known."

"Hooligans. Thugs. Same difference," Nikki said.

"Yep."

"What do you know about them?" Greg asked.

"They are rumored to work for a man by the name of Ted Adams. Does that name ring a bell?"

Both Greg and Nikki shook their heads. "No."

"Well, Ted Adams is a son-in-law of Orville McKnight. Vice is well aware of Ted Adams and what he is reputed to be doing, but he's apparently had people protecting him, and that is apparently the organization that Orville McKnight developed--whatever it's developed into. Ted Adams oversees things now, but he apparently keeps a very low profile."

"So McKnight's organization is still powerful enough to continue criminal activities and keep ahead of the law, now with his son-in-law as leader?"

"Yes."

"So, we've got two things to consider," Nikki said. "First, we've got to consider whatever it is Ted Adams is doing, whatever the Hooligans are helping him with. Second, we've got to think back 30 years or so and ask ourselves if McKnight was into something that Ross and Crystal Becker caught on to--something that got 'em killed."

"That's right," Gail responded, "and I've got something else for you."

"What's that?"

"Those two ten dollar bills that you gave me, the ones you found in the Becker's notebook, are counterfeit. They are a very high quality counterfeit, but counterfeit nonetheless."

"Any connection between counterfeiting and Orville McKnight or any of the other men mentioned in that notebook?"

"None that we know of right now. We do know that McKnight processed a lot of money. He may well have arranged for counterfeit currency to be used as pay-offs--or whatever. If so, he would have demanded high quality counterfeit money so nobody would catch on as to what they were getting."

"Okay, now to back up a little. If the Hooligans are distributing something for Ted Adams, can Adams have built on the organization McKnight had going back 30 years or more?" Greg asked.

"Maybe," Gail replied, "and maybe before that. You remember that the Twisted Heart Bar apparently remained open, not only remained open but thrived, during prohibition, say from 1920 through the early 1930s, and that was known as the place to get booze. If that bar had protection from the cops, it may be that the organization goes way back, even earlier maybe. People like James Simolink's father would have had the political power to protect an illegal operation back then, and they likely did so.

"Okay, I understand that," Greg responded. He turned to Nikki. "What's our next step in the investigation?"

"Two or three things. First I want to run a little notice in the newspaper asking for any information anyone has available on the murders we're looking into. I want to rent a Post Office box to use as a mailing address. Don't know if we'll get any helpful information, but we might--and we may shake up anyone who was involved in the murders or the cover-up.

"Second, I want to explore that old hotel. I want to look at the first floor offices, see how they left the manager's office when they closed the place. Maybe see if we can locate any keys that we might need. I especially want to look at the two rooms on the first floor that John Lewis told us were kept locked, and then I want to go down into the basement."

Greg smiled. "Okay. We may have to pick some locks."

Nikki smiled. "Yes, and if those locks haven't been replaced since the hotel was built, that won't be too much of a job. Gail can provide us with some lock picks." She turned to Greg. "Can you pick locks?"

"Yes. That was part of my escape training."

"Good. I can pick some of the older locks, too," Nikki replied.

"I looked a little at the lock on the door we think leads to the basement," Greg said, "and I think it'll be easy to open. Of course, the door might be booby-trapped and we'll have to be careful about that possibility with the other doors as well."

"You're right, there," Gail interjected. "And you don't know what--or who--you're going to find behind those locked doors. You're going to have somebody keeping in touch with you on the outside, aren't you? Maybe a couple of people?"

"Yes. Richard and Kathy Miles will help with that," Greg said. "We'll station Richard where he can watch the back and one side of the building. Kathy can watch the front and the other side. They'll both have phones and can let us know if anything of interest is going on outside."

"Now, there's one other thing I want us to do," Nikki said. "I want to keep an eye on the activities around the Twisted Heart Bar and the Golden Eagle Restaurant. I figure we can do that from the Red Light Bar, just like we did the other evening. Once we get an idea of how people are moving around those two businesses, we'll get up close and get some more tag numbers."

Gail leaned back in her chair. "Three things, Nikki and Greg," she began.

"Okay?"

"First, I'm going to get some lock-pick tools for you." With that, Gail got up and left her office. She returned moments later with a kit containing those tools, which she handed to Greg. "Check these out," she told him, "and see if you think they'll take care of those older locks at the hotel."

Nikki watched over his shoulder as Greg examined the lock-pick tool kit. "Looks good to me," he said. Nikki nodded her agreement.

"Second," Gail continued, "I want you both to be extremely cautious about everything related to this investigation. You may already have alerted some ruthless people who'd like to see you dead." She hesitated a moment, then continued. "Of course, I'd like nothing better than to find out who killed that young couple, and also who's been able to keep a lid on that investigation for all these years. If cops were involved, and maybe are even involved yet today, keeping a lid on that investigation--I and the rest of the Internal Affairs cops want to know."

"I understand how you feel," Nikki responded.

"The third thing is," Gail continued, "I hope to hell you're both armed to the teeth when you go looking around that old hotel, and when you go getting license numbers and other information around there."

Greg grinned. "You can count on that, and Richard and Kathy will be armed as well."

"Good," Gail replied, "because you all know that the part of town you're poking around in isn't the most clean--in any way.

"Now," Gail continued, "I'm going to keep looking into counterfeiting operations that might have produced those two ten dollar bills. I'll keep you informed when I learn something."

As the three stood up and Nikki and Greg prepared to leave Gail's office, she asked, "When do you plan to explore the old hotel?"

"I'm going to see about a Post Office box and getting an announcement in the paper yet this morning," Nikki replied, "and if Richard and Kathy can help us this afternoon, we're going to look inside the old hotel."
Chapter 9

Nikki rented a Post Office box as planned, and briefly discussed her proposed use of the box with the Postal clerk on duty. Over mid-morning coffee she and Greg composed a notice for the local newspaper, indicating that there was a new and on-going investigation into the murder of Ross and Crystal Becker that took place some 30 years ago. Anyone who had any information about the murder was invited to send that information to the Post Office box address. When the notice was completed to their satisfaction, they took it to the newspaper office.

Greg had determined that Richard and Kathy Miles could indeed help them that very afternoon. Now to get inside that old hotel, explore it, and see what waited for them there.

* * * * *

Nikki and Greg went into the old hotel the same way they had earlier--via the fire-escape ladder and through the window of room number 312. They had considered picking the lock on the back door to gain entrance, but decided they'd leave that door locked just in case anyone checked the door while they were inside. As rusty as the lock was, they'd most certainly leave marks on the lock, alerting anyone who was interested that somebody had recently worked with it. Furthermore, although they hadn't located any surveillance devices focused on that back door, it was entirely possible that there was one that would record their entry through that door.

Once inside room number 312, they listened intently at the room door. Not a sound. Eased it open. Didn't see any movement or hear any sounds in the third floor hallway. Quietly made their way down the hall and checked every third-floor room door. All of those doors were locked.

There was a stairway leading up to the roof midway down that third floor hallway. Greg climbed it far enough to determine that the door at the top of those stairs that opened onto the roof was secured from the inside with a heavy wood bar. The space under the stairway had been enclosed and was accessible through a sliding door. The enclosed space had apparently been used for the storage of maintenance supplies. Only a few of those remained there.

From what John Lewis had told them, hotel guests were directed to use the back stairway. That was apparently the only stairway that extended from the basement to the third floor. All was quiet as they walked down those stairs to the second floor. Checked all of the second-floor room doors as they made their way down the hall and back. All of the doors were locked. No surprises there.

Ever so cautiously, they made their way down those back stairs to the first floor. Listened intently. Heard nothing.

They examined the door that led to the basement. The lock didn't appear to pose any problems. They wondered if it was the original lock that was installed when the building was built. Before going into the basement, however, they'd examine the first floor. That would likely occupy the rest of the afternoon.

Richard and Kathy Miles were strategically positioned outside the hotel where they could watch all four sides. They had not only Greg's and Nikki's phone numbers programmed into their phones, but Gail's as well. Handguns were nearby--just in case.

Greg and Nikki made their way silently down that first-floor hallway, just looking things over, trying not to make any noise. Didn't hear a sound. That first-floor hallway was dark because the windows on the first floor were boarded up. What little light that came in, came in around the front doors and down the stairway. Greg and Nikki used their flashlights very sparingly, not wanting to call attention to their presence--just in case someone or someone's surveillance device was around. Even though they'd heard no sounds, they had to assume that someone was nearby.

As Nikki had determined earlier, electricity was turned on to the old hotel. They debated briefly about turning on lights in the building. Decided against it, knowing that doing so might alert someone to their presence.

They'd carefully planned this visit to the old hotel before hand so they didn't need to talk--and they'd again worn gloves so they wouldn't leave fingerprints. Standard procedure was going to be to check all doors for booby-traps and check for surveillance devices.

In addition to her digital camera, Nikki had brought along a notebook in which she planned to sketch the layout of the hotel and keep notes on their progress. They stood at the first floor landing of the stairs for a moment while she sketched the floor plan as far as she could see it.

The hotel faced west. (One of the newspaper articles they'd read about the hotel stated that it was positioned facing west so that the evening sun would illuminate the entrance to the building.) To their right would be the north side; to their left would be the south side. To their immediate right as they came away from the stair landing was the snack area John Lewis had told them about. An older vending machine, empty now, was still there, as was a small table and several chairs. A large coffee pot sat on the table surrounded by half a dozen coffee mugs. One could imagine people seated around that table and visiting over coffee over 100 years ago.

Nikki and Greg's first stop beyond the snack area would be the manager's office and apartment. To their surprise, the door to the manager's office wasn't locked. In fact, it had not been tightly latched--and was now slightly ajar.

There were no trip-wires that they could find attached to the door. No surveillance devices were visible. There might be something hidden in the air conditioning vents or the light fixtures, of course, but they didn't have the time to completely search each room to that extent.

A number of ledgers, likely related to hotel business in the days before it closed, were filed on shelves around the manager's office. A large wooden desk and chair occupied the middle of the room. A four-drawer file cabinet occupied one corner. Much of the office appeared to have been cleaned out, however, and there wasn't even a pencil, pen, or paperclip to be found on or in the desk.

The desk drawers were empty. Nikki pullled them out one by one and checked to see if anything had been taped to the backs or bottoms of those drawers, but didn't find anything. It wasn't that she expected to find anything significant to her present investigation, but still she was experienced at checking everything possible--and in her 30 years as a cop, she'd found more than one significant item taped to the bottom of a desk drawer.

The file cabinet was empty as well, and Nikki found nothing taped to the backs or bottoms of the drawers. The bottom line seemed to be that somebody had cleaned out the manager's office, leaving only the ledgers.

There was a large, old fashioned, safe in another corner of the manager's office. It's door was standing partially open. While Greg kept an eye on the hallway, Nikki carefully checked each compartment on that safe. Nothing was to be found in that old safe. There wasn't even a paperclip to be discovered.

Beyond the manager's office was the manager's apartment. It, too, had been thoroughly cleaned out. Again, Nikki checked to see if anything had been hidden in or behind the remaining furniture drawers--but found nothing. No doubt the manager had taken all of his personal possessions with him, and to Nikki's knowledge, the manager had left the hotel within a year or so after the Beckers were murdered--probably when the hotel closed for good. Also, as near as Nikki could find out, that manager was deceased.

Nikki would have liked to have talked to the hotel manager about the Beckers murder, but that was now impossible. To her knowledge, there was no mention of him being interviewed in the police files she'd obtained. She wondered why.

The area where the desk clerk had once worked had been cleaned out as well. Nikki checked the two cabinets that contained room keys. Both of those cabinets could have been locked, and likely were when the hotel was in operation, but today the doors to both were hanging open.

The room keys appeared to be all there, hanging on small hooks at the back of one of those cabinets. Several pass-keys were hanging in the second cabinet. How one of those pass-keys had made its way to the killer was one of the questions that interested Nikki. Could, she wondered, someone simply have walked behind the desk and picked out one of those pass-keys while the clerk wasn't there? Perhaps a back-door key as well? Or had someone simply left that back door unlocked for the killer? How much cooperation from the manager or the desk clerk or one of the maids did the killer have, anyway?

Nikki picked up two of the pass-keys. Gave one to Greg. Put the other one in her pocket. They'd try them in a lock or two just to be sure they worked, but those keys should allow admission to any one of the guest rooms on the second and third floors. Gaining access to one of those rooms might prove invaluable if they were forced to hide--or if they had reason to search another of the guest rooms.

Only a few chairs, a bench seat, and a small table remained in the lobby. A couple of scenic paintings, now faded somewhat with age, hung on the walls. Nothing more. No surveillance devices were visible. Either they hadn't needed them when the hotel was in operation--or someone had removed them.

Nikki sketched the layout of the first floor to the extent they'd explored it, noting the manager's office and apartment floor plans, the area where the desk clerk worked, and the lobby. What use those diagrams might prove to be she didn't know, but she was determined to be as thorough as possible with her investigation.

Two public rest rooms were located on that first floor across from the snack area. A quick search of both rooms showed Nikki and Greg that they'd been cleaned of all supplies. Nothing of interest was to be found in either room.

They'd passed the two rooms down the hall and across from the manager's office of most interest to them--the two locked rooms that John Lewis had mentioned. Now they returned to the first of those rooms.

While Nikki kept a cautious lookout for any signs of human activity, Greg went to work on that room's lock. Moments later, Nikki heard the faint "click" of the lock yielding to Greg's work.

Greg pushed at the door. Opened it just far enough for him to run his fingers around the edges and the frame. Didn't find any kind of trip-wire or booby-trap attached to the door.

While Nikki kept watch in the hallway, Greg pushed open the door and went into the room. A huge wooden desk sat in the center of the room, a large, old-fashioned wooden desk-chair behind it. Three wooden chairs sat in front of the desk. Two old-fashioned telephones sat on the desk. Those telephones, Greg reasoned, were like those he knew to have been used in the 1950s and 1960s--long before smart-phones were available.

A set of leather-bound ledgers was positioned on a book-shelf on the back wall behind the desk. Those ledgers appeared to be quite old.

A large, old-fashioned safe, similar to the one in the manager's office, stood in one corner of the room--it's door partially open. Greg eased the safe's door completely open. Searched it carefully. Like the earlier safe they'd discovered, this one had been thoroughly cleaned out. When, Greg wondered, had someone stopped using this room as an office?

One could almost imagine a man seated behind that desk, transacting business of some sort with another man, or perhaps several men, seated in front of the desk. The phones were there, perhaps to make business plans, and one of the ledgers might well have been open on that desk. Exactly what kind of business they were discussing was another question. Perhaps an examination of those ledgers would shed light on that question.

To get on with the exploration of that room, a small door in one corner of the room opened on a small rest-room. It, too, had been cleaned out. There was nothing of interest to be found there.

What especially interested Greg were the two large doors at the back of the room and the one to the side. Unless he misjudged badly, the one at the side of the room would open into the second locked room.

Greg briefly summarized what he'd found so far to Nikki. "I'm going to check the three doors in that room," he told her. "We'll see where they go."

To Greg's surprise, that door in the side wall wasn't locked. After checking it carefully and finding no trip-wires or booby-traps, he pushed it open and found himself looking into a similar room--the second locked room on the first-floor hallway according to John Lewis.

That room appeared to have been furnished with a large desk and three chairs, but there appeared to be little else remaining in the room. An old-fashioned telephone and an empty ash-tray sat on the desk. Bookshelves at the back of the room were empty, however. A rest-room was located at the corner of the room. It, too, was empty. Neither room appeared to have been used for some time, perhaps years.

A small safe sat in one corner of that second room, its door standing open. It, too, appeared to have been cleaned out.

Still, the furniture in the two rooms gave evidence of them having been used as offices. Wear on the carpet in both rooms indicated they had heavy use. Exactly what kind of business was conducted in either room was unknown. They would look at those ledgers, of course, and perhaps there would be additional clues to the business conducted there further along in their investigation.

Returning to the first room he'd entered, Greg checked the doors to the back. One opened easily, opened onto a large closet, but that closet was empty except for a few old-fashioned wooden coat hangers. The shelf where men might have placed their hats was empty as well.

Now for that second door. That second door was locked.

Greg went to work with his lock-picking tools and soon had that second door open--to reveal a narrow stairway leading down--directly into the basement. Although he listened intently, Greg could hear no sounds in what must be the basement. This was not the time to follow those stairs, but they may have just found a second way into the basement--and they would go into the basement on their next visit to the hotel. It was time to show Nikki what he'd found. Let her explore the locked rooms. Get her impressions of what went on there.

Keeping their voices as low as possible, Greg explained to Nikki what he'd found. They then traded places and Nikki inspected and photographed the two rooms and the stairway. She then inspected the ancient ledgers and picked out two of them, one of the oldest and one of the newest. A quick glance told her that someone had initialed at least some of the entries. The earlier initials appeared to be "DD" and the later initials apeared to the "TA." Could those represent David Denison and Ted Adams? The David Denison and the Ted Adams? The two men they'd talked about with Gail Frost?

Nikki would take those two ledgers along. Let Gail have a look at them. See if they'd found anything of significance to their investigation. See what Gail would make of those signatures--those initials. See what the transactions recorded in those ledgers were all about. If those journals had significance to Gail, they'd get the rest of them for her on their next visit.

One thing that interested both Greg and Nikki about those two locked rooms was the way the windows had been covered. Of course, they'd been covered with sheets of wood on the outside when the first-floor windows had been boarded up, but they'd also had something like indoor shutters that could have been closed for privacy. Indeed, it was obvious that those rooms had been designed for privacy.

Another clue that those rooms had been designed for privacy was the soundproofing insulation that had been applied to the interior walls and was visible where one of the interior panels had warped. Whatever business had been transacted in or from those rooms had been done in complete privacy.

Still, neither Nikki nor Greg had noticed any surveillance devices. Maybe they'd not been needed--or easily available--when the people who used the rooms demanded privacy. Or maybe they'd find those devices later.

It had been enough work for the afternoon. After locking the doors Greg had unlocked, leaving things as much as possible just like they'd found them, Greg and Nikki continued down the hall toward the stairway that would take them back to the third floor and room number 312. Beyond the two locked rooms, they briefly looked into the large room once used by the housekeeping staff. In that room were two large washing machines, two dryers, two small tables, and several cabinets holding bedding and housekeeping supplies--all things the hotel would have needed when it was operating. Things in that room appeared to be just as they'd been when the hotel closed.

As they continued their way up to room number 312, they checked those pass-keys they'd obtained from the desk clerk's office in several room door locks and found that they indeed did open those doors. They now had potential hide-out rooms if anyone came around while they were in the hotel. Furthermore, Nikki had the feeling that they might want to inspect some of the other guest rooms in the future. Once they reached room number 312, they quietly exited out the window and down the fire escape ladder. They'd be back--tomorrow. And probably several tomorrows.

Richard and Kathy followed them to a mall parking lot several miles from the hotel, then joined them in Nikki's Ford Escape. There had been absolutely no activity around the hotel that afternoon, at least nothing they could detect, although they had noted some activity down the street around the Twisted Heart Bar and the Golden Eagle Restaurant.

"Wantta go over to the Red Light Bar for some burgers and fries?" Greg asked his friends. "You'll get a kick out of that bar," he added, "because it's like nothing you've seen for awhile."

"Tomorrow, but not tonight," Richard told them. "We've got a birthday party for a friend's granddaughter to attend this evening--but we'll join you tomorrow night after you work the hotel. Okay?"

"Okay."

Once Richard and Kathy were on their way home, to their birthday party, Greg asked Nikki the same question: "Wantta go over to the Red Light Bar?"

"Let's do it!" Nikki exclaimed. "I'm tired, but we can keep an eye on any activities around the Twisted Heart Bar and the Golden Eagle Restaurant--for a little while, anyway."

* * * * *

Although there weren't many patrons in the Red Light Bar when Nikki and Greg arrived, the four scantily-clothed girls and half a dozen guys who were there were having a great time. They had the juke-box blasting out honky-tonk songs and were dancing the time away.

The bar-maid, again wearing next-to-nothing by way of clothing, came by to take their order. Once again, she recommended the burgers, then hesitated. "Even better," she told them, "try our bacon-burgers and fries combo." Nikki ordered one bacon-burger; Greg ordered two. Both ordered fries and Cokes.

The bar-maid was absolutely right. The bacon-burgers were excellent, every bit as good as those they'd come to enjoy at Barefoot Tom's. As they ate, they kept watch up the street on the Twisted Heart Bar and the Golden Eagle Restaurant. Tonight, the bar again appeared to be open--as announced by the red and blue neon "OPEN" sign in the window. Greg counted ten motorcycles arrive there as a group along with two vans and a pickup. If those vehicles were still there when they left, they'd try to photograph the tags.

That night there was activity around the restaurant as well. A red and blue "OPEN" sign in the window was illuminated, obviously inviting customers inside. Four cars and two pickups were already parked out front. Maybe they could get those tag numbers as well.

It would have been fun for Greg and Nikki to stay out later that night, especially to watch the young people enjoying life, but they decided to try for the tag numbers on the vehicles parked at the Twisted Heart Bar and the Golden Eagle Restaurant. Get those numbers before the patrons left for the night.

Greg drove Nikki's Ford Escape while Nikki hunkered down in her seat and used her camera to photograph the vehicles--and their license plates. "We're gonna have to drive something else for the next few days," Greg suggested as they drove away, "because your Escape is now very familiar to whoever's in those two places."

Nikki had to agree. They'd rent another vehicle tomorrow morning. Drive it around for a few days, and then trade it off on another one. Maybe stay out of somebody's cross-hairs for a day or two longer.

* * * * *

It was later that evening when Nikki's telephone rang. "Hello?"

"Hi, Nikki. Gail here."

"Hi Gail?"

"Everything go okay today?"

"Yes, and we have some things for you. We'll bring them over tomorrow morning if it's okay."

"Good. See you then."

Gail was keeping her telephone conversations short. Did that mean that she was afraid her calls were being monitored? Probably. She'd found that they were being monitored once before--by whom she did not know. Well, Nikki would go along with that. She'd treat her own phone as potentially monitored as well. Talk about that with Gail in the morning. Get the phone company to look into who might be monitoring their phones.

* * * * *

Nikki and Greg were just finishing breakfast the following morning when Gail called again. Her message was terse: "Don't drive your usual route over to my office this morning, okay?"

"Okay."

Their usual route from Nikki's apartment over to Gail's office took them past the old Fairfirld Brother's Hotel as well as the nearby bar and the restaurant of interest to them. They'd go another way that morning. See what it was that was concerning Gail about the drive to her office.

Once in Gail's office, she told them what had happened. "Sometime in the early morning hours, a couple of guys got into a fight--over a girl, we think--at the Twisted Heart Bar. That fight quickly developed into a parking-lot brawl between--again, we think--the Hooligan Motorcycle Gang members and a rival gang. Two of the Hooligan's gang members were shot dead, and the girl was kidnapped--or maybe she went willingly with the rival gang. We don't know which. Anyway, there are cops all over that area and probably will be most of the day, so this is not a good day for you to go over and explore that old hotel."

"That's why you directed us to come to your office by a different way, right?"

"Yes. I knew that you usually went by that hotel and the other businesses, so I thought it best that you stay away from there until the cops finish working the scene. Keep your vehicle and your faces out of sight." Gail turned her attention to Nikki. "You said you had something for me, right?"

Nikki smiled and gave her the tag numbers of the vehicles they'd seen at the Twisted Heart Bar and the Golden Eagle Restaurant.

"I'll have these checked in a little bit. What else have you got for me?"

Nikki handed her the two ledgers they'd taken from the old hotel and pointed out the initialed entries. She also described their discoveries in the hotel. "We want to get back in there and check out a number of things," she told Gail, "but we'll wait until you give us the all-clear."

"Yes," Gail agreed. "I believe that will be best."

"Okay. We'll stay away from the hotel today and get back in there tomorrow, assuming things have settled down. If you think we should wait yet another day, we'll do it," Nikki assured her.

"I'll get to work on these tag numbers and on the ledgers," Gail promised, "and I'll call you when I have anything for you on them." She hesitated a moment, thinking, then added, "Some of these vehicles might belong to the rival gang members, the ones who got into a fight with the Hooligans."

"Gail?" Nikki wasn't sure she should ask, but she was going to ask anyway.

"Yes?"

"Are you suspecting your phone--and/or mine--is being monitored?"

"Yes, at least my phone is. We're going to be very cautious about what we say over the phone." Gail hesitated. "I've got someone at the telephone company looking into this issue."

"Do you think there's a problem with my phone, too?" Nikki asked.

Gail shook her head. "I don't know. I've asked that the telephone company check your phone as well as mine and those of several other people I speak with regularly. Maybe you both should make calls on Greg's phone until we get this chekced out because I doubt that anybody has his phone number."

"When would be a good time for us to get back with you? Say, this afternoon?" Nikki asked.

"I should have something for you by mid-afternoon. Let's say around three o'clock."

"Okay, we'll see you then."

* * * * *

They'd driven Nikki's Ford Escape to Gail's office. When they left there, they went to an auto-rental agency and rented a white Ford van. They'd take Nikki's Ford Escape home, leave it parked and drive the Ford van for the next few days. Maybe they'd not be recognized quite so easily.

At three o'clock that afternoon, Nikki and Greg went to Gail's office. Once the door to her office was closed, Gail told them that she'd talked to her friend at the telephone office. "We think both Nikki's phone and my phone--and maybe those of some other cops--are being monitored," she told them, "but it's apparently a slick operation because the company is having a hard time determining who is keeping tabs on us. Anyway, they're working on it. Let's see what they come up with before we say anything of importance on those phones.

"Now,' Gail contineud, "let me tell you the latest on this shooting I told you about."

"Okay. What's going on?"

"As you can imagine, the Hooligan's aren't cooperating with the police. Won't tell us a thing. Won't even admit that the guys who were killed were members of that gang, although the police are almost certain that they were. So, the police are going to be around over there all day, questioning any witnesses and looking for any evidence they can find."

"Knowing what I do about motorcycle gangs," Greg said, "I'll guess they'll want to settle the score themselves--probably with a raid on the other gang. Show 'em who's boss of the territory."

"That's exactly what they want to do," Gail replied, "and they're likely to start a gang war in the process."

Greg nodded. "Yep."

"I think it's best that you guys stay away from the old hotel for another day," Gail told them. "Let's let things calm down with the gang--although I'm not sure it will calm down until the Hooligan's get their revenge. And then the other gang will have to have its revenge. So it goes."

"Or maybe," Nikki interjected, "revenge will take the Hooligan's away from the Twisted Heart Bar so we can have an uninterrupted day or so."

Gail frowned. "Maybe, but I''m feeling really protective of you guys. Let's stay away from that neighborhood for at least another day."

"Okay. Now, what did you make of the ledgers?"

"I haven't had a chance to examine them closely yet," Gail responded, "all because of this gang activity, but I'm thinking like you are. 'DD' may well refer to David Denison and 'TA' may refer to Ted Adams. Of course, they could be code designations for whoever authorized or approved something. What I'm going to try to figure out is what kind of transactions are recorded in those ledgers, and it appears to me like they used a lot of codes so it may take a little time."

Nikki and Greg had done all they could with Gail for the day. "We'll check in with you tomorrow morning so there's no need to call us unless something urgent comes up," Nikki told her, and Gail agreed that would work for her.

* * * * *

"So," Greg began, once he and Nikki were in the white rental van. "If we can't get into the old hotel tomorrow, and we probably should stay well away from it, what would you like to do?"
Chapter 10

Nikki thought for a moment. "I'll tell you what I'd really like to do, okay?"

"Okay. Whatcha got in mind?"

"I hope you'll want to be with me tomorrow? Even if we're not working on the investigation?"

Greg smiled. "I sure do want to be with you."

"Okay, Greg. It's been a long time since I did much of anything for fun. Getting out to Barefoot Tom's was the most I've been able to enjoy myself for years. What I'd really like to do with you is go to a movie in one of the downtown theaters tomorrow afternoon." Nikki paused for a moment. "You know, I don't think I've been to a real movie theater for maybe 30 years. Not since I became a cop."

"We can do that. Do you have a particular movie in mind that you want to see?"

"No. I want you to pick out something you'd like to see. I don't want to see a real scary one, but other than that, whatever you pick out will be just fine." She turned to him. "Just being with you will be my real pleasure. I hope you know that."

"I know," Greg replied, "and I enjoy being with you, too. Let's pick up a newspaper and see what movies are on tomorrow afternoon."

"Yes! Let's do that. We can eat at a nice restaurant and then go to the movie."

"We'll do that. Still wantta go to Barefoot Tom's this evening?"

"No, I don't think so. I think I want to stay home and just snuggle with you."

Greg grinned."I'd like that, too."

"There is something else we can do tomorrow, something related to our investigation."

"What's that?"

"We'll go check the mail box at the Post Office to see if anyone has responded to our notice that we're investigating the murder of Ross and Crystal Becker. See if anyone has any new information for us."

"Okay. We'll do that. Back to today, though, let's stop by my apartment on our way back to yours. I'll check my mail and pick up some fresh clothes."

"Yes."

"Other than seeing Gail tomorrow morning and then checking your mail box, we'll plan to take the day off," Greg outlined their plans. "If things go okay, we'll get back to the old hotel on the next day."

"Yes." Nikki could only think about how fortunate she'd been to meet Greg. They worked so well together, and she'd never felt so wonderful as when she was in his arms.

* * * * *

That next day with Greg would prove to be the most enjoyable one Nikki had had in a long time, perhaps in all the years since she'd become a cop--now over 30 years ago.

They stopped by Gail's office in the morning, reassured her that they were going to stay a long ways away from the old hotel that day, and asked if she'd had any insights into the activities recorded in those ledgers they'd found in one of the locked offices and brought to her.

"Maybe, but I'm going to sit down with another of the old-timers here and see what she has to say, before I get confident," Gail replied. "So, far, though, I think something is--or was--being distributed and the transactions are--or were--being recorded along with the payments. Trouble is, it's all in code. Even the dates seem to be noted in a code of some sort. Whoever did the record keeping went to some trouble to code everything."

"Something is--or was--being distributed from the old hotel, say from the basement, you think?" Nikki asked. "Arrangements and payments were taken care of in those offices we looked into?"

Gail smiled. "Something like that. My best guess is, and right now this is only a guess, that somebody brings--or brought--something in bulk, say a truck-load, and that something is--or was--then distributed to a number of people. The individual transactions are--or were--recorded in those ledgers, and there must be enough money involved as payment to make dual ledger entries the norm and initial each transaction. I'll keep working on that and let you know what we can determine. Oh, and another possibility is that funds were being collected and regularly distributed to several people."

"What have you got on the vehicle tags we photographed?"

"You identified the motorcycles of two more members of the Hooligan's gang. The other vehicles appear to belong to visitors to the bar, although we still don't know much about the rival gang that got into the shoot-out with the Hooligans. Some of the people driving those vehicles might be members of that rival gang.

"Those four cars parked in front of the restaurant are a real puzzle," Gail continued. "They are all registered to a construction company of which James Simolink is the owner of record. The two pickups are registered to people who work for that company. I discovered that the restaurant is not open regularly, but it is open for special events--especially when Simolink's company wants to have a party or a special activity of some sort. I've also been told that the restaurant is open to the public on special holidays."

"So," Greg spoke up, "maybe the restaurant isn't in as bad shape as it looks from the outside."

"I'm thinking that's so," Gail responded, "and then again, I'm wondering if that restaurant functions as something more than a restaurant."

"Something more than a restaurant?"

"Yes. I'm hoping you'll keep an eye on that restaurant for me," Gail replied. "Let's see if we can determine what exactly goes on there."

"You suspicion . . . what?" Nikki asked.

"I don't know what I suspicion, but I'm wondering if they could be distributing something out of that building, too." Gail thought for a moment. "You guys have reported seeing activity around that restaurant almost every night you've been out and about, far more activity than would be necessary if the restaurant only opened when Simolink's company has a party or on holidays. You've also said that there are 'open' signs on the windows on some nights--suggesting it's open to the public on those nights. So, what goes on there the rest of the nights?"

Nikki smiled, but her eyes were hard. She and Greg would try to help answer that question. "We'll try to get the tag numbers on the SUVs that park behind the restaurant as well as those vehicles out front," she said, "but I've got to re-affirm that we've seen flashing neon 'OPEN' signs on that restaurant, so I'd think they must have it open to the public at least some of the time.

"And, by the way," Nikki continued, "isn't there some thinking that Simolink's company is just a sham? That it really doesn't do construction work these days, if it ever did, that it mostly served as an organization to support his political ambitions as well as those of his friends?"

"That's all very true," Gail replied. "What it supports now that Simolink is long-retired is another question."

* * * * *

Nikki and Greg ate lunch at one of the old, well-established restaurants near the theater where the movie they'd selected was playing. After working what now seemed to be every single day for the last 30-some years, this was the most fun Nikki could remember having in her entire life.

Greg sensed Nikki's enjoyment. "We'll have to do this again," he told her, "and soon."

"Yes!" she whispered.

Later that day and back at Nikki's apartment as they held each other, Nikki would again affirm that the day had been the most enjoyable one she could ever remember. Whether or not Greg would like to make this a permanent relationship she did not know. They'd talk about that one of these days before long.

Tomorrow they'd get back to investigating Ross and Crystal Beckers murders, and that meant exploring that old hotel. They'd see what other interesting information they could turn up. Perhaps Gail could use some of the information they'd uncovered on other unsolved cases--or maybe on ongoing criminal activities.

* * * * *

Nikki and Greg checked in with Gail the following morning before they made definite plans for the day. She assured them that all was quiet around the Twisted Heart Bar, so there shouldn't be any more reason than usual for them not to explore the old hotel. Then, as they were leaving her office, Gail said, "I know you'll be going into the basement of that old hotel, and I want you to be especially careful today. Okay?"

Both Nikki and Greg assured her that they would.

They drove by the old hotel, checking to see if anything seemed amiss. Didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Then, after she'd studied the three buildings along that street, Nikki raised a question she'd been asking herself. "Greg?"

"Yes?"

"Look at the way those three buildings, the hotel, the bar, and the restaurant, are positioned on the street."

"Okay." Greg studied the three buildings. "What are you thinking, Nikki?"

"Do you think those buildings could be connected? Like maybe with an underground passageway--a tunnel of some sort? A passageway that would connect the three basements?"

Greg smiled. "I've been wondering the same thing," he said. "Mabe we'll have the opportunity to find out."

* * * * *

Once again, Richard and Kathy Miles would watch the outside of the hotel for potential unwanted "visitors" as Nikki and Greg climbed the fire escape ladder and entered through the window of room 312.

Ever cautious, they listened intently at the room door for any sounds that would indicate human activity within the hotel--but heard nothing. They climbed down the back stairway, listened again at the second floor, and then descended to the first floor landing.

They'd debated about whether they should go into the basement by way of that back-stairway door or the stairs in the locked room. They'd go by way of that back-stairway door--at least today.

Nikki stood back and listened intently for any sounds indicating human activity, but heard nothing. Greg got out the lock-pick tools and soon had that door's lock open. Now to see if that door, the door John Lewis said he was not allowed to open, was booby-trapped.

Ever so carefully, Greg pushed open the door. Felt no resistance. Ran his fingers around the door and around the frame. Didn't feel any trip wires. Pushed the door further open. Beamed his flashlight around the door and down the basement stairs. Nothing unusual there.

Both Greg and Nikki listened intently, but heard no sounds.

"Ready?" Greg whispered.

"Yes."

There was no light coming from the basement. Both Greg and Nikki had flashlights, and they used them to navigate the steps. They'd have to be very cautious about using those flashlights so as not to tip off someone to their presence. Still, they had to see where they were going.

At the bottom of those steps was another door, a heavy wooden door with two ancient locks. After listening intently and hearing no sounds on the other side of the door, Greg went to work with his tools. A few minutes later, both locks were open.

Once again, they cautiously opened the door, checking as they did so for any trip-wires or booby-traps--and finding none. They could not hear or see any signs of human activity beyond the door. No surveillance devices were obvious.

That door opened on a narrow hallway that divided the basement much as the hallways on the floors above divided those guest rooms. Doors set into those walls appeared to be locked. Well, there was nothing they could do except to inspect what was behind those doors all the way down that hallway. This was obviously going to take more than one afternoon. Better get started. They'd start down the right-hand side, the north side, and see how far they got. Be thorough with their investigation, one room at a time.

After Nikki photographed the hallway, Greg opened the lock on the first door. No booby-traps or trip-wires were to be found there. Both Nikki and Greg turned their most powerful flashlights into the near-empty room.

While Greg stood watch at the door, Nikki carefully inspected the contents of the room. There were shelves on three sides, sturdy shelves apparently designed to hold heavy items, although they now were empty except for two sturdy wooden boxes. No markings on the empty boxes gave clues as to what they'd once contained.

This room would have been the one where coal was deposited when they used a coal-fired furnace for heat. Nikki could see where the coal chute had at one time entered the room. Coal would have been brought in by the truckload from the alley behind the hotel and deposited in this room.

Once she'd inspected and photographed the room and drawn a sketch of the room and its contents in her notebook, Nikki traded places with Greg so that he could inspect the room. Like Nikki, Greg could find very little of interest in the room.

Both Greg and Nikki were reasonably sure that the next room would contain the heating plant--which it did. The coal-fired furnace had been replaced with a gas-fired unit many years ago, although as Nikki had determined earlier, the unit was no longer connected to the gas service.

Standing against the wall and just inside the door of the furnace room were two shovels and a spade. Two hand-saws and a hammer hung above them on the wall. A few hand-tools were lying on a small table in one corner of the room.

There had been no lock on the furnace-room door, but the third room on the north side of the hallway was fitted with a heavy wooden door and an outsized lock. While Nikki kept alert for any intruders, Greg went to work on the lock. Minutes later, he whispered, "Take a look."

Nikki cautiously pushed open that door and looked around. Photographed the room from the doorway. Shelves lined the walls, and there were cardboard boxes stacked around. A large wooden desk sat in the middle of the room, a chair behind it and another chair in front. She'd check those boxes and the desk, Nikki reasoned, and then she saw the huge old-fashioned safe in a back corner of the room--almost hidden in the darkness behind a pile of boxes.

The door on that safe was slightly open. Nikki reached for the handle and was ready to yank the door open, when the cautions she and Greg had talked about kicked in to her thinking. Instead of yanking the door open, she beamed her most powerful flashlight around and inside the door. And then she saw it--behind that door Nikki saw the double-barrels of a sawed-off shotgun aimed at the opening. Most likely there would be a trip-wire attached to that safe's door and the trigger of the shotgun.

"Greg!"

"Yeah?"

"Take a look at the safe. It's booby-trapped with a shotgun."

Greg traded places with Nikki. While she kept watch in the hallway, Greg dismantled the booby-trap. "Want to try to get some fingerprints from the safe's handle?" he asked. "Looks like a greasy one there," he added.

"I'll see if I can lift any prints that are there."

Nikki examined and checked the safe's door handle for fingerprints. Found one and part of a second one. Lifted both prints. "Got them," she said. "Maybe we can determine who's been using the safe."

Greg pulled open the safe's door and looked inside. "Take a look in there, Nikki," he whispered, "because you may have just hit the jackpot!"

Nikki quietly made her way back into the room and took a look inside the huge old safe. There were several small cardboard boxes on the shelves and to the back on the bottom shelf was the potential "jackpot" Greg had noted--an older leather briefcase with the initials "RB" engraved on the side near the handles. RB? Ross Becker?

"See it, Nikki?" Greg whispered.

"Yes," Nikki breathed, "I see the briefcase."

"Let me check it for trip-wires."

"Okay."

Once again, Nikki and Greg traded places. Greg cautiously checked around the briefcase for trip-wires. Didn't find any. Cautiously pulled the briefcase out of the safe. Looked inside. To his surprise, there were papers inside that briefcase. Could it be that those papers were what the murders and theft of the briefcase were all about?

Greg cautiously reached into that briefcase and checked around the papers for anything suspicious that might have been planted there. From what he could see, there wasn't anything in that briefcase except for those papers--and the printing on some of those papers appeared to be some sort of code. Maybe the notes in the Becker's notebook would help interpret them?

What else would be found in that old safe? Greg opened one of the shoe box-sized boxes--and discovered it to be half full of ten dollar bills. Counterfeit or genuine United States currency, Greg couldn't tell. Probably similar to those two bills they'd found clipped into Ross Becker's notebook, the ones Gail's friend had determined to be high-quality counterfeits.

While Greg examined the other two boxes in the old safe, both of which contained currency, Nikki kept watch in the hall. A glance at her watch told her they'd been inside the old hotel for almost four hours. They'd better be getting out of there. They'd take that briefcase and the box of currency with them. Take a couple of notes from the other boxes as well. Let Gail see what they'd found.

That room demanded much more inspection, but that would have to wait for another day. There were a number of leather-bound ledgers on the shelves behind the desk, however, and Nikki picked out two of them to take with her.

"I hate to leave now," Nikki whispered, "but we'd better be going."

"Yes."

"Before we go, can you reconnect that trip-wire from the shotgun triggers to the safe's door?" Nikki asked.

Greg smiled. "Yes. Good idea."

A little later Greg had that shotgun again wired so that anyone who pulled open the door to that safe would trigger it. They'd warn Gail about that shotgun.

After another quick look around the room, Greg re-locked the heavy wooden door that opened on that third room. "Before we leave, let me look at something down the hall," he whispered.

"Okay."

Moments later, Nikki saw Greg wave his hand, motioning for her to come see something. She hurried to where he was standing. "Look here." Greg pointed. There in the floor was a circular iron grate, perhaps 24 inches or a little larger in diameter. "We may have found ourselves another way into this old building," he whispered.

"Through the storm sewer?" Nikki questioned.

"Maybe. We'll have to check to see if the sewer is big enough for us to crawl through, but if it is, we'll avoid being seen from around the outside of the hotel."

Greg pushed at the iron grate. "It's rusted in place," he said, "but I think we can loosen it with a pry-bar."

"From below?"

"Yes."

"This sewer was put in a long time ago. Will they have records of the older storm sewers like this in the County or City Engineer's office?"

"They should have a map of the storm sewer system, and it should tell us the size of the sewer and where we could enter it. We'll find out."

Greg beamed his flashlight down through that grate and into the storm sewer below. It appeared to be large enough for them to crawl through.

They'd done all they could that day. After carefully examining the iron grate that might provide another entrance to the hotel, Greg and Nikki cautiously made their way to the third floor, to room 312, out the window, and down the fire excape ladder.

Once they reached the white van they'd driven that day, Greg and Nikki drove to the mall parking where they'd meet up with Richard and Kathy. Greg kept a careful watch to see if anybody tailed them and drove an evasive route, but couldn't see anyone paying attention to them.

The moment Richard and Kathy were seated in the back of their van, however, Kathy raised an alarm. "Somebody looked me over real good while I was seated there watching the old hotel," she said.

"Can you tell where he came from or anything about him?" Nikki questioned.

Kathy smiled. "Better yet, I've got a photo of him on my smart phone. Here, take a look."

Nikki studied the photo for a few moments. "Transfer it to my phone," she told Kathy. "I'll take it to Gail and see if she has any facial-recognition software that might identify him."

"Okay." Moments later, that photo was transferred to Nikki's phone.

"Did you see where he came from?" Greg asked.

"Yes. He came walking from down around that bar, the Twisted Heart Bar. I didn't actually see him come out of it or go back inside, but he came from that area. My guess is that he knew I'd been there quite some time keeping watch on that hotel."

"We won't have you out there tomorrow, then," Nikki told her.

"I have a plan," Richard said.

"Tell us your plan." If the storm sewer entrance proved workable, they'd not need such close observation outside the hotel, but they'd check out Richard's idea just in case.

"There's a building across the street from the hotel, a former clothing store, I believe, that's been closed for several years. The second floor looks to have had rooms or apartments, and there's an outside stairway leading up to them. What say we take a look at getting into that second floor and into an apartment with a window that overlooks the old hotel?"

"Sure. Let's do it."

"We can park around behind it where we won't be seen from the street. If you think that's a good idea, let's go back there right now and take a look at the place. See what the possibilities are."

"Okay." Greg turned to Richard. "Can you still park where you've been and keep an eye on things?"

"Yes. There are quite a few cars parked around there where I park, so I'm not so conspicuous."

They drove back to the parking lot behind the old clothing store and parked there. Richard and Greg climbed the stairs and Greg opened the lock on the door leading inside the first apartment. Moments later, Richard motioned for Nikki and Kathy to join them.

There was no doubt about it. Richard had discovered an ideal place from where Kathy could observe the front and south side of the old hotel without being seen from the street.

Something else crossed Nikki's mind as she surveyed the hotel through that window; Could someone who was living in that apartment some 30 years ago have witnessed a killer around the hotel across the street? Could they have observed other activities in the area of interest to the police?

The four of them briefly examined the other apartments that existed on that second floor. None of them appeared to have been occupied for some time. In fact, the utilities had apparently been shut off because there was no running water and the lights did not work. Just another abandoned building in a part of town that once was prosperous, a building that the homeless had not yet discovered.

* * * * *

Nikki and Greg stopped by Gail's office on the way back to Nikki's apartment. They gave her the briefcase they'd recovered, the two ledgers, the box of currency, and the fingerprints Nikki had taken from the safe's handle. They also transferred the photo of the man who'd shadowed Kathy to Gail's phone.

Gail checked each item and placed them in her safe. She'd forward the fingerprints to one of the cops who'd work with them and the photo to another of the staff members who worked with facial-recognition software. She'd also forward the box of currency to yet another of the trusted cops who worked with counterfeit currency. Whether any of the information she'd gather would relate to or further Nikki's investigation, Gail couldn't be sure, but Nikki and Greg were certainly turning up a variety of interesting material from their search of that old hotel. And some of that information just might relate to some other cases she was working on.

The papers in that briefcase would be something Gail wanted to work on herself. Even though the cops who worked with her were likely not connected with whatever the Beckers had been working on, she couldn't be absolutely sure. No. She'd examine those papers herself and make copies for Nikki before she let anyone else look at them.

Nikki thanked Gail for all of her help and assured her that they'd check in with her on the following day to see if she'd developed any new information for them.

* * * * *

After leaving Gail Frost's office, Greg drove them to the Post Office where Nikki had rented a mail box. While he waited in the parking lot, keeping watch over the traffic and people around the area, Nikki went inside and retrieved the one small envelope waiting there for her.

Although he couldn't see anyone paying particular attention to Nikki as she retrieved the mail, Greg found himself nervous--as if he were on high alert. His old military skills were kicking in, and Greg told himself that he had good reason to be overly watchful. Who might be wanting to derail Nikki's investigation he couldn't say, but--well, he'd be vigilant.

"Where to, Nikki?" Greg asked, once she was back in the van.

"Your choice," she answered.

"Are you hungry?"

"Yes."

"Barefoot Tom's or the Red Light Bar?"

"Barefoot Tom's."

* * * * *

Chad Jackson and Jeff Miller were seated in their usual seats at the bar when Nikki and Greg walked into Barefoot Tom's that evening.

"There's your gal," Jackson hissed, nudging his friend as he spoke.

"Yeah, let's you and me get out of here," Miller replied.

Both men tossed cash on the counter to cover their bar bills and quietly slipped out the back door. They'd drive over to Whiskey Joe's. See what was going on there.

Once the men were seated at Whiskey Joe's, Jackson turned to Miller. "I think you might as well give up on Nikki Hamilton," he said, "'cause she's obviously got a steady boyfriend. Besides, there's a lot of good lookin' babes here tonight. Take your pick. They're more your age, too."

"I suppose you're right," Miller replied, "but that Hamilton gal is one hot babe, regardless of her age." He grinned, and then got serious. "When you gonna take her down and out, Chad?"

Jackson scowled. "It'll be a few more days yet. See, I had a good friend in the pen, a guy about our age named Roger Monsanto. Hamilton's the one who nailed him, too. Hell, he'd a gotten away with kidnapping and armed robbery if she hadn't kept after him. Anyway, he's gonna be out in another week or so, and he wants to help me with the Hamilton bitch. Make her pay for what she did to both of us."

"So you're gonna wait until he's out before you go after her? Let him in on the action?"

"Yeah, and right now I'm still working out my escape plans."

"Your escape plans? Escape plans? Whatdaya mean?"

"Yeah, you know. How I'm gonna get away with a good alibi after I take care of her." He grinned. "Folks around here know you're my friend, Jeff, and you're clean. Maybe you can help me with my alibi."
Chapter 11

Nikki and Greg did not stay long at Barefoot Tom's that evening. Once they'd eaten their usual bacon-burgers and fries and visited with a few of the patrons, they went directly back to Nikki's apartment.

"So, Nikki," Greg asked, once they were seated in Nikki's apartment. "What did you get in the mail?"

Nikki retrieved the envelope from her pocket. Held it up to the light. Felt it carefully. Studied the postmark. Handed it to Greg. "It was mailed here in the city," she said, "but that's about all I can tell from the postmark. Do you think it's safe to open?"

Greg examined the envelope. "Yeah, I'd guess so. Want me to slice it open?"

"Yes. Let's open it. See what's there."

Greg retrieved his pocket knife and sliced the envelope open. Opened it cautiously and looked inside. No white powder spilled out. Handed the envelope to Nikki.

Nikki cautiously lifted the folded paper from the envelope. Opened it. Read the message. Scrawled in heavy black ink was the warning: "Forget it--or die hard."

She passed the note to Greg. "Warnings like this are a part of every cop's life."

"We're going to be extra careful," Greg replied, "because I'd guess you're not going to quit looking into those murders."

Nikki smiled, but her eyes were hard. "You're right there, Greg, because warnings like this indicate that somebody has an interest in keeping the past buried and quiet--and I have an interest in justice. Are you still with me?"

Greg threw his arms around her. Hugged her close. Kissed her. "You bet I am with you, Nikki," he told her. "All they way."

* * * * *

The following morning, Nikki and Greg paid a visit to the City Engineer's office. It took some time and effort, but after a great deal of searching the records, they had a map of the city's storm sewers as they existed in the late 1880s. It was the best they could hope for, and they'd check out those maps to see where they might enter the sewer that would take them under the old hotel--assuming it was large enough for them to crawl through.

After some study of the sewer maps, Nikki and Greg drove around the area until they found the three places nearest the old hotel where they could climb through man-hole covers and down into the storm sewer.

The old sewer appeared to be large enough for them to crawl through, and the thought that they might be able to enter the old hotel without being observed proved to be a strong motivator for both Nikki and Greg. "What do you say we ask Richard to keep an eye on our van and the place where we enter the sewer while we go inside and see what we're up against?" Greg asked.

"Yes. Let's check it out this afternoon." Nikki didn't hesitate.

Greg called Richard, told him what they were planning to do, and arranged to meet him later that afternoon. The old storm sewer would likely be rather dirty to crawl through, so Greg and Nikki changed into heavy, well-worn clothing and boonie hats for what they were now calling "the adventure."

Nikki and Greg climbed through a man-hole and down into the storm sewer late that afternoon. The sewer itself proved to be about four feet high and three feet wide. It would not be an easy task to crawl through it, but they could do it. Although some of the concrete had eroded with time, overall the concrete seemed solid. After making their way several hundred feet down the sewer, both agreed they could make it through the sewer and into the old hotel without being detected.

"Do you think anyone else has thought about the storm sewer as an entrance to the old hotel?" Nikki asked, once they'd described to Richard what they'd found.

"I don't know," Greg replied, "but we'll be watching out for trip-wires and booby-traps all the way--especially after finding that shotgun. Whoever's involved plays for keeps."

"When do you want to give it a try?" Richard asked.

"Tomorrow night. Can you help us?"

"Yes."

* * * * *

Richard drove Nikki and Greg to the man-hole where they'd planned to enter the sewer. They drove around the area, cautiously looking things over, but didn't see anyone who was interested in what they were doing. Moments later, they'd lifted the man-hole cover, pushed it aside, and climbed down into the sewer. Richard would park down the street and keep an eye on the entrance to the sewer. He'd also put the man-hole cover back in place once Nikki and Greg were in the sewer and remove it when they let him know they were ready to come out.

Although he was parked almost a mile away from the old hotel, Richard could make out the building in the semi-darkness. He could also make out the Twisted Heart Bar and the Golden Eagle Restaurant. Even closer was the Red Light Bar. Using his night-vision binoculars, he could keep an eye on activities around each of those buildings.

Nikki and Greg had two flashlights and an electric lantern with them that night. They'd dressed in rugged clothing and shoes, the better to make their way through the old sewer. Following the maps they'd obtained from the City Engineer's office, they made their way toward the old hotel.

Although they kept a careful lookout for any kind of booby-traps that might have been positioned within the old sewer, they found nothing at all to slow their progress. Nikki had questioned the possibility of snakes or rats in the sewer, but they found none at all. Not that night, anyway.

It took them about an hour, but they finally reached the point where the drain in the old hotel basement's floor connected with the storm sewer. Although the sewer continued on, the connector curved upward and measured about 24 inches in diameter.

"Do you think you can get through that opening, even if we can get the iron grate off?" Nikki asked.

"I'll give it a try."

Greg retrieved the pry-bar he'd brought and began to work it around and around the grate. As he worked the grate loose, debris showered down on him. Fortunately, both he and Nikki had worn boonie hats, and they deflected most of the debris. That grate hadn't been moved in many years, maybe not since the hotel was built, so it was hard to work loose, but eventually Greg managed to work it loose--and then push it up and aside.

They listened intently at the opening for any sounds that might indicate human activity in the old hotel basement above them but heard nothing. "Are you ready to go up and into the basement?" Greg asked.

"Yes. Let's see if we can make it through there."

Nikki wasn't sure how he'd do it, but Greg managed to work his way through the narrow opening and pull himself into the hotel basement. Once again, he listened for any signs of human activity, and then extended his hand down to her and whispered, "Come on up, Nikki."

Well, they'd done it. They'd found an alternate way into the old hotel basement.

"Want to continue where we left off and take a look into that fourth room on the north side of the hall?" Greg asked.

"Yes. Let's start there. We'll keep working our way along and see what we can find."

That room, like the one where they'd found the briefcase and the shotgun-rigged safe, had a heavy wooden door. Greg worked on the lock for several minutes, however, and eased the door open. After finding that booby-trapped safe, they'd be extra cautious, though, and Greg checked the door carefully for trip-wires before pushing it open.

Nikki beamed her tactical flashlight into the room. It appeared to be completely empty--and then she studied the floor. The concrete floor had apparently been broken up. Chunks had likely been removed and replaced, the cracks plastered over, making it quite uneven. "What do you make of the floor?" she whispered.

Greg got down on his knees and inspected the floor.

"Why do you think it would have been broken up?" Nikki questioned.

"What are you thinking?" Greg asked.

"Something or someone is buried there," Nikki said.

"Yeah, that would be my guess, too."

Nikki photographed the floor from several angles, making sure the broken concrete showed up in her photos. Gail would be interested in that floor.

"Do you remember the spade and shovels we saw in the furnace room?" Greg asked.

"Yes."

"Maybe they were used here to dig into the earth after somebody broke up the concrete floor."

Well, Nikki reasoned, locating whatever was buried under that floor, if indeed something was buried there, was a little beyond their capability, at least right then--but they'd explore the rest of the basement and then see what they could do about that room and whatever might be buried there. Nikk's guess was that Gail would be extremely interested in that room--and could arrange for unearthing anything or anyone buried there. They'd likely leave that task to Gail's contacts.

Of course, it might be that there would be records somewhere regarding people associated with the hotel operators who went missing and were never heard from again. And there were the old stories about James Simolink being so powerful that his political rivals sometimes disappeared. Orville McKnight, the underworld "boss" of his day, also was reputed to have gotten rid of several rivals. If any of those people who'd disappeared were found to be buried under that floor, . . . . Nikki smiled. In fact, Nikki thought to herself, that basement might be a very good place to start solving a number of cold cases.

"Wantta check out the next room before we leave for the night?" Greg's question broke into Nikki's thoughts.

"We've got to be getting out of here before long, but maybe a quick look through the door. Let's see what we're getting into."

Greg examined the lock on that fifth room door, then motioned for Nikki to join him. "You might be able to get some fingerprints off that door knob," he said.

Indeed, that door knob appeared to have been smeared with something before someone gripped it, who knew how long ago, leaving what appeared to be greasy fingerprints. Nikki retrieved her fingerprint kit and lifted what she could. Gail could have someone run those fingerprints.

Greg went to work on the door's lock and soon had the door open. He cautiously checked for trip-wires and booby-traps but found nothing, at least nothing attached to the door or to its frame.

Both Nikki and Greg beamed their flashlights into that room. It appeared to have been outfitted as a sleeping room with a bed, night-stand, and chest of drawers. A small, electric space-heater sat against the wall. There in the far corner of the room, almost hidden by the other furniture, was a fairly large safe, similar to the one where they'd found the briefcase, but slightly smaller.

Another door opened from the side of the room. It was partially open and they could see bathroom fixtures through that doorway.

The room was obviously designed for "guests" and one could only wonder about who might have stayed there. Someone on the run from the law might well have spent a night or more there in comfort, Nikki thought, quite safe from any of the police who might have been looking for him.

"This room demands a thorough search," Nikki whispered.

"Yeah, and I think we'd better do that tomorrow," Greg replied.

* * * * *

There was no doubt about it. Nikki did not like leaving the basement of that old hotel building--not when they'd just began some serious exploration. Still, a glance at her watch told her that it was getting late, and they had that trek through the sewer before they'd be able to go home.

Yes, it was time for them to leave there for the evening. Nikki knew that. Still, although she was tired, Nikki was elated. They'd found a way into the basement of the old hotel that shouldn't explose them to interested people--and they just might have uncovered a hideout and a graveyard.

Furthermore, the next time they came into the hotel basement through the storm sewer would be much easier. They'd not have to work the grate loose, and that had taken a fair amount of time. No. Next time, they should be able to simply push it up and aside--and climb directly into the basement.

Richard drove them back to Nikki's apartment, and was quite interested in what they'd found that night. They'd take another look at that basement the following night, and likely for several nights thereafter. Tonight, or what was left of it, was time for them all to get some rest.

* * * * *

There was a brief text message on Nikki's phone when she checked it after they arrived back at her apartment. It was from Gail Frost, short and to the point: "I need to see you in the morning. Urgent."
Chapter 12

After breakfast the following morning, Nikki and Greg went to see Gail Frost. The moment they were inside her office, Gail closed the door. "Have a seat." Her voice was a hushed, somewhat anxious whisper as she motioned them to the chairs in front of her desk. Whatever could be bothering her?

"We got your message so we came right over to see you, and we've got some things for you," Nikki told her.

"Okay, and I've got something for you." Gail hesitated. "You go first."

Nikki handed over the fingerprints she'd taken from that hotel basement room door along with the ledgers they'd taken. She then drew a diagram of the rooms they'd explored so far, including the one with the broken up concrete floor, and showed Gail what they hoped to explore that night. "Okay, Gail," Nikki said, once they'd discussed her drawing of the broken up concrete floor and speculated just a bit on what might be buried there, "Now it's your turn."

Gail sat quietly for a moment, then looked from Nikki to Greg and back to Nikki. "You guys gave me some fingerprints from that safe where you found the briefcase that we're almost certain belonged to Ross Becker," she began.

"Yes?"

"I don't know what you guys are getting into," Gail continued, "but those fingerprints are well known to us."

Nikki leaned forward. "Whose fingerprints are they?"

"Those are David Denison's fingerprints."

"One hundred percent certain?"

"Yes. No question about them. Those are David Denison's fingerprints."

"David Denison?" Nikki repeated, "the father of our Chief of Police, Ryan Denison?"

"Yes."

"Maybe that shouldn't surprise anyone," Greg broke in. "Wasn't Ryan Denison's grandfather, Herman Denison, the man who founded the Twisted Heart Bar?"

"Yes, he was."

"And wasn't there some connection between the Denison family and James Simolink, the guy who founded the Golden Eagle Restaurant? Or maybe he didn't found it, but he had strong ties to it, at least in relatively recent times?"

"Yes."

"So maybe it shouldn't surprise us that the Becker's briefcase ended up in a booby-trapped safe connected to the Denison family."

Gail sighed. "No, I suppose it shouldn't surprise us. We still don't know how that briefcase ended up in that safe, of course, but we might suspicion that the Denison family knew or knows something about it and how it got there. And that brings me to something else."

"What's that?"

Gail turned to Nikki. "I know you don't like Chief Dension very much, but if his father or grandfather was involved in any way with that old murder, you and Greg need to watch your backs--big time."

"You think he'd give us trouble, don't you?"

"Damned right, he would. Serious trouble. You remember that he wasn't too happy about your looking into those cold cases--especially the one you were looking into first."

"Yes, I remember."

"So, from what I know of the man," Gail grimaced, "he would not be happy to learn that you had anything on his father."

"Of course, we really don't have anything on his father," Nikki said. "Can we keep the fact that we found David Denison's fingerprints on that safe to ourselves for the time being?"

"We'll try," Gail said, "and I've cautioned the fingerprint expert who identified that print to keep it to himself. We can hope he will. Still, you know how information travels through the police department. We can hope for the best, but--"

"Yes, I know, but changing the subject," Nikki broke in, "have you examined the papers in that briefcase?"

"Yes, a little," Gail said.

"What can they tell us, so far?" Greg asked.

"They're slow reading, and I've got lots more work to do with those papers," Gail replied, "but it appears to me that Ross Becker was in touch with a private investigator in Central America--El Salvador, to be exact--but the investigator apparently spent some time in Nicaragua as well. How Becker made the connection, I don't know, but I believe the investigator was looking into a counterfeiting operation. He and Becker thought that the counterfeit currency was making its way to the United States--probably to someone in our area. It was high quality and apparently being used to pay drug smuggler's debts and who knows what else. Right now, I'm trying to contact the private investigator Becker was corresponding with, but I haven't had much luck. That all went down 30 years ago, and it seems as if nobody knows him today--or admits to knowing him, anyway."

"So the counterfeit ten dollar bills we've seen may have come from Central America to someone here who stored them in that old hotel basement?"

"Maybe. We also have to consider the possibility that someone in the drug smuggling operation caught on to the currency being counterfeit. They wouldn't have liked being paid in counterfeit currency one bit. And," Gail went on, "It may be that we've got things backwards. It may be that someone here was financing the counterfeiting operation which was being carried out in El Salvador or one of the nearby countries."

"But why kill the Beckers? What's the motive?"

"Maybe to keep him from exposing the whole counterfeiting thing--or the drug smuggling? We don't know exactly what the counterfeit currency was buying or who was involved. Maybe, and this is just a far-out possibility, it financed some political ambitions."

"Political ambitions, eh? We know of at least one man with serious political ambitions some 30 or 40 years ago, right?"

"Yes."

"So, you'll keep looking at the papers from the Becker's briefcase?" Nikki questioned.

"I sure will. Part of the writing is in a foreign language and I've been trying to translate it, and some of the writing is in code. I'm working on that, too. It's slow going, but right now I don't want to get anyone else in the police department involved. You understand, right?"

"I understand. You'll keep us informed, right?"

"Yes. Now, you're going back into that hotel basement tonight, aren't you?" Gail questioned, changing the subject.

"Yes."

"Well, my caution still stands. You guys be awfully careful in there."

"We will. Now, one or two other things before we go," Nikki said. "These will be of special interest to you."

"Okay?"

Nikki showed Gail the photos she'd taken of the concrete floor that had been broken up and patched with plaster. "We talked a little about this earlier, but I want to bring it up again. We don't know what's under the floor," she said, "but if somebody wanted to bury a body or hide something of value, that would have been a very good place, because that room would have been quite secure. It still would be if we hadn't gone in there looking around."

Gail breathed a sigh. "We may have to find out what's buried there by digging it up. We'll keep that possibility in mind. Maybe we'll have to take one of the dogs in there that is trained to sniff out buried bodies. Now, what else do you have?"

"You know that I placed an announcement in the newspaper regarding the investigation and ask for any information someone might have available?"

"Yes?"

"Well, so far I have one response. Someone warned us off the investigation."

Gail shook her head. "Can't say I'm surprised."

"Because of that warning, I've been thinking about what we might do to increase security around Nikki's apartment," Greg said, "and we're going to work on that project as soon as we're finished here."

"I can provide you with some miniature surveillance cameras if they would be useful," Gail suggested.

"Let's take two of the cameras for now," Nikki said. "We'll see what else we might need later."

"Do you have any kind of a doorbell camera?" Gail asked.

Nikki shook her head. "No."

"I can get you a good one," Gail said, "but it'll take a day or so."

"A doorbell camera would be a good idea," Greg said. "If you can get us one, we'll install it right away."

* * * * *

Nikki and Greg ate lunch and then returned to Nikki's apartment. After a careful study of her apartment, they picked out two locations where the surveillance cameras would be most helpful in monitoring any unwelcome visitors who might enter. They'd get the doorbell camera installed whenever Gail could get it for them, and that would cover the area right outside of Nikki's door. There would be evidence if anyone broke into her apartment.

There were surveillance cameras installed around the parking area, and Nikki's assigned parking space was covered by those cameras, as was the space where she parked her motorcycle. For the time being, it was the best they could do.

* * * * *

Richard drove Nikki and Greg to the man-hole where they'd entered the storm sewer system the previous night. They climbed down the ladder taking them to the underground sewer, and cautiously made their way to the floor drain where they could enter the old hotel's basement.

Tomorrow night, or the next time they came in, they'd try to locate another entrance to the storm sewer, just in case someone had caught on to what they were doing. However, the next entrance was located another half-mile away, so it would make for a much longer trek. Tonight, they'd hope that no one had seen them at the entrance they'd used the previous night. Richard would remain on watch there until they returned.

Once again, they were inside the old hotel's basement. They'd ended the previous night's exploration at the last room on the north side of the hallway. In the brief look they'd taken then, they'd seen a bed and other furnishings, the doorway to a bathroom on one side of the room, and a sturdy safe, almost hidden in the corner. They'd also lifted a fingerprint from the door knob. They'd take another look, a much closer look, at that room tonight.

After listening intently to be sure that no other people were around, Greg went to work and quickly opened the locked door. Again, they checked for a trip-wire or booby-trap but found nothing connected to the door. Checking for trip-wires and booby-traps slowed them down, but they knew they had to be cautious. Witness that shotgun they'd found in the safe.

While Greg kept watch at the door, Nikki inspected and photographed the room. The bed and furniture were identical to that used in the rental rooms on the second and third floors of the hotel. The drawers in the furniture were empty, and she checked behind and under each drawer for anything that might have been hidden there--but found nothing. The bathroom medicine cabinet was empty as well.

Now for the safe. Like the one they'd encountered in the third room, the door was just slightly open. Nikki carefully dusted the handle for fingerprints--and found what appeared to be a thumb print. She then beamed her powerful flashlight through the opening and into the interior. There appeared to be papers, ledgers, and several small boxes inside that safe. She'd let Greg open it. Check it for trip-wires first.

Nikki and Greg traded places. Greg looked around the room for any built-in hiding places, found none, and turned his attention to the safe. Checked it carefully for trip-wires--and found them. After carefully removing the trip-wires from the safe's door, Greg eased it open--to reveal a sawed-off shotgun positioned in the safe similar to the one they'd found earlier. Whoever set these shotguns in place certainly was playing for keeps.

Greg had to wonder why someone had installed that shotgun because the safe was empty except for several ledgers, a few boxes, and a pile of papers. Maybe it had been designed as a deadly trap. The gun would have taken care of anyone who yanked that door open--no doubt that was the intent. "Come take a look," he whispered to Nikki.

Nikki photographed the shotgun and then carefully examined the safe. She'd been right. There didn't appear to be anything there except for those ledgers, a few small boxes, and the papers. These ledgers seemed to be much newer than the others they'd encountered. She'd take them all along with the papers. Put them in her backpack. Let Gail take a look at them. See if she could determine what they were all about.

Greg and Nikki inspected the small boxes that were in the safe. Most were empty, but one of them contained a few ten dollar bills. They appeared similar to the ones they'd first found in the Becker's notebook.

Gail could determine what the papers and ledgers would reveal. Nikki knew that Gail had a variety of investigations underway--investigations well under anyone's radar except for the District Attorney. No doubt Gail was interested in what she and Greg were turning up on the Denisons and the other people noted in the Becker's notebook. It could be that those ledgers or the papers would provide some useful information for Gail's investigations.

Once she had the ledgers and the papers and more photographs of the safe and of the room, Nikki exchanged places with Greg. He reattached the trip-wire from the shotgun's trigger to the safe's door, leaving it much as it had been when they'd found it. Anyone who yanked the door open was going to get hurt.

Both Nikki and Greg had considered bringing along some miniature surveillance cameras and positioning them in those basement rooms to record any activity. They'd do that on their next venture if it seemed warranted, and they considered where they might install them for maximum benefit. Further, they knew that the basement was in near-total darkness unless someone turned on the lights--and they probably would if they had business there. Still, even without lights, the camera's audio might pick up voices in the darkness--that is, they would if the basement was still in use. Exactly how much that basement was in use these days was hard to determine.

It was time to examine yet another room. They'd examined all five of the rooms on the north side of the hallway. Now, they'd turn their attention to those on the south side. One thing they hoped to find, of course, was the room from which they could access the narrow stairway that led up to the one locked room on the first floor, one of those which appeared to have served as an office.

And they'd speculated on the possibility that there might be a connecting tunnel between the old hotel and the Twisted Heart Bar. If that were the case, it would likely be entered from one of those rooms on the south side of the basement, perhaps the same one that contained the stairway to the first floor.

"What do you think, Nikki?" Greg whispered. "Want to skip the end room and go straight for the next one? Maybe find the stairway and the tunnel there?"

"No." Nikki shook her head. "Let's be systematic and as thorough as we can be. Let's start with the end room, the one nearest the front of the hotel, and continue on down the south side. See and record what's in each and every one."

"Okay. That's what we'll do."

Greg and Nikki inspected the door to that first room on the south side. The doorknob showed no signs of retaining fingerprints. Greg went to work on the lock. Minutes later, he had the door open. Just as he was beginning to check for trip-wires around the door, however, his telephone vibrated. A text message from Richard came through: "There is a lot of rather frantic activity around the Twisted Heart Bar. You guys may want to get out of there."

Greg whispered the message to Nikki. "What do you think?" he asked.

"Let's go," whispered Nikki.

Greg immediately sent a message to Richard: "Yes."

Greg hastily relocked the door. Together they hurried to the floor-drain opening through which they'd entered the basement and climbed down the connecting pipe and into the storm sewer below. Greg pulled the grate back in place and they began the trek back to the man-hole where they'd entered the sewer.

Once in the van with Richard, they watched the action around the Twisted Heart Bar for several minutes while Richard told them what was happening. Two large vans had arrived only several minutes ago and backed up to the bar's back entrance--off the alley. About the same time, a "pack" (to use Richard's word) of motorcycles, at least eight to ten of them, roared up and into the parking lot. Lights came on in the bar and there seemed to be a lot of activity.

"What do you make of the activity?" Greg asked.

"I'd guess they just got a shipment of drugs, or something, and the bikers are there to help unload it. Maybe the bikers will distribute the drugs later. Or, maybe not. The reason I wanted to warn you guys was that you said there are storage areas in the basement of that old hotel and it's possible the guys might want to stash some of whatever's in those vans over there."

"You're absolutely right about warning us." Nikki studied the activity around the bar for a moment. "I don't think we want to get too close over there," she added, "but if it's a shipment of drugs, the Vice Squad should know."

Richard shook his head. "There is usually a police car through here fairly regularly. At least there has been when I've been over here keeping an eye on you guys and the old hotel. But not tonight. I haven't seen a police vehicle anywhere near us tonight. By tomorrow, however, the police should know if a new shipment of drugs is on the street." He turned to Nikki. "Shouldn't they?"

"Yes, they should," Nikki agreed. "We're going to check in with Gail about that in the morning. See what the cops know about anything being distributed from that bar."

"Give me a call when you're ready to go back inside the hotel, or if there's anything else I can help with," Richard told them as he drove them back to Nikki's apartment. They assured him that they would.

* * * * *

The following morning, as was becoming their usual operating procedure, Nikki and Greg went to see Gail Frost in her office. When they told her about the activity around the Twisted Heart Bar the previous night, Gail promised to investigate. "I'm concerned that we don't seem to have a regular police presence in the area," she told them, "and I'm going to find out why."

"Are you sure you're not setting yourself up by checking into that business?" Nikki asked.

Gail smiled but her eyes were hard as she answered. "Part of my job is looking into what's going on within the police department," she said, "and if there's some crooked cops around, I want to find them."

"It could be that somebody is paying some of the cops to stay away from that area at certain times," Nikki said.

"That's so," Gail said, "and it wouldn't be the first time something like that was going on."

"We've determined that there's been more going on over the years at the old hotel than a hotel operation," Nikki said, "and with your help, we're going to pursue every aspect, and I do mean with your help."

"I'm with you," Gail replied, "and I've been working night and day on the leads you've given me. Now, what's new from your last night?"

Nikki showed her the photographs she'd taken in the hotel basement, gave her the fingerprint she'd lifted from the fifth room they'd inspected, and handed her the ledgers she'd taken from the last room they'd thoroughly explored. Gail promised to work on each of the findings.

"Since reading those papers in Becker's briefcase, I've been trying to locate the private investigator he was corresponding with," Gail told them. "So far, though, I haven't had much success. Of course, it's been 30 years or so now since that correspondence took place and . . . ." Gail's voice trailed off.

"I've got a suggestion," Greg broke in.

"What's that?"

"I have a friend who's an MP and he's stationed in El Salvador right now. He's good at tracking people, and I think he'd find it a real challenge to find the guy you're talking about."

"Why not give him a call?" Gail asked.

"I can do that."

Moments later, Greg called his friend in El Salvador. Gail switched her phone to speaker-phone, and both she and Greg talked with him. He said he'd be delighted to help with the investigation, and Gail agreed to send him facsimiles of the papers she was working with. "I'll get 'em out to you this afternoon," she promised.

* * * * *

After they left Gail Frost's office, Nikki and Greg drove over to the Post Office. Nikki checked the mail box she'd rented, and to her surprise, found another envelope waiting there.

Before going back to Nikki's apartment, they drove over past the old hotel. To their surprise, there was no activity to be seen anywhere near the hotel, the bar, or the restaurant.

"They got everything taken care of last night, didn't they," Nikki said.

"Looks like it," Greg responded, "so what do you think? Do you think we should explore the old hotel tonight?"

"I sure do want to, unless you think we shouldn't."

"I think we'll be okay," Greg replied. "I'll check in with Richard. Make sure he can drive us over to the man-hole and back us up for the evening."

After they made sure that Richard was available for the evening, Greg turned to Nikki. "It's going to be another long day," he said. "Why don't we eat lunch and then go back to your apartment. Maybe we can catch a nap before we tackle the old hotel?"

* * * * *

"So what did you find in the mail box today?" Greg asked once they were back at Nikki's apartment. Nikki retrieved the envelope.

They inspected the envelope carefully before opening it. It didn't appear to contain anything hazardous. Nikki carefully removed the letter, unfolded it cautiously, and read the scrawled message: "Becker was in deep. Way over his head. You are too. Drop the investigation and you live."

"Same scrawled handwriting as before," Greg observed.

"Looks to be. Maybe from the same person."

"Any clues from the postmark?"

"No. It could have been mailed from anywhere in the city."

"Does this frighten you, Nikki?"

"It's something a cop has to live with," Nikki replied, "so, no, it doesn't frighten me enough to drop the investigation. In fact, it rather urges me to get busy--to find out who's behind these threats, and why."

"But maybe we could and should take a few extra precautions," Greg said.

"Maybe so. Got some ideas?"

"Whoever wants you off the investigation likely knows where you live and the vehicles you drive. What would you say to us staying at my apartment for a few days? We'll take back the rental van and rent something different to drive? Trade it off in a few days, too. Get something different. Keep 'em guessing?"

"Okay. We can do that. Let me get a few things packed, and we'll move over to your apartment for a few days."

* * * * *

Things were not to work out for Greg and Nikki to explore the old hotel basement that evening. As they listened to the afternoon's weather forecast on the radio, they learned that severe thunderstorms were forecast to move into the area that evening. Not knowing exactly how much water that storm sewer they now used as an entrance to the hotel basement would carry during a severe thunderstorm, they'd put off tonight's venture. Wait 'till the weather cleared.

Still, they might as well check the storm sewer during the height of the storm to see just how much water it did carry, and whether they'd actually need to stay out of it during a thunderstorm.

It was almost dark and raining heavily when Richard and Kathy drove Greg and Nikki to the entrance to the storm sewer. They'd worn rain-gear and quickly climbed through the man-hole and into the sewer.

A trickle of water was beginning to run through the sewer. Half an hour later, there came a large surge of water, sweeping a variety of trash with it. While the storm sewer wouldn't be impassible unless it continued to rain heavily throughout the night, they'd wait until a dry day to continue on to the old hotel.

"You told us about this place called the Red Light Bar," Richard said. "How about if we stop there for a late night snack before we take you home?"

"Sure thing. Let's drive by the hotel first, though."

Greg and Nikki had traded the white Ford van for a yellow Ford 4-door pickup at the rental agency earlier that day. Maybe they wouldn't be recognized quite so easily.

There was no activity around the old hotel or the bar or the restaurant that they could see. Nevertheless, they would keep an eye on those buildings while they were at the Red Light Bar.

The Red Light Bar was jumping with activity that night. Although there were two motrcycles parked out front, most of the patrons appeared to have arrived in pickup trucks and SUVs--not surprising, because of the heavy rain.

In contrast to Barefoot Tom's, which catered to older patrons, the Red Light was a young person's bar--at least that night, and likely every night. Honky-tonk music greeted them as they pushed their way through the swinging doors. Once inside the bar, they made their way to one of only two or three empty tables.

The "Red Light special" that night was a Nacho's plate, and Greg ordered two of them along with Cokes. They were seated where they could see down the way toward the Twisted Heart Bar, but there didn't appear to be any activity there or around the restaurant.

Nikki watched the younger people, in their 20s and 30s, she supposed, having a good time. That was the kind of activity she'd missed out on, the kind of activity she intended to enjoy herself now that she was retired. She'd been fortunate to meet up with Greg, a man whose company she could enjoy, and with Richard and Kathy.

As Nikki was semi-daydreaming and watching the activities, four of the young people, two girls and two boys, detached themselves from their group and came over. "Would you guys like to dance with us?" one of the girls asked Greg.

"Sure thing," one of the fellows said. "Trade partners with us and we'll all dance to some good ol' honky-tonk music?"

Greg looked around at the group. "Whatdayasay guys?" he asked.

"Sure," Richard and Kathy nodded, "What about it Nikki?"

"Sure!"

Moments later, with the jukebox playing honky-tonk music, each of the young people took a partner and went straight to the dance floor. Once that song ended, they traded partners and danced to yet another song.

"I enjoyed the dance. Let's do this again soon," one of the young women whispered to Greg.

"Thank you! We'll do it again!"

When the young fellow who'd danced last with Nikki whispered, "Wow! You're a good dancer--and a lot of fun!" Nikki felt like a 30-something woman again. And the guy hadn't hurt her feelings one bit when he'd whispered, "You're absolutely beautiful!" Yes! This was the kind of fun she'd missed over the past 30 years--and she vowed to make up for the lost time.

With the dancing finished for the moment, Greg invited the four young people to join them for refreshments. They pushed two tables together, and the eight of them enjoyed snacks together. It was, Nikki told herself later, the most fun she'd had in years. With promises all around to do that again, Greg, Nikki, Richard, and Kathy left the bar for the night.

* * * * *

Nikki and Greg would spend the rest of the night at Greg's apartment. For the time being, that seemed like the safest thing for them to do. Tomorrow, they'd check in with Gail to see what she'd uncovered--and they'd just have to get back inside that old hotel basement. Both Nikki and Greg had the feeling that there was much more waiting to be discovered there--and keeping alive would be a major objective.
Chapter 13

Gail Frost had little new information for Nikki and Greg when they met with her the following morning. Nikki shared the warning she'd received in the mail with Gail, and Gail informed them that the second fingerprint they'd picked up in the basement of the old hotel also belonged to none other than David Denison.

"Have you told Ryan Denison anything about those fingerprints?" Nikki asked.

"No way!" Gail exclaimed. "We're going to keep those fingerprints as our little secret--at least for the time being."

"Yes, I think that's best," Nikki agreed.

"What's new with the gangs?" Greg asked.

"I'm glad you asked," Gail responded. "I've found that the Hooligans have a club house. It's located at the intersection of Monroe Street and Vine. The building used to house a business of some sort, but the gang took it over some time ago and made it into a club house. They've apparently refurbished the interior, and I've been told that some of the gang members sleep there at night as well as party. The fact is, I think the building has housed several businesses over the years. Oh, yes, and some of them can park their motorcycles inside in an area that once was a garage for the delivery trucks.

"If you look at a street map," Gail continued, "the club house is not all that far from the Twisted Heart Bar. It may be that the gang hangs out in their club house when they're not needed at the bar. They could hang out in their club house and be at the bar within a few minutes notice."

"What about the second gang, the one that had a shoot-out with the Hooligans?" Greg asked.

"They aren't as well known, but I found out that they call themselves the Hellions. They've got a club house somewhere around 76th Street and Glover Avenue. The word among some of the cops I trust, via a confidential informant, is that they are working for a rival drug-importer, and that they're trying to take over some of the Hooligans territory. They also apparently are involved with extortion, like you'd better pay up or we'll burn your business or we'll kidnap your wife or daughter, stuff like that."

"Are we heading for a gang war?"

"Likely so."

"Have you heard anything back from my friend in El Salvador? Greg asked.

Gail shook her head. "He called to tell me he'd received the facsimiles and that he's working on locating the private investigator, but it'll likely be a few days before he'll have anything for us. Oh, yes, and he's going to translate some of the stuff we found in the Becker's briefcase. It seems as if he knows several languages. (You probably knew that.) I think he'll be a great help to us, and I thank you for alerting us to his being there."

Greg smiled. "I'm glad he's going to be able to help. Maybe he'll be up here to visit me one of these days, and I'll bring him around to introduce him."

"Please do," Gail said.

* * * * *

The rain was over and the weather forecast was for a clear night. That meant that Nikki and Greg could spend a share of the night in the old hotel basement--exactly where Nikki wanted them to be.

Richard and Kathy let them off at the man-hole where they'd entered the storm sewer two nights ago. They'd decided that they'd drive to another point down the street where they could watch the man-hole as well as the old hotel, but from a distance where their presence might not be so easily noted. There was no use in calling attention to the man-hole, yet they felt it necessary to keep an eye on it. If anyone paid any attention to it, they'd notify Nikki and Greg. Make sure the area was clear when it was time for Nikki and Greg to exit the storm sewer.

The heavy rain of the previous evening had washed away some of the trash that had accumulated in the storm sewer, making it just a little easier going that night. Even though they were sure that no one else ever used the storm sewer as a passageway to gain entrance to the hotel basement, they were wary. Using as little light as was absolutely necessary, both Nikki and Greg made sure they were not tripping any trip-wires.

The trek through the old storm sewer went smoothly that night, however, and Nikki and Greg finally reached their destination--the drain-pipe and grate that would give them entrance to the hotel basement. Once there, they listened intently to be absolutely certain there was no human activity in the basement above them. Hearing absolutely nothing, Greg pushed the iron grate up and out of the way, and they both climbed up and into the basement.

There was one thing that concerned them, and they'd discussed it several times. There's an old military saying to the effect that if your advance is going smoothly, watch out--because you may be advancing straight into an ambush. Well, they'd do the best they could to avoid that ambush.

Nikki and Greg had taken great care to lock each of the doors they'd unlocked as they inspected the rooms on the north side of the hallway. Tonight, though, they went back to the furnace room. That door hadn't been locked, and they'd leave it that way, but they wanted to check it. If they encountered any sounds indicating other people about and nearby, they might be able to duck into that room and hide, since that would be the one room less likely to interest anyone--or so they reasoned.

If they had to escape from the basement without going through the storm sewer and had a little time, they would try to exit by the back door of the hotel. They would have to climb the stairs to the first floor landing and open the two doors that were in their way, but that would be another potential way of escape.

It wasn't that they actually thought anyone would be looking for them in that basement, but they couldn't be sure. After all, it might be that there really was a tunnel or connecting passageway from the hotel basement to the Twisted Heart Bar. A possibility was that at one time, if not yet today, someone might have brought something from the bar's basement to the hotel's basement for storage. In fact, to judge from the desks and storage areas, it appeared that a good deal of business must have been conducted in the hotel's basement. Whether the rooms on the south side, the side nearest to the bar, would yield any evidence of the activities conducted there, remained to be seen. Furthermore, steps apparently went from one of those locked rooms on the first floor to the basement. They'd come to the room where those stairs should exit soon.

But the hard question remained: How long would it be before someone figured out that they were actually in that old hotel's basement? And what would they do when they found out? Or had they even now positioned surveillance cameras to detect their activity? Maybe even wired a booby-trap for them? It wasn't a question of if--but when? Nikki and Greg would be wary.

They'd just begun to look inside the first room on the south side of the basement, the west-most room, two nights ago when Richard had called to report the unusual activity at the bar. They'd start with that room again that night. Be systematic. Be thorough. Those were Nikki's plans as an investigator.

Greg opened the lock on that first room, cautiously checked for trip-wires, and, finding none, pushed open the door. A sturdy wooden table sat in the middle of the room. It was surrounded by six chairs. Shelves lined two of the walls. There were several boxes stacked on those shelves. Overhead was a modern-appearing light fixture. Nikki wished they were able to simply turn on the lights as they explored the place, but they'd decided against that. Flashlights and their electric lantern would have to do.

In contrast to the rooms they'd already inspected, this room appeared to have been recently painted a light color. A relatively new carpet was on the floor. There was no dust on the table or the floor. Indeed, the room appeared to have been cleaned recently. Perhaps someone was using that room yet today?

While Greg watched the hallway, Nikki looked at the boxes that were on the shelves. She'd seen the contents of boxes like those before--drugs. Cocaine. If those boxes were all full, there would be hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of drugs sitting there. They'd take one of the small containers with them. Gail could have it analyzed. Determine what they'd found. Nikki photographed the find and made some sketches of the room and its contents in her notebook. Noted the drugs.

What especially interested both Nikki and Greg was the door set into the middle of the common wall between this room and the adjoining one. The rooms obviously were connected. Now, to see what might be in the next room--the one they suspected of containing the stairway leading up to the first floor and the possible entrance to the tunnel leading toward the bar.

This room they were in had been used recently. There could be no doubt about that. One could almost "sense" people in the room. Nikki took a number of additional photos of the room, attempting to document everything in it, and then Greg began his inspection of that door to the adjoining room.

While Nikki kept watch in the hallway, Greg cautiously opened that door. Nikki heard him whisper, "Wow!"

That room looked to be the command center--and likely currently in use, to judge by the equipment and decor. In fact, the room resembled a junior executive's office, complete with desk and chair, file cabinet, computer, printer, photocopy machine, and a relatively modern desk-telephone. A small refrigerator occupied a spot near the desk, and a large safe, similar to those they'd seen in other rooms, sat in a corner of the room. Above that desk was an ornate lighting fixture. Other light fixtures had been installed on the walls.

A small bath room was visible through its open door at one corner of the room. Those fixtures appeared to be clean, as if they, too, had been cleaned recently. Not that anyone would likely be using the bathroom these days because the water supply had been turned off some time ago. A small medicine cabinet hung on one wall, but it was empty. A light fixture hung from the ceiling.

To the back of the room, stair steps led upward--obviously to the room above on the first floor. Also at the back of the room was what appeared to be the entrance to a passageway that Greg and Nikki assumed would lead directly to the basement of the Twisted Heart Bar.

There was a door, now standing partially open, that opened on that passageway. A brief scan of the interior of that passageway showed that it appeared to have been constructed of bricks and stone and mortar, likely a long time ago. Wooden beams supported the top as well. Light fixtures were visible at spaced intervals along the wall.

The passageway appeared to be about three feet wide and approximately four feet tall, similar in size to the storm sewer Nikki and Greg crawled through to reach the hotel.

"Wow!" That was the best way to describe the finding of that passageway. They'd suspected they'd find something like that passageway, and there it was! Both Greg and Nikki listened intently at the entrance to that passageway, but heard no sounds from the darkness.

One of these days they'd follow that passageway. See exactly where it went. In the meantime, however, they'd install one of the miniature surveillance cameras they'd brought with them; they'd install it so it would look over the room from the desk to the entrance to the passageway. Greg found the ideal spot for the camera in one of the light fixtures that was installed on the wall. It would take a lot of hunting for someone to find that camera unless that someone knew exactly what they were looking for and where it was located. The question that haunted both Nikki and Greg was this: Were they being observed on some manner of high-tech surveillance equipment? After all, their advance was going smoothly. Too smoothly?

While Greg kept watch both at the entrance to the passageway and at the entrance to the room, Nikki cautiously examined the safe. It was locked, but there was a partial fingerprint on the handle, and Nikki lifted that print. She also wrote down the manufacture's name and the serial number she found on the side of the safe. Gail could likely obtain information about the safe and its lock from the manufacture. She could get someone from the company to unlock it if necessary.

The desk proved to be empty except for one drawer that contianed a pen, some paper clips, and a note-pad. Nikki looked at the bottom and back of each drawer but found nothing hidden there. The file cabinet also proved to be locked. Nikki wrote down the manufacture's name and the serial number she found on the lock. Gail could get that file cabinet opened, too, if she wanted to do so. She also lifted a partial fingerprint from one of the file cabinet's drawer's handle.

Nikki then photographed the room, paying particular attention to the safe and file cabinet, then sketched the placement of furniture and made some notes about the general appearance of the room. She then photographed the entrance to the passageway that led toward the bar. Gail should find that tunnel most interesting, as did she and Greg.

Greg carefully examined the door that opened on the passageway. It could be locked from the hotel side of the door, and he determined exactly how it could be locked and jammed so that it would be extremely difficult to open from the opposite side. If he and Nikki were discovered in the hotel basement, it might prove helpful to be able to lock that door and slow any pursuers while they made their escape. It was best to cover all the angles beforehand.

They'd spent enough time in those rooms. Gathered all the information they could for now. Before they left the hotel basement for the night, however, they'd take a quick look into the two remaining rooms on the south side of the hallway. If there was anything in either room to explore further, they'd be able to determine just how much time they'd need and how they'd proceed before coming back to the basement.

Nikki knew that their exploration of the old hotel's basement had provided potential leads to considerably more criminal activity than the murders of Ross and Crystal Becker. She and Greg would turn over what evidence they'd gathered and let Gail determine what, if anything, more should be done.

They'd also continue to gather additional evidence that might lead to the Becker's killer, of course. Exactly what they'd do next demanded some thought.

Greg opened the lock on the next room's door, determined that the doorway wasn't booby-trapped, and pushed the door open. By the light of their flashlights, they determined that the room was stashed full of sturdy cardboard boxes. Not only were the boxes stashed on sturdy shelving units along the walls, but they were piled haphazardly upon the floor. It looked as if whoever brought those boxes had been in a hurry. While Greg kept watch on the hallway, Nikki photographed the room and then opened one of the boxes--to reveal $50 bills stacked to the top.

Nikki photographed the open box and took two of the bills for "evidence." Another box proved to be filled with $100 bills. She photographed it and took two of the bills. "Come in and take a look at all the cash," she told Greg, then changed positions with him while he looked over the boxes.

"What do you think?" Greg asked, motioning toward the boxes of cash.

"Payoff money."

"For drugs?"

"Probably, but who knows. Maybe the money is waiting to be laundered--or be taken to one of those off-shore banks that pays the taxes and electric bills on these buildings."

Greg quietly closed and re-locked the door, then moved on to the last room on that south side of the hallway. Moments later, he had that door unlocked and open.

Similar heavy cardboard boxes were stacked high in that room. A small desk and a chair were also evident. Nikki opened one of the boxes to find $50 bills and another to find $100 bills. She photographed the open boxes and the room. They'd pass the photos on to Gail Frost. Let her see what they'd discovered. She could determine what she wanted to do next.

One thing the rooms where the cash was stashed had in common was modern light fixtures, apparently recently updated from those that might have been installed early on in the life of the hotel. The desk and chair in that second room were positioned under the light fixture. Someone well may have sat at that desk and worked with the cash stashed there. Nikki searched carefully to see if she could find any ledgers that might document some activity with the cash, but could not.

It was time to leave the basement for that night. Greg relocked the door on that last room they'd visited, and the two of them made their way to the drain-entrance and to the storm sewer--their exit to the outside world.

A phone call to Richard brought their transportation to the man-hole cover. They'd talk with Gail before they went back into that basement. Get her take on what they'd found.

* * * * *

Jeff Miller and Chad Jackson sat at the bar of Barefoot Tom's and kept an eye on the patrons as they did for awhile most nights before going over to Whiskey Joe's to pick up some girls. "What do you make of the fact that the gal you're interested in hasn't been in lately?" Miller asked his friend.

"The bitch ain't been at her apartment for the last night or two either," Jackson replied. "Maybe she's off with that guy she was in here with."

"You think she might have left town, Chad?"

"No, not for good anyway. She'll be back. I'd bet on it. If she ain't, we'll have to track her down--and we will."

"I keep hoping she'll show up back here by herself so I could have another dance with her," Miller said.

Jackson's eyes were hard as he responded. "Forget about that bitch, Jeff," he whispered, "'cause she ain't gonna be around much longer."
Chapter 14

On the following morning, Greg and Nikki took the cocaine and the currency they'd taken from the hotel basement rooms to Gail Frost. They gave her the information on the safe and the file cabinet as well as the fingerprints Nikki had lifted. Showed her the photos and the sketches Nikki had made of the last basement rooms they'd visited.

Gail had received a brief phone call from Greg's friend in El Salvador. He'd made a little progress, he informed her, and said that he'd send along facsimiles--probably that afternoon--of what little printed information he'd found so far. "I'll have some more information for you very soon," he'd told her, "because I'm just getting started on locating that private investigator--and if he's alive, I'll find him. By the way," he added, "I'm also looking for any other private investigators who might have worked with him or at least known him."

"He's a really good cop," Greg said, "and if anyone can locate that PI and get any helpful information from him, he'll do it. It'll be interesting to see what he comes up with."

After they'd finished describing and showing the photos of what they'd found in the hotel basement to Gail, she told them she wanted them to know about an "interesting encounter" she'd had with the Chief of Police, Ryan Denison.

"How's the Chief doing these days?" Nikki responded.

"Well," Gail leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands behind her head for a moment, then continued. "He seemed, well, agitated. I guess that's the best term. Wanted to know if you were still looking into the murders of Ross and Crystal Becker. I told him you were, and he immediately wanted to know how your investigation was coming along."

"So, what did you tell him?"

Gail smiled. "Not very much. Of course, I had to tell him that you were working on that case, but I didn't mention your work in the old hotel."

"Okay, and what did he have to say?"

"He wanted to know if you had any leads on the killer. I didn't think he needed to know what all was going on, so I told him you didn't."

"Thanks."

"For some reason he seemed quite agitated. Exactly what was going on with him, I really don't know."

"You didn't tell him his father's fingerprints were found in that old hotel basement, the hotel where the Beckers died, did you?"

"No."

"So, Gail, bottom line? Is he going to make trouble for us? And, if so, why? What's his interest in the case, anyway?"

"That's a good question. We don't know what his involvement with the things that were or are going on in that hotel basement really is or was. It's something to keep in mind, though, because he could cause you--or us, I should say--a great deal of trouble."

"We know that his dad was in that hotel basement," Nikki said.

"Yes."

"Is his dad, this David Denison, still alive?" Greg asked.

"I think so, but I don't know for sure. I'll try to find out."

"The Chief couldn't know that we've been in that hotel basement, could he?" Greg asked.

"I don't think so," Gail replied.

"We have to assume that somebody knows we've been there," Greg said. "That's the safe way to think. To put it in military terms, our advance has been going way too smoothly."

Gail nodded her understanding. "Yes, I suppose so. Will you be going back into that basement anytime soon?"

"I don't think so" Nikki replied. "We've got most of what we could get there. If you can get us keys to that file cabinet or the combination to that safe, we can see what's in them, but other than that, no. We'll get busy on developing some new leads, and we'll see what Greg's friend in El Salvador can tell us. Other than that, we're going to pass the information we have on to you and let you determine what steps we can take to help you--because the implications of what we've discovered are things you are better able to deal with than we are."

"Yes, that's so," Gail agreed, "and you can bet that I am going to follow up on the information you've uncovered."

Just as Nikki and Greg were about to leave Gail's office, her telephone rang. It was Greg's friend in El Salvador, and Gail immediately switched to speaker phone so everyone could hear what he had to say.

"I've got a little new information for you," Greg's friend began after a brief exchange of pleasantries, "maybe helpful, maybe not. Not that I'm through pursuing things, but I'll bring you up to date."

"Whatcha got?"

"I found an obituary of the private investigator you were interested in. He died about 30 years ago, maybe a few days after you told me Ross and Crystal Becker were murdered."

"That's very interesting. How did he die?"

"Want to guess?"

"Murder?"

"Yep. It's an interesting story. There was a powerful earthquake about that time, and the man was in his office when the building collapsed. Buried him and a bunch of other people who were working there. Injured maybe thirty people. Maybe more. From what I read, about twenty people were killed. When they found the private investigator, though, he had a bullet wound in his head."

"Murder."

"Yes. Some people apparently tired to say it was suicide, but they never found a gun anywhere near him and there was no suicide note."

"Was there any kind of an investigation into his death?"

"That's where things get fuzzy. If there was, I couldn't find any records of it. Not that that means anything because police records from that time are rather scarce. I'll keep looking into that, but I do have some additional information for you. Maybe helpful, maybe not."

"Whatcha got?"

"I located a man who was a private investigator back about the same time as the one you're interested in. He tells me that he knew the guy and knew that he was living dangerously, that he had cautioned him several times."

"He was living dangerously? How so?"

"According to this PI, drug trafficking was getting going real big-time back then. Cocaine was being shipped to both North and South America. Maybe some heroin, too, but mostly cocaine. The suppliers were getting rich and they bought off the cops and private investigators. Those they couldn't buy off got killed, and he thinks that's probably what happened to the guy you're interested in."

"You're thinking is that maybe the Beckers were looking into the drug trade and this private investigator was their contact for information?"

"Perhaps, but there's another angle. There was also a counterfeiting operation in El Salvador that was going big-time about 30 years ago. Some people think that Russia, that is the KGB, was behind it, and that the quality was very high. Few people could tell the counterfeit money from the real stuff."

"United States currency?"

"Yes, and several other countries as well. That counterfeiting operation apparently had the potential to undermine the economy of several of the smaller countries in Central America by flooding the country with fake currency."

"So that may be something else the Beckers were looking into, because they did have those two $10 bills that we are sure are counterfeit. High quality counterfeit, too."

"Yes. And if this private investigator was looking into the source of that counterfeit currency, that may have led to his murder. The KGB wouldn't mess around."

Greg, Nikki, and Gail thanked him for his information. "We'll keep in touch, and we'll send you any more information we can get," Gail assured him.

"I'm working on another angle, and I'll get back with you before long," Greg's friend told them. "Also, I'll be working on translating more of those papers you sent me," he added, "and there are some initials in the text that may mean something to you. I'll get back with you on those initials."

Gail, Greg, and Nikki thanked him for his work.

The MP wished them "good luck" with their investigation.

* * * * *

Gail assured Nikki and Greg that she would run the latest fingerprints Nikki had obtained and see what she could do about getting information on the safe and the file cabinet locks. Whether or not they'd be following up on those bits of information would be up to her. Gail would also have to decide what to do about the drugs they'd found as well as the possible graveyard. Those things may or may not have been related to the Beckers murder, but they were beyond the scope of Nikki's investigation--and of prime interest to an Internal Affairs cop.

* * * * *

"So," Greg asked Nikki, after they'd left Gail's office, "what do you want to do next?"

"Two things," Nikki replied, thinking. "Maybe three."

"Okay? Number one?"

"First, let's stop by a restaurant for a snack. Then, I'd like to go to the Post Office and check for mail. After that, I'd like to drive by the Hooligan's club house--and the Hellion's club house, too. See where those guys hang out."

While Nikki went into the Post Office to check her mail box, Greg carefully surveyed the parking lot. Although he didn't think anyone who was interested would have any question about who had placed that announcement in the newspaper asking for information on the Becker's murder, he couldn't be absolutely certain that someone wouldn't be keeping an eye on that mail box--especially now that he and Nikki had explored the old hotel. To his relief, nobody seemed to be paying any attention to him or to Nikki.

To Nikki's surprise, there were two mailings waiting for her in the Post Office box she'd rented. They'd look at those later, after they looked at the two gang's club houses.

They first drove by the old hotel. There was no activity there, nor around the nearby restaurant, but there was activity around the Twisted Heart Bar. There were lights on inside the building, and at least eight motorcycles were parked out front. No signs indicated that the bar was open for business.

"I wonder how we could get a surveillance camera set up inside that bar?" Greg whispered.

"Yeah, we should do that, but that might be difficult."

Greg grinned. "Yep. The cops should have done that years ago. Wonder why they didn't?"

Nikki had a good idea as to why the cops hadn't looked into activities that took place in that bar. So did Greg. Maybe they would know for sure in the future.

As Gail had said, the Hooligan's club house was not all that far from the Twisted Heart Bar. Greg drove down Monroe Street to where it intersected with Vine Avenue, and there it was. What was once a Strip Club and before that a hardware store had been converted into the Hooligan's club house.

The Strip Club signs had been removed, the exterior painted, and above the door was the Hooligan's name and a logo of some sort. Signs warned visitors to "keep out." There were several motorcycles parked in the parking lot. Nikki photographed the club house, the motorcycles, and the surroundings.

"They must feel awfully secure to post their name on the club house," Greg observed.

"Yes, I'd guess so," Nikki replied. "In my experience, the gangs like to keep their club houses anonymous."

"Yeah," Greg agreed, "that's been my experience, too."

The Hellion's club house was some distance away. Greg drove down 76th Street to where it intersected with Grover Avenue, and there it was--an old warehouse that had been converted into the club house.

It was considerably larger than the Hooligan's club house, and located in a more-so run-down section of town. The front of the building had recently been painted black. Like they'd seen at the Hooligan's club house, there were several motorcycles parked in the parking lot, and several men appeared to be at work painting the side of the building. Nikki photographed that club house, too. Got pictures of the men painting the building. Unlike the Hooligan's club house, no club name was visible on the building.

Once they'd inspected the Hellion's club house, Nikki turned to Greg. "Have you ever seen the mansion where James Simolink lives?"

"No."

"Drive us on out to Ash Street and then turn left. We'll go several miles on Ash Street. Watch for Thomas Street. Simolink's mansion is between Thomas and Elmore Street, off what's known as Simolink Drive."

"Okay. The street is named for him, right?" Greg asked.

"Yes. The city named the street where he lives Simolink Drive. He was a very important man, you know."

They drove several miles on Ash Street. When they came past Thomas Street, Nikki pointed out Simolink Drive. "It's a circular drive," she told Greg, "so just follow it around. We'll pass by his mansion, and then we'll come out again on Ash Street."

Greg drove them past Simolink's mansion, which was partially hidden behind high stone walls and a great many trees and shrubs. Still, they could make out the huge stone house and multi-car garage where James Simolink, owner of the Golden Eagle Restaurant and who could know what else, lived in his retirement.

A huge steel gate was across the drive toward Simolink's mansion, and a guard house stood next to that gate. Access to James Simolink or any of his family who might be living there would be extremely difficult.

"James Simolink had quite a political career, didn't he?" Greg questioned.

"Oh, yes! He was governor for two terms and a senator for years and years, and he was powerful enough to have his say about who was elected to positions of power in the city and across the state. People called him a 'king maker' in his day."

Greg drove them back to the rental agency where they exchanged the Ford pickup for a blue, 4-door Chevrolet pickup. Hopefully, that would keep people from immediately recognizing them. They could hope.

Back at Greg's apartment, Nikki carefully examined and then opened the two envelopes she'd picked up at the Post Office. The first was the now-familiar "get off the case--or else" message similar to the first two messages she'd received. The second, however, was the kind of response she'd hoped for--assuming, of course, that she could trust the typewritten message: "On the night that couple was murdered," it began, "there was a vehicle I'd never seen parked in the vicinity of the hotel before. (I lived just a few blocks from the Fairfield Brother's Hotel, so I knew most of the vehicles that parked on the side streets at night.) It was a black Lincoln 4-door sedan. It was there around 10 o'clock when I came home and was gone the next morning. I never saw it again. Hope this helps." Numbers--likely the tag numbers--were hand printed below the message.

"What do you make of this?" Nikki asked as she handed the message to Greg.

Greg studied the message. "It may or may not be true, but it gives us something to check out."

Gail can help us because she has contacts at the court house who might be able to check the registration of the Lincoln. We will also check with the Lincoln dealer here in the city."

"One other thing we want to do is contact the rental agency," Greg suggested. "I doubt that they have records from 30 years ago, but they might have."

"Yes. What do you say we go talk to the rental agency in the morning? See if they rented Lincolns back then."

"Okay. What would you like to do this evening?" Greg asked.

Nikki thought for a moment. How about we go over to Barefoot Tom's. Get us something to eat, maybe dance a number or two, and then come back to your apartment for the night? Do some planning? Get some rest?"

"Sounds good to me," Greg replied.

* * * * *

The visit to the rental agency on the following morning proved disappointing. To the best of the current manager's knowledge, they had no records from 30 years ago that might show who rented any particular vehicle. "They may have had a few Lincolns to rent back then, but I'm afraid I can't be of much help to you now," he told them.

Nikki and Greg thanked the manager of the rental agency. Their next stop was Gail Frost's office. After reading the message Nikki had received, Gail immediately called a friend of hers, the office manager at the local Lincoln dealership.

"I'll take a look at my sales records from that time period," he told Gail. "We didn't have a lot of people here in the city driving Lincolns at that time. I may be able to come up with some owner's names that you can check out."

"Would you have rented any vehicles like that--say for overnight?"

"Doubtful," he replied. "We didn't rent any vehicles on a regular basis back then. Sometimes we loaned a vehicle to a customer, say someone who had his vehicle in the shop for repairs, something like that."

Gail next called the motor vehicle registration office at the courthouse and inquired about the availability of records that might show ownership of vehicles some 30 years ago. "Yes," they could provide such records, but it would take some time. Gail asked them to check on the ownership of black Lincoln 4-door sedans from 30 years ago.

* * * * *

Chad Jackson and Jeff Miller had watched Nikki and Greg enter Barefoot Tom's that previous night. "I told you she'd be back," Jackson whispered.

"Yeah, that's her, all right! Wow! Beautiful as ever!"

"Let's you an' me get out of here," Jackson said, not responding to Miller's assessment of Nikki's appearance. No way did he want to be spotted by the lady cop who'd put him away for 17 years; the cop he was about to get even with--in spades.

Without another word, the two men paid their bar tabs and slipped out the back door. They'd go over to Whiskey Joe's. Have another drink. Check out the girls there. Buy 'em some drinks. Take the prettiest ones home for the night.

"It won't be long now before I take care of that bitch," Jackson growled as the two men took seats at Whiskey Joe's bar. "As soon as my pal gets outta the pen, we're gonna repay her good for what she did to us."
Chapter 15

Nikki and Greg were back in his apartment and settled in for the night when Nikki's telephone rang. "Hello?"

"Nikki, this is Gail Frost."

"Yes. What's up?"

"You remember that the Hooligans and the Hellions had a serious confrontation not that long ago, right?"

"Two of the Hooligans were shot dead, right?"

"That's right. We think the Hooligans have just retaliated. As near as we can piece things together, the Hooligans shot up the Hellions club house last night. Went after it with shotguns. Broke out the windows and generally made a mess of things. Damaged one or two motorcycles that were parked out front as well."

"Did they kill anyone?"

"We don't think so. Of course, the Hellions aren't cooperating one bit, but some of the neighbors told us what happened, and some of the neighbors got surveillance-camera videos of the gang we think did the shooting."

"They weren't on bikes, were they?"

"No. They had two vans. In the videos you can see gun barrels sticking out of the windows, and you can hear the shots. The neighbors tell us it sounded like a war zone."

"Did you get some tag numbers to identify the owners of the vans?"

"No." Gail laughed. "The tag numbers were covered with mud, so they didn't show up in the videos. Furthermore, nobody showed their face. Whoever planned that raid did their best to make it anonymous--but we're fairly certain it was the Hooligans gang. Nobody else we know of had the motivation or resources to pull off something like that."

"So what will happen next? Will the Hellions retaliate? Shoot up the Hooligan's club house--or worse?"

"We think so. I don't know if this confrontation will have anything to do with your investigation around that old hotel, but keep your eyes open for trouble. One of the cops here who specializes in gangs says we may be in for a real high-stakes gang war before this confrontation is all over. He says he thinks its outcome will determine which gang will be able to distribute drugs in the area."

Nikki thanked Gail for her concern and for the information. It would not be surprising, she told herself, if the Hellions were to attack the Twisted Heart Bar as well as the Hooligan's club house. She and Greg and Richard and Kathy would have to be on the alert for that possibility.

* * * * *

Moments after she'd finished talking to Gail, Nikki's phone rang again. A telephone number she'd never expected to see again showed up on the Caller ID: Ron Zigler's phone number. "Hello?"

"Is . . . Is this . . . Miss . . . Miss Hamilton . . . the . . . police . . . woman?"

"Yes, this is Nikki Hamilton. And you're Mr. Ziggler, Ron Ziggler, right?"

"Ye-s-s-s, I'm . . . I'm Ron . . . Ron Ziggler. Do . . . Do . . . you . . . remember . . . me?" His voice was terribly weak.

"Yes, I do remember you. How are you?"

"I . . . I'm . . . not . . . not so . . . not so good. . . . Haven't . . . slept . . . well . . . since . . . since I talked to you."

"I'm sorry. Is something troubling you?"

"Been . . . Been feeling . . . Been feeling real . . . real bad."

"I'm sorry."

Suddenly his voice strengthened. "I . . . I was a good . . . a good cop."

"Yes, I'm sure you were."

"I . . . I can't believe . . . I did . . . I did what I did."

"What did you do that's bothering you, Mr. Ziggler?"

"I . . . ."

Nikki waited. She'd switched her phone to "speaker phone" mode so that Greg could listen in. He'd quickly determined who was calling and brought his recorder. They'd get a record of what was said.

"I . . . was . . . a good cop," Ziggler repeated.

"Yes, I'm sure you were."

"I . . . I didn't tell you the . . . the truth about . . . about those . . . those murders."

"Would you like to do that now, Mr. Ziggler?"

"They'll . . . They'll kill me."

"Who will kill you?"

"The . . . The people who . . . who ordered . . . ordered . . . the . . . the murders." Suddenly Ziggler's tone changed. "You knew . . . I . . . wasn't telling . . . the truth . . . didn't . . . didn't you?"

"We thought not, not the whole truth, anyway."

"Yes . . . Yes . . . I'm . . . sure . . . you . . . did. Cops . . . Cops know . . . know when . . . when a man ain't . . . ain't tellin' the truth."

"Why did you cover up the truth, Mr. Ziggler?"

"It . . . It was . . . It was the money. I . . . I just . . . couldn't . . . couldn't resist . . . couldn't resist the money."

"They paid you well?"

"Ye-s-s-s. Paid all . . . all the bills . . . on this . . . this nursing home. I couldn't have . . . couldn't have . . . have afforded it otherwise."

"Who was it that ordered the murders, Mr. Ziggler?"

"They'll . . . They'll kill me . . . if . . . if I . . . if I tell you."

"Who will kill you, Mr. Ziggler"

"Guess . . . Guess it doesn't . . . doesn't make . . . make much difference . . . not now. I . . . I don't . . . don't have much . . . much time . . . much time left."

"Can you do the right thing now, Mr. Ziggler? Tell us who ordered the murders. Clear your name?"

Ron Ziggler was silent for several long moments. Nikki thought that he'd changed his mind about talking to them. "Are you still there, Mr. Ziggler?" she asked.

"Ye-s-s-s."

"Who ordered the murders, Mr. Ziggler?"

"Ever hear of a guy named James Simolink?" Ziggler's voice was strong now, and he wasn't stammering.

"James Simolink? Yes, we've heard of him. We know who he is. Did he order the murders?"

"Ye-s-s-s!"

"Why did he want the Beckers killed?"

"It was the money. You . . . You see, he needed a lot of cash to finance his political ambitions. You . . . You know he was a governor."

"Yes."

"Those young people were on to the drugs coming into the state. Traced them from somewhere in Central America, I think it was. Somehow they found out the drugs were being delivered to Simolink's restaurant. I . . . don't know how they connected drugs with the hotel--or why they came here that night. They . . . They had papers with them, you know. Evidence of . . . of some sort. Simolink thought it might do him harm . . . might ruin his reputation."

"Yes. I understand what you're saying."

"Maybe they were . . . gonna talk . . . with . . . with Simolink . . . or . . . or maybe the cops. I don't . . . I don't know what they were gonna do."

"So James Simolink had them killed?"

"Ye-s-s-s!"

"Who pulled the trigger?"

"Can't be real sure of that. It could have been David Denison. He owned that bar next to the hotel, you know. Between . . . Between the hotel and Simolink's restaurant."

"Yes. Do you think David Denison pulled the trigger?"

"Can't be real sure, but there's one guy who knows for sure."

"Who's that, Mr. Ziggler?"

"My . . . My partner."

"Alan Thornburg?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Ziggler?"

"Ye-s-s-s?"

"If we come to see you again, will you make a formal statement of what you've told us and sign it?"

Ziggler did not respond for several moments. When he did, his voice was tight. Fearful. "Yes, . . . but don't . . . don't count on . . . on finding me . . . alive when . . . when you get here," he murmured.

Nikki thanked Ron Ziggler for his information. Moments after the phone went silent, she called Gail Frost and summarized the conversation for her. Gail immediately placed a call to her friend in Detroit, where Alan Thornburg was living. She also placed a call to an FBI agent she knew in Arizona with the request that he visit Ron Ziggler. Take a statement from him if possible. Do what he could to keep Ron Ziggler alive.

* * * * *

James Simolink was no fool. Although he now was 96 years of age, he'd kept a tight rein on the people who'd worked for him over the years--especially those who'd skirted the law. Two of those men were Ron Ziggler and Alan Thornburg.

Those men had helped him greatly even before they'd been called upon to investigate the murders of Ross and Crystal Becker. The Beckers should have had better sense than to look into his affairs, especially the way in which he had been financing his ambitions. They had to be silenced before they found something that would interfere with his aspirations. Maybe even send him to jail.

And now some retired female cop was looking into the Beckers murders--after all these years. Of course, she would talk with Ron Ziggler and Alan Thornburg. She'd know they investigated the case in the first place. In fact, both men had called him when she or her representative had visited them.

The money he'd paid both men over the past 30-some years should have bought their total silence. Still, he could never be absolutely certain they wouldn't talk. That was why he paid a nurse at each retirement facility to keep an eye on the men. Paid them well, too.

After Ziggler and Thornburg had notified him that they'd been contacted about the Becker's murder, James Simolink had his concerns about what they'd given away. They'd assured him that they hadn't told this retired cop anything, but he didn't completely trust them. After all, they were old and might be having second thoughts about what they'd covered up.

If there was any indication that either Ziggler or Thornburg was giving away information about his earlier activities, Simolink would advise the nurses to take care of them. They could and would give them something that would take care of them--silence them for good. He'd pay those nurses well for doing so. Like he'd paid the nurse who took care of John Lewis. That guy should have kept his mouth shut. Talkin' about that old hotel.

It wasn't just those two murders that concerned Simolink. Both Ziggler and Thornburg would have known how he'd financed his political career, would know about how he'd profited from the drug trade as well as that counterfeiting operation in Central America. Of course, it was a share of that drug money that was paying their stay in those classy retirement homes, but they might not think of that angle--might not remember how he'd taken good care of them over the years.

No! If Ziggler and Thornburg were sharing information about him, Simolink would simply take care of them--and fast. Make sure they didn't tell anybody anything. He'd call those nurses and alert them to watch for any more visitors. Keep a tight rein on both of those old cops.

But what about this damned retired cop, this Nikki Hamilton. He'd take care of her, too. Make damned sure she didn't taint his image--his entire career. With those concerns in mind, James Simolink called his long-time friend and "fixer," Ralph Fisher, and explained his concerns and wishes.

"You want me to take her out?" Fisher asked.

"Not just yet," Simolink replied. "I sent her two messages warning her that she was gonna get into serious trouble if she didn't drop the investigation. Let's keep an eye on her and see what she does. If she keeps on asking questions about that old murder, then she's yours to do with as you wish--and my boys will help you."

"Do with her as I wish?" Fisher cocked his head and a smile flickered across his face. "Whatdayasay I let the Hooligans take care of her?"

James Simolink grinned. "Good idea, but you don't let them touch her unless I tell you to. Okay?"

"Okay." Ralph Fisher agreed. He knew who was boss. At least he knew who thought he was boss. He'd let Simolink think he was in charge of everything, but he'd get this Nikki Hamilton when he was ready. First, thought, he'd do a little investigating of his own. Find out what she looked like and where she lived. Find out her daily routine. Report all this to Simolink, who would reimburse him well for his trouble.

Simolink knew exactly what Fisher was thinking. Fisher thought he'd do things his way, that the "old man" as they called James Simolink these days, was "out of it." What Fisher didn't know was that Simolink had, years ago, formed a secret alliance with Orville McKnight, crime boss of the city. They'd both profited from that alliance. Both he and McKnight had connections. Powerful connections. Ralph Fisher had better do things his way, or he'd take care of Fisher.

McKnight was almost as old as Simolink, but he still had the connections within the police department to keep an eye on things. McKnight's son-in-law, Ted Adams, was the prime mover in the underworld these days, and he was loyal to both Orville McKnight and James Simolink. If Ralph Fisher and his gang, the Hooligans, didn't follow his orders, McKnight and Adams would take care of them.

Sometimes James Simolink took the opportunity to reminisce as he observed the daily happenings in his city. He'd made some good friends back 70 years or so ago, good friends like the Denisons. The money they'd made during prohibition with that bar, the Twisted heart Bar, had helped his political career, and they'd exchanged many favors in the past. Then it had been his stroke of genius to have his attorneys set up those off-shore bank accounts. They could be counted on to pay the taxes on their businesses, as well as the minor expenses like the utilities. Kept people from finding out who owned those old buildings--and what was going on in them. Helped him launder money, too.

Yes! The good ol' days had been enjoyable for James Simolink and his friends. He'd go to some trouble to keep them that way yet today--even if it meant disposing of that damned cop who was looking into that old murder.

And they'd have to do something about that new gang, the Hellions. They were beginning to muscle in on the drug trade that Simolink and his friends had controlled for years. He'd get with Ted Adams. See what he'd recommend. Talk over this Nikki Hamilton with him, too. Make sure he knew what she was up to. He'd do it now. Yes! James Simolink reached for his phone.

* * * * *

"What do you say we take a break from the investigation for a day or two?" Greg asked Nikki. "We can relax a little, and see what Gail can come up with before we decide what direction to take next. Whatdayasay, girl?"

"Great idea!" Nikki exclaimed. "Let's take a day or two off--and have some fun!"

"Have you been out to the mountains lately?"

"I haven't ever been out to the mountains," Nikki replied. "Well, except once about 20 years ago when I was working a murder investigation. What do you have in mind?"

"There's a lodge out in the mountains that I've stayed at a few times," Greg replied. "It's set up for a beautiful view of the mountains, especially when the sun rises and sets over them, and there are some hiking trails that are really cool."

"Let's go!" Nikki replied. "We'll have to go back to my apartment so I can pack some clothing, but other than that, I'm ready to go."

"Okay. I'll pack a few things, and then we'll go over to your apartment. Be ready to go to the mountains in the morning."

* * * * *

On the way to Nikki's apartment, they went by the Post Office to see if Nikki had any more mail regarding the investigation. To her surprise, there were two envelopes in the mail box. They'd take them along to her apartment. Maybe leave them there until they returned from their vacation.

No! No way! Nikki couldn't do that. Cops didn't put off searching for and examining evidence. She'd open those letters and hope there wasn't anything that would interfere with their plans to go to the mountains.

The first envelope contained a newspaper clipping about a recent, as-yet-unsolved homicide in the city with the handwritten note, "You're next."

The second envelope contained a typed message: "On the night of the Becker's murder, I saw a man leaving the back door of that hotel with a briefcase. It was about midnight. Maybe later. The man went on the run. Was that briefcase stolen from Ross Becker? Can you find that briefcase?"

"Well, well. Somebody else must know about that briefcase. Too bad the writer didn't give us a description of the man," Greg murmured.

* * * * *

Nikki had not noticed the middle-aged man seated in the nondescript van in the parking lot where he could observe people picking up their mail. See which boxes they opened through the large windows in the Post Office. Ralph Fisher photographed her with his smart-phone as she left the Post Office. He now knew what she looked like. Damned good lookin' for an older gal, he thought to himself.

Fisher then followed Nikki and Greg as they drove to her apartment complex. He now knew where she lived. When Simolink gave the order to get rid of her, he'd be better prepared--and he might not wait for Simolink's order. Somebody else just might pay him better.

Who the guy with Nikki was, Fisher didn't know--nor care. If he got in the way of Fisher's carrying out Simolink's orders, he'd be dead.

Before Nikki and Greg left for a few days in the mountains, Nikki called Gail Frost and described the contents of those two messages. They wouldn't help much in the investigation, but they'd let Gail know what was going on--let her know that somebody knew abut the missing briefcase.

* * * * *

Nikki had never been into those mountains. She'd had a beautiful view of those mountains from her apartment, and had always promised herself that someday she'd like to see them up close. Still, she'd been so busy working as a detective, that she hadn't taken a vacation of any kind--for about 30 years.

The drive into those mountains proved to be the most enjoyable time Nikki had spent in years. Greg drove them to the lodge he'd referred to, a lodge with a beautiful view overlooking a large lake. Once they'd checked into the lodge, Nikki and Greg went for a brief hike, following one of the hiking trails into the mountains. It was, Nikki assured herself, the most wonderful time she'd ever had. She'd look forward to spending time here with Greg again--and again.

It was the morning of the second day Nikki and Greg were vacationing in the mountains that Gail Frost called. "I'm sorry to interrupt your vacation," she told them, "but there have been some major developments in our investigation into the Becker's murder."

"What's going on, Gail?"

"One of our prime witnesses, Ron Ziggler, died last night. I've requested an investigation into his death."

"Good. Any clues so far as to what happened?"

"No."

"Have you considered the possibility that Alan Thornburg might be in danger?"

"Yes, and I've alerted my friend in Detroit. She'll keep her eye on things there. Maybe try to get him moved into a different facility."

"Great! Anything else going on?"

"Something that is likely unrelated, but will interest you, is that our gang war is escalating. You know that the Hooligans shot up the Hellions club house several nights ago?"

"Yes. You told me about that."

"Well, the Hooligans now have guards posted around their club house."

"I think they should be guarding the Twisted Heart Bar as well since that's where they seem to be doing business. My guess is that the Hellions will attack it, too."

"I agree, and I've recommended that the cops keep an eye on the bar. Anyway, I hope you're enjoying yourself."

Nikki assured her that she most certainly was.

* * * * *

James Simolink was not a happy man that morning. He'd told Ron Ziggler's nurse to take care of the old man. She had, and he'd immediately wired her a down payment of $10,000 for her work. He also knew that there would likely be an investigation into Ziggler's death, and that it might reveal what had really happened.

Would the nurse finger him? It wasn't like the old days when people knew how to keep their mouths shut. Pay 'em and they'd keep their mouths shut. Well, if that nurse didn't keep her mouth shut, he'd take care of her, too."

It had all come about because those damned Beckers had been looking into his finances. Hell, they were gathering evidence just like a cop would have. No way could he allow them to live--not while he'd been governor. No way.

But what had happened to that evidence, anyway. The Beckers had a briefcase with them and he'd seen it, had determined that the evidence they'd gathered wasn't going anywhere, especially with them dead. He'd ask David Denison to take care of the evidence the Beckers had gathered, and Denison had assured him he had. Said he'd put the briefcase in a safe in the basement of that hotel. Said it was safe there. Said that nobody could get it there--that he'd see to that.

Why Denison had kept that evidence, James Simolink did not know. But then, as he thought about it--he did know. Denison wanted something on him. Damn that David Denison! If David Denison told what he knew about him, sullied his reputation as a great governor and senator, Simolink would have him dead--and fast. He still had connections, people who would take care of him. Take care of his enemies. Plenty of people owed him--big time.

Still, if Denison had put that briefcase in a safe in the basement of the Fairfield Brother's Hotel, it should still be there. James Simolink placed a call to Ralph Fisher and told him about the briefcase. "Get that briefcase outta there for me," he told Fisher, "and get it fast."

"Yes sir!"

"Bring it directly to me," Simolink commanded.

"Yes sir!"

* * * * *

Nikki and Greg spent their first morning in the mountains following a hiking trail that took them to the lake. There they rented a small boat and spent the rest of the morning on the water, circling the lake and enjoying the peacefulness. To Nikki it seemed like a totally different world than she'd ever known--and being with Greg made her feel especially good. She could only hope that he felt the same way about her, that he wouldn't leave her once this investigation was over.

"Can you swim?" Greg asked, breaking into her thoughts.

Nikki thought a moment. "I swam a lot when I was a girl and some when I was in college, but that's been a long time ago."

"I'll bet you still can,' Greg replied. "Why don't we pick up a swim suit for you back in town, and the next time we come out here, we'll go swimming."

Nikki hesitated. Would she still look good in a swim suit?

Greg grinned, knowing what she was thinking. "You'll look great in a swim suit, Nikki," he reassured her, "and we'll have a great time swimming."

Later that night, as Nikki snuggled into Greg's arms, she thought about how wonderful it was being with Greg. He'd been so good to her, both as a man and as a friend--and as an investigator. Yes, she told herself, she was in love with Greg. She could hope that he was in love with her.

* * * * *

Ralph Fisher immediately contacted Joe ("Big Joe") Davidson, the acknowledged hands-on leader of the Hooligans gang. "I need to do an errand for James Simolink which will take me into the basement of the old Fairfield Brother's Hotel," he told Davidson. "Can you help me get in there?"

"Yeah, no problem," Big Joe replied. "Do you know which room you want?"

"Which room I want? Whatdaya mean?"

"Yeah, Ralph. Which room? There are ten rooms in the basement of that old hotel. Ya have to know which room you want into."

"I don't know, but I'll find out. Call you back."

"Okay. You find out which room you want, and give me a call. I'll meet you at the Twisted Heart Bar and we'll go over there."

Fisher did not want to involve anyone else in getting that briefcase, but he wasn't sure of the room where it was located. David Denison would know. He was the one who put the briefcase there in the first place. Ralph Fisher called David Denison.

David Denison laughed to himself when he heard Fisher's request. "They ain't nothin' in that briefcase anyone's interested in now," he told Fisher, "but I'll tell you where it is."

"Where is it?"

"It's in a safe in the middle room on the north side."

"The middle room on the north side?" Fisher repeated.

"Yeah. There are five rooms on each side of a hallway in that basement. The briefcase is in a safe in the middle room on the north side. Tell that to Big Joe and he'll know the room you want."

"It's in a safe, you say? How will I get into that safe without knowing the combination?"

"You don't need the combination," Denison replied. "Because the safe is open."

"It's standing open?"

"Yep."

Ralph Fisher hung up without so much as a "thank you." Now to get that damned briefcase and get it to Simolink.

David Dension laughed to himself again as he hung up the phone. Ol' Simolink must be getting anxious in his old age, Dension thought, wanting that briefcase after all these years. Of course, all along he'd let Simolink think that there might be something in that briefcase that would connect him with the drug money that supported him and the cops who were on his payroll. Kept ol' Simolink on edge.

* * * * *

Ralph Fisher met "Big Joe" Davidson at the Twisted Heart Bar. Davidson selected the key they'd need to unlock the door on the middle room on the north side of the hotel's basement. "Follow me," he told Fisher, as he unlocked the door leading to the passageway into the hotel basement.

Fisher hesitated at the entrance and looked around cautiously. He'd never been in an underground passageway like this, and it spooked him just a little. More than a little. Spooked him plenty. A man could go into that tunnel and never be seen again.

Davidson sensed Fisher's hesitation. "Come on," he said. "Ya wantta get into that room, ya gotta go through here to get there."

Fisher's hand slipped inside his jacket pocket. Closed on the pistol there. He might have to go through that passageway all right, but he'd be ready if anyone tried anything.

Davidson led Ralph Fisher through the passageway and the room into which it opened, through that room, and to the middle room on the north side of the hallway. One turn of the key, and he had the door open. Beamed his flashlight on the safe. "There it is," he said.

Fisher studied the safe for several moments. "This must be it, huh?"

"It's the only safe I see in the room," Davidson countered. "Let's get what you want and we'll get outta here."

"Okay! Okay, I'll get that briefcase," Fisher said, "and then we'll get the hell out of here--'cause I don't like this place." With that, he grabbed the safe's door handle and yanked it open.

KER-BAM! BAM!

The double-barreled shotgun that David Denison had trip-wired to that door years and years ago roared--sending buckshot straight into Ralph Fisher's chest.

Ralph Fisher didn't even have time to scream as he lurched backward and dropped to the floor--dead. Joe Davidson looked past Fisher's body into the open safe. There was no briefcase, or anything else, in that safe.

Back in the Twisted Heart Bar, Big Joe called David Denison and told him what happened. "What do you want us to do with Fisher's body?" he asked.

"Get a couple of the guys to help you," Denison replied. "Get what's left of him out of there and pitch him into the river late tonight. Keep what happened under your hat, okay?"

"It's safe with me," Big Joe replied.

David Denison laughed, remembering that shotgun he'd trip-wired into that big ol' safe when he'd first stashed Becker's briefcase there. Ralph Fisher wasn't going to give anybody any trouble. Not any more. The truth was, Denison had never liked Ralph Fisher. Fisher's demise wouldn't bother him in the least. Good riddance.

Nor was Denison concerned when Big Joe told him there was no briefcase in that safe. Others knew where he'd put that briefcase. Knew he'd booby-trapped that safe. One of them must have wanted it--and taken it. Rewired the shotgun triggers after he'd taken it. Who had it? Denison didn't care. Nothing in it concerned him.

* * * * *

James Simolink was furious. It was almost midnight and he hadn't heard a word from Ralph Fisher. If Fisher wanted to continue to work for him, wanted the good money he'd always paid him, he'd better have a good explanation for not getting that briefcase fast and bringing it directly to him. Well, he'd call David Denison, wake him up, and see if he knew anything.

To Simolink's annoyance, David Denison didn't know anything about Ralph Fisher's whereabouts or what he was doing. At least, he wasn't telling Simolink anything.

David Denison could tell that Simolink was angry, but he didn't really care what Simolink thought. After all, it was Herman Denison, David's father, who had built the Twisted Heart Bar back in the late 1880s. Herman and, later, David Denison had promoted James Simolink's political career as well as his restaurant, the Golden Eagle Restaurant. Promoted his political career early on with a lot of money. Took care of some of his political rivals, too. Simolink owed the Denison's. Owed them plenty. No, David Denison didn't really care what Simolink thought.

Of course, Simolink had returned the favors. After he'd begun to profit from the drug trade, it had been James Simolink's money and political influence that had promoted Ryan Denison, David Denison's son, to his position as Chief of Police. Of course, Ryan Denison had returned the favor many times over the years. He'd continue to do so.

* * * * *

Nikki's phone rang the following morning as she and Greg were finishing breakfast. It was Gail Frost.

"My phone company assures me that we both have secure phones now, but I'm only going to pass along a brief request," Gail began.

"Okay?"

"Take an extra day vacationing," Gail continued, "and check in with me when you get back in town."
Chapter 16

Gail Frost had something in the works, all right. Something she didn't want to talk about on the telephone. "Well," Nikki told Greg, after telling him what Gail had said, "we'll just do what she suggested and take an extra day here in the mountains--if that's okay with you?"

Greg assured Nikki that was just fine with him. "I couldn't think of a better way to spend the day than with you," he told her. "We'll do some hiking and just enjoy the scenery--and each other's company," he added.

It was later that evening, as Nikki reflected on the beautiful scenery she'd enjoyed that day, that she brought up a question she'd wondered about ever since she'd met Greg: "Did you ever ride a motorcycle?" she asked.

"Oh, yes," Greg told her, "I sure have." He paused a moment,and then continued. "In fact, that's one of the things that interested me in you."

"The fact that I ride a bike?"

"Yes. I've been thinking how much fun it would be to ride a bike through some of this mountainous country. Take it slow and enjoy the sights--and the fresh air. Pull off at the scenic overviews. Spend a little time at each one."

"I'd really like that, too," Nikki told him.

"If you'll ride with me, I'll look for a motorcycle for myself as soon as we take a break in our investigation," Greg said. "You can help me pick it out."

There was now no doubt in Nikki's mind. Greg was absolutely wonderful. "I'll ride with you anytime, anywhere!" Nikki responded. "Maybe we could even take a cross-country trip sometime? See the sights across the United States?"

Greg slipped his arm around Nikki. Held her close to him. "That would be great, Nikki," he whispered, "just like you are."

* * * * *

Back home, after that wonderful extra day of hiking in the mountains and just enjoying each other's company, Nikki and Greg kept an early morning appointment with Gail Frost.

"What have you got going on, Gail?" Nikki asked, once they were seated in her office.

Gail smiled. "I've been working on something ever since you guys started exploring that old hotel," she began, "and I want to fill you in on what's going on. I don't know if this will help your investigation into that 30-year-old murder in any way, but it may involve some of the players.

"I've had several meetings with our District Attorney," Gail continued, "and she got together some people she trusts from the Drug Enforcement Agency and the FBI. We went over the things you discovered in that old hotel. Oh, and don't worry. I kept your names out of this because how I got some of those things is a little out of the ordinary.

"Anyway, we think there's enough interest to raid that old hotel and maybe the Twisted Heart Bar as well." Gail hesitated, looked from Nikki to Greg, and then continued. "I don't want to involve the local cops because I've had some indication that one or more of those cops now on the force are involved with the guys we think had something to do with illegal activities at the Fairfield Brother's Hotel, the Twisted Heart Bar, and the Golden Eagle Restaurant. Furthermore, we think some of the cops may be involved with Orville McKnight or his son-in-law, Ted Adams--both of the men we know to be involved with organized crime."

"So, is there any way we can help this task force?" Greg asked.

"No," Gail replied, "and I want you both to stay completely out of this--for now, anyway. Bring me anything you get in the mail related to your investigation, of course, and I'll continue to help you any way I can, but let's let the District Attorney handle the task force activities. I don't want you going into the old hotel again until we have a chance to let the District Attorney get whatever evidence she can use.

"Oh, yes, and I have to tell you that the District Attorney and her task force are especially interested in that room with the torn up concrete floor. Somebody, I don't know when or where or who, maybe a convict trying to get a reduced sentence a few years ago, hinted at bodies buried 'under that hotel,' to use his description. Nobody picked up on that possibility as near as we can tell, not until now, that is, but we're going to.

"Now, to change the subject and get back to your investigation," Gail went on, "I've got my friend in Detroit working with Alan Thornburg to see what she can get from him that will help us both."

"Can she work things out so that he isn't killed for talking to her?"

Gail nodded. "We talked about what happened to Ron Ziggler, and she's taken steps to prevent that from happening again. In fact, she's had Thornburg moved to another facility where he'll be much safer. She's also alerted the staff at the new facility to keep an eye out for any visitors and alert her if anyone shows up to see him."

"Is he cooperating with her?"

"I think he is as much as he's able," Gail replied. "The truth is, he's developing a little dementia and his mind is not real clear at times. She's working with some medical people to help determine how much of what he says is real and how much is not. Whether or not his testimony would stand up in court is a serious question. Still, we can follow up on any leads he gives us."

"Do you have any objection to my placing another notice, a slightly different one this time, in the newspaper requesting help in our investigation of the Becker's murders?" Nikki asked.

"Not at all," Gail replied, "We'll keep in touch, share all the information we develop, and I wish you well."

* * * * *

Upon finding their club house shot up and badly damaged by the Hooligans, the Hellions were furious, and it was with great difficulty that their leader, Marv Grant, managed to calm them. "Let's carefully plan out our revenge," Grant told them, "and then we'll do it right."

"Yeah! Right on!" The gang members roared their aproval. "Let's do it right!"

One of the gang members stood up, shook his fist in the air, and shouted, "We don't need to plan out anything, let's just get our guns and just go get 'em."

Another echoed his call. "Hell, yes! Let's go get 'em. Kill 'em all."

"All right! All right! Calm down! We know you want revenge, but let's plan this out," echoed Eric Thomas, the second in command of the Hellions gang.

"Calm down, you guys. I've got a plan," Grant told the group. "We'll not only wipe out their club house, but we'll disrupt the flow of drugs they distribute. Mess 'em up real good. Maybe clear the way for us to take over some of their territory."

"How we gonna do that?" someone challenged.

"You guys sit down and I'll outline my plans," Grant replied. The gang members reluctantly did so, and listened as Marv Grant told them what he had in mind for revenge on the Hooligans.

* * * * *

Nikki and Greg went over the information they'd developed so far related to the murder of Ross and Crystal Becker. They'd wait for Gail Frost's task force to investigate the old hotel before determining what they should do next. And they'd wait to see what Gail's friend in Detroit could learn from Alan Thornburg.

"I think we pretty well know what happened and we know who ordered their murder," Nikki summarized their findings to date, "but we don't know who actually shot the Beckers. And we don't know exactly what they were investigating with the private investigator in El Salvador."

"But we've sure uncovered evidence of a lot of criminal activity focused in that old hotel, haven't we?" Greg said.

Nikki had to agree. "We sure have, and Gail's task force can make what they can of it."

"What's next?"

"I've been thinking about running another announcement of our investigation in the newspaper," Nikki said, "and we'll keep checking the mail box. That'll let people know we're still looking into those murders, including the people who want us off the case."

* * * * *

On their way over to the newspaper office to leave the new announcement Nikki wanted to run in the newspaper, they stopped by the Post Office--where Nikki found another letter in her mail box. Back at Greg's apartment, they opened the letter.

* * * * *

James Simolink could scarcely believe what he was hearing on the television newscast that evening. The body of Ralph Fisher had been discovered in the river. He'd been shot dead. The police were asking for any information anyone could provide on the homicide.

Whatever was going on? He'd sent Fisher to obtain that briefcase Ross and Crystal Becker had with them when they'd checked into the Fairfield Brother's Hotel years and years ago. Now Fisher was dead, and he had no idea as to where that briefcase was.

He knew how to find out, though. He'd check with David Denison. Wasn't he the one who'd hidden that briefcase years ago? Well, he certainly should know where it was now, or know who did know where it was.

But wait. Think this through. Maybe Ralph Fisher had obtained that briefcase. Taken it out of hiding. What had he done with it? Who shot him, anyway? Did someone else now have that briefcase with those papers linking him with the drug trade? He'd made plenty of enemies over the years, any one of whom would be delighted to have that briefcase and those papers. Ruin his reputation. Disgrace him if they could.

Simolink was angry! More angry than he'd been in years. So angry that his hands were shaking. "Calm down, James," he told himself aloud, "or you're going to have a heart attack!"

James Simolink knew who was to blame for these recent problems. It was that damned retired cop, Nikki Hamilton. Why she'd ever got it into her head to investigate that 30-year-old murder, he didn't know. What he did know was that she'd stirred up those two old cops who'd investigated that murder in the first place, the cops he'd paid well to keep quiet about who was behind it. And she'd placed that annuncement in the paper requesting information from the public about the crime. Who could know what somebody might have told her.

No way could he let that investigation continue. Ziggler had told that other cop working with him and Thornburg that he had ordered the murder. Well, he'd taken care of that ol' cop. That was years and years ago. He'd forgotten that cop's name. Well, he'd take care of this Nikki Hamilton as well. Once she was dead, nobody would be interested in what went on years and years ago. He'd put some good money on her head. Make it worth someone's time to kill her. Make sure nobody ever found her body. Simolink's hands weren't shaking now. He'd always been in control, and he would be again.

"Big Joe" Davidson, leader of the Hooligans, answered immediately when he saw James Simolink identified on his caller ID. "Hello, Mr. Simolink," he answered, "What can I do for you?"

James Simolink was direct and to the point. "I want Nikki Hamilton dead right away, and I'll pay well. She's a retired cop, and she's giving us problems."

Davidson's response was also direct. He wasn't sure who Nikki Hamilton was, but he'd find out--and fast. "Yes, sir."

Simolink smiled for the first time that day. That was the way he expected to be obeyed. Davidson would take care of this problem.

* * * * *

It was two o'clock in the morning when two vans with mud covered license plates parked half a block away from the Hooligan's club house. Two young men from each van, each carrying a two-gallon gasoline can, made their way silently toward that club house. Once they'd splashed the gasoline on and around the Hooligan's club house, they retreated. A flaming, gasoline-soaked, chunk of firewood, hurled at the club house by the last of the Hellions to leave ignited the club house as the vans silently carried the gang members away.

At the same time, two similar vans parked down the alley behind the Twisted Heart Bar with a similar mission. When they left the scene minutes later, that gasoline soaked building was a roaring inferno.

There hadn't been a Hooligans gang member standing guard at either their club house or the Twisted heart Bar. The Hellions knew they'd all be gone that night, because they'd spotted a van delivering drugs the previous day.

"Burn 'em out! Take over their drug business!" That was the plan Marv Grant and Eric Thomas shared with the Hellions earlier--and that was exactly what they'd done. They'd burned the Hooligan's club house and their drug distribution center; now they'd move into the Hooligan's territory and take over their drug trade--big time. Kill any of the Hooligans who tried to stop 'em.

* * * * *

The last letter Nikki found in her mail box contained the following message: "The man you want is very dangerous and well-placed. I want one million dollars to reveal his name and how I know he did the killing. To accept this request, place a classified ad in the newspaper stating 'I accept your offer' and a telephone number where I can reach you."

"That's very interesting," Nikki commented to Greg, "but I doubt that we're going to accept his offer."

* * * * *

Nikki was snuggled into Greg's arms that morning as they watched a television movie at his apartment when her telephone rang. The caller ID identified Gail Frost. "Hello?"

"Nikki?"

"Yes?"

"Something big is going down between the gangs," Gail said. "Best we can figure so far is that some gang, probably the Hellions, has attacked the Hooligan's club house with fire-bombs. They also have attacked the Twisted Heart Bar with fire-bombs. Apparently splashed gasoline on both buildings and set 'em on fire. Probably did so in the early morning hours. The fire department is still on both scenes, but the wind was whipping the fires and they got a good start before the fire department got to either place. My guess is that neither place will be useable again."

"Anybody dead at either place?"

"Not that we know of yet, but there may have been someone in either building. We'll have to wait until the fire department gets things under control before we know for sure."

"Is this going to impact your task force investigation?"

"Yes! It's going to speed it up. The DA has placed a guard around the ruins of the bar to keep people out of it until the task force has a chance to inspect it--especially the basement. From there, they'll go over to the hotel basement."

* * * * *

Upon hearing the news about the fires, James Simolink immediately placed another call to Joe Davidson. "You get that Nikki Hamilton for me, and I'll provide the money for you guys to get a new club house," he told Davidson, "and we'll also find another building for the drug trade."

"I've talked to the drug supplier," Simolink continued, "so he knows this fire isn't going to disrupt anything--not very long, anyway. Get with Ted Adams. He'll help locate another building for you, and he'll take care of the finances. Now, damn it! Get that ex-cop. The one who's causing all the trouble."

"Yes, sir," Davidson, replied. "Thank you, sir!"
Chapter 17

Upon hearing the news from Gail about the arson fires, Nikki and Greg drove to a vantage point where they could look over the remains of the Hooligan's club house, and then went to look over the remains of the Twisted Heart Bar.

The Hooligan's club house was a total loss, having burned to the ground. Fortunately, the fire department had been able to keep the fire from spreading to other buildings in the vicinity. The Twisted Heart Bar was badly damaged. The roof had collapsed, but portions of the walls were still standing.

Fortunately, the fire had not spread to the old hotel or to the nearby Golden Eagle Restaurant. Had the wind been just a little stronger, the old hotel might have been history, but except for a little smoke damage, it, like the restaurant, appeared to be undamaged by the fire.

As Gail Frost had indicated, the police had a guard posted around the remains of the Twisted Heart Bar. The task force she and the District Attorney had put together would be searching the remains of the bar, including the basement--and also the basement of the old Fairfield Brother's Hotel.

Both Nikki and Greg thought it would be interesting to find out if the passageway from the hotel basement to the basement of the Twisted Heart Bar extended on into the basement of the restaurant. Gail's task force would have the "pleasure" of determining the extent of that passageway. Perhaps Nikki and Greg could explore the passageway at a later date, but Nikki felt that would be unlikely. She did, however, hope for a chance to explore the hotel more thoroughly, moreso for her own pleasure than for additional evidence.

Well, that part of the investigation into the Becker's murder was out of Nikki's hands--at least for now. She and Greg would have to see what the task force turned up that might be relevant to their investigation, if anything.

What they'd do about the letter promising to reveal the Becker's killer for one million dollars was also out of their hands. Nikki had passed that letter on to Gail, but she doubted that anyone was going to put up a million dollars for a highly questionable lead. Still, Gail might be able to get some clues about the sender from the envelope or the paper used. Fingerprints, perhaps, but not likely. And the postmark might provide a clue as to where it had been mailed. Not that any of that information would likely lead to the sender.

Nikki had the new announcement of their investigation in the newspaper. They'd see if anyone else would respond. If Gail was right, there were people who wished she'd never begun that investigation--and both she and Greg might be in danger. Well, she'd not wish to put Greg in any danger, but as for herself, Nikki knew that being a detective meant placing yourself in constant danger.

After all, there were countless people who'd threatened her over the years. Some she'd dealt with had spent years in jail, and they had mostly vowed revenge. Yes, as Gail had suggested, both she and Greg would have to be wary--and carry weapons.

Having checked out the burned buildings, Greg drove Nikki to her apartment. It would be several days before they were ready to think through and resume their investigation, and they'd made plans to return to the mountain lodge they'd enjoyed so much a few days ago. Nikki would pick up some things at her apartment, and they'd be on their way.

"Let's take a look at the surveillance cameras we installed in your apartment," Greg suggested.

"Okay."

"I'll do that while you pack some things," Greg told her.

The cameras they'd set up inside her apartment had not recorded anything to indicate that anyone had been inside Nikki's apartment. The doorbell-camera they'd installed, however, showed two young men who'd approached Nikki's door.

Greg downloaded the images of the young men who'd approached Nikki's door and showed them to Nikki. "Do you recognize these men?" he asked.

Nikki studied the photos, then turned to Greg. "Do you remember the Halloween costume party that you missed, the one at Barefoot Tom's?"

"Yes."

"Well, I think this is one of the guys I danced with at that party," Nikki said, pointing to the first photo-image. "He had a lot of zombie paint on his face, so I'm not 100 percent sure, but I think so."

"Did you get his name?"

"Yes. Jeff Miller."

"Do you know anything about him?"

"Not really. He came over and asked me to dance. I danced with him--and that was it."

"He apparently came to your apartment to see you."

"It looks that way. Now, how he knew where I lived is another question, because I didn't tell him. Never expected to see him again, other than maybe at Barefoot Tom's."

Nikki studied the second photo, then shook her head. "I don't know who that is," she said.

"Let's take these photos over to Gail Frost on our way to the mountains," Greg suggested. "We'll see if she can identify the second man. Maybe get an idea of what he's doing at your door."

* * * * *

"Big Joe" Davidson had contacts on both sides of the law. It had taken him only two telephone calls to determine where Nikki Hamilton, the retired detective James Simolink wanted killed, was living. Another phone call got him a photograph of Nikki.

On his first attempt to "visit" Nikki, he'd found her apartment, but she wasn't home. At any rate, she hadn't answered the door when he'd knocked. They'd have a photo of him on the doorbell-camera, no doubt, but that was okay. Dead people couldn't identify him, and she'd soon be dead. Knocking on her door wasn't a crime.

Although the Hooligan's club house and the Twisted Heart Bar had been destroyed, Davidson was determined to carry out Simolink's wishes regarding the retired cop as quickly as possible. When that job was finished, he would personally lead the Hooligans in their revenge on the Hellions. After all, Simolink had promised him the money to rebuild their club house or find a new one, and he knew Simolink would also help them get the drug distribution system set up and working again.

And the Hooligans would carry out their revenge on the Hellions. Davidson had made contact with someone who could tell him who the Hellions worked for, and his plan was to simply eliminate the outfit that supplied the drugs the Hellions distributed. Cut off their source of income. Send 'em packin'. Maybe lure 'em out of town and ambush the whole gang. As one of the gang members recommended, "Kill 'em all."

Neither Nikki nor Greg saw Joe Davidson as they came and left Nikki's apartment that day. He was seated in the green Ford van across the parking lot, and he photographed both of them as they left her apartment building. "Damn!" Davidson whispered to himself as he eyed Nikki. "She's one good lookin' babe!" He shrugged his shoulders. "Too bad."

Now that Davidson knew who Nikki was and where she lived, he could plan her demise. The guy she was with might or might not pose a problem. He, too, might simply disappear.

* * * * *

"Would you like to buy a swim suit before we go to the mountains?" Greg asked after they'd delivered the photos to Gail Frost.

"I'm afraid it'll be too cold to swim in the lake," Nikki said.

"Yeah, but they've got a heated pool inside."

"In that case, yes! Let's stop by the department store and I'll look for a suit. I won't take a lot of time, and if I don't find anything I like, we'll come back or shop somewhere else later."

"Okay."

As luck would have it, Nikki found a swim suit she liked at the department store. A little later, they were on their way to the mountain lodge that they'd enjoyed only a few days ago. Yes, indeed! Nikki would make up for some of the good times she'd missed when she was busy day and night being a cop."

Although she would enjoy herself, Nikki also knew that she'd have to get busy being a detective again as soon as Gail Frost gave them the go-ahead. They'd give the District Attorney's task force time to get what they wanted from the ruins of the Twisted Heart Bar and the old hotel, but then she and Greg and Gail were going to work on her project--the question of who killed Ross and Crystal Becker.

A brief stop at Gail's office and they'd identified the second man who'd visited her apartment door. It was Joe Davidson, one of the leaders of the Hooligan's gang. He was, as Gail put it, "well known to the cops."

"I don't know what Joe Davidson was doing at your door," Gail told Nikki, "but I'd guess he's up to no good. You guys, watch your backs."

* * * * *

Once again, Nikki found herself thoroughly enjoying her time with Greg at the mountain resort. They hiked the nature trails, swam in the heated indoor pool, went for a boat ride on the lake one afternoon, and enjoyed the meals in the dining hall. When Greg told her just how "nice" she looked in her swim suit, Nikki was overjoyed at how special he'd become to her. How wonderful she felt being with him.

Yet, even as she enjoyed the time at the resort, Nikki felt the urge to continue their investigation into the Beckers murder. It was the same urge she'd felt during her career as a detective, the urge to discover the facts, the urge to discover the people who'd killed someone or broken the law in some other way.

Gail Frost kept them informed on the progress the task force was making. They'd found information documenting the gang's drug distribution in the basement of the burned-out Twisted Heart Bar--and then they'd moved into the basement of the Fairfield Brother's Hotel.

From the old hotel basement, the task force had removed all of the old ledgers Nikki and Greg had seen there in the various rooms as well as the drugs and currency that was stored there. They'd found the open safe with the shotgun inside the blood-spattered room. Blood samples from that room had been linked to Ralph Fisher. They now knew how and where he'd died.

The task force had also found the other shotgun booby-trapped safe that Greg and Nikki had told them about. They'd taken the ledgers that shotgun once protected.

What was most interesting to the task force was the room with the broken up concrete floor. From that room they'd found two bodies buried in the soil under the broken concrete. They now were in the process of identifying those bodies--and searching for any other bodies or anything else that might be buried there.

"You know what I'd guess regarding the identity of those bodies they've recovered?" Nikki asked Greg.

"Who do you think they are?"

"If James Simolink is involved with the activities around that old hotel as I think he was, and likely still is, I'd guess those bodies are two of his old political rivals."

"Political rivals, eh?"

"Yes. If I remember correctly, there were two times in his career as mayor and senator when he came up against rivals who had a good chance of defeating him. Both of those men disappeared before the elections, and their bodies were never found."

"So you think he got rid of them and somebody buried the bodies in that old hotel basement?"

"Well, I can't know for sure until the task force does its thing, but that's where I'd look first. When both men disappeared, there was a great deal of newspaper coverage and speculation about what happened to them. I read it when I was looking into the history of the old hotel and the people listed in the Becker's notebook--including James Simolink."

"Simolink is still alive. Do you think he's aware of what the task force is doing?"

Nikki smiled. "Yes, I'd guess so. You see, he's always had close connections with the cops, and I'd guess someone will let him know what's going on--especially if the findings may affect him in any way."

"Does he still have the power to cover up any task force findings that relate to him?"

Nikki would be honest. "I don't know," she said.

"What might the connection be? Does he still have cops on his payroll, so to speak?"

"You remember that we've linked David Denison to the Twisted Heart Bar. His father, Herman Denison, founded it in the late 1800s, about the time the Fairfield Brother's Hotel was being built."

"Yes?"

"Well, David Denison's son, Ryan Denison, is the Chief of Police."

"I know that. Do you think Ryan Denison is mixed up in any of the illegal activities that we think went on at that bar or in the basement of the old hotel?"

Nikki smiled. "I don't know that, either, but I suspect that possible connection is one of the reasons Gail didn't involve him in the task force she and the District Attorney assembled."

"So, when he finds out about that task force and learns where they're looking and what for, is the Chief of Police himself going to get involved in one way or another? Maybe hamper the investigation?"

"I don't know."

"And you said the Chief wasn't too happy when you told him you were going to be looking into some of the cold cases. He must have known exactly what case you were and are investigating, right?"

"Yes. He knows, all right."

"So he'll know exactly who to blame for getting some of the old guys like James Simolink riled up, right?"

Nikki snuggled into Greg's arms. "Yes."

They'd be going back "home" tomorrow. They'd trade in the rental pickup for another vehicle and stay at Greg's apartment for a few days until they got a feel for what was going on with the task force investigation. Or maybe they'd alternate between Greg's and Nikki's apartments for a few days, just to keep anyone looking for them off balance, and there was no doubt in Nikki's mind that there would be someone, and maybe several someones, looking for them, at least for her. After all, they'd all blame her for stirring up this mess.

* * * * *

Chad Jackson's friend who was in the penitentiary, Roger Monsanto, was released on Monday. By Tuesday afternoon he'd reconnected with Jackson. That evening the two of them joined Jeff Miller at Barefoot Tom's Bar. The three of them took seats on the far side of the bar where they'd be partially hidden from view of the regulars who came into the bar through the front doors, the seats Jackson and Miller preferred--and for the same reason.

"There's somebody who comes in here every now and then that I want you to see," Jackson told Monsanto. "It's somebody you'll recognize right away."

Monsanto grinned. "This the cop you told me about?"

"Yep."

"You got our revenge all planned out?"

"Yep. Well, I'm workin' on it. You're gonna help us, ain't ya?"

Monsanto laughed. "Damned right, I'm gonna help. After what she did for me, there ain't nothin' she don't deserve. We'll pay her back--in spades!"

"Right!"

"You know where she lives, right?"

"Yep."

"And you say she's got a boyfriend?"

"Yep."

"He gonna give us any trouble?"

"Not after I slap him along side the head with my club."

Monsanto laughed again. "After all these years, I might not recognize her. Point her out to me if she comes in, okay."

"Yep. We'll do that, an' if she comes in we'll give you a chance to eyeball her, and then we'll scoot out the door back here." Jackson motioned to the door behind them. "We'll head on over to Whiskey Joe's Bar. She ain't never been there that we've seen, and there are usually a bunch of girls there just looking for a pick-'em up."

* * * * *

David Denison called his son, Ryan Denison, the Chief of Police, late that same night. "You know what's goin' on over at the Twisted Heart Bar and that old hotel, don't you?" he asked.

"Yes. Well, I know the DA got a task force together and they're looking things over," Chief Denison replied. "That's about all I know, so far."

"Then I know a whole lot more than you do."

Chief Denison sensed the concern in his father's voice. "Yeah? So, what's concerning you?"

"There's a helluva lot that's concerning me," David Denison retorted. "There were drugs, cocaine mostly, stashed in the basement of that old hotel and they've probably got those, but the main thing I'm concerned about is the two corpses they uncovered."

"They've uncovered two corpses? How . . . How do you know that?"

"I've been watchin' 'em. Got a place across the street where I can see 'em come and go without them seein' me. Saw 'em carry out two bodies--in body bags."

"So what?" Chief Denison didn't sound too concerned.

"I'll tell you 'so what.' They'll identify those corpses with no problem, and you know who's gonna be mad as hell?"

"James Simolink?"

"Yeah, and he's gonna want whoever tipped off the cops about those two guys who were buried there. I've got a feeling he's gonna freak out and get somebody like Orville McKnight or Ted Adams raisin' hell--and maybe killin' people."

"I suppose so. So who can we blame for discovering those corpses--or at least the room where they were buried?"

"It has to be that retired cop, Nikki Hamilton. You said she was looking into the murder of the Beckers from way back, and you know that the Beckers had information pointing to the Twisted Heart Bar and the hotel. My thinking is that Hamilton got that information the Beckers had, and that pointed her to the drug distribution and the other stuff going on at the bar. If this task force searched the basement of the hotel, they'd find drugs, records, and pay-off money, too."

"I doubt it. Nikki Hamilton wouldn't have known anything about those two corpses, not from investigating the Becker's murder."

"Maybe not, but she's the one who got the FBI looking around in that hotel basement, and when those guys saw the cracked up floor in that one room, well, it had to look like a burial ground."

"Well, there isn't much we can do about it now, is there?" Chief Denison countered.

"Yes, there is. We can get Nikki Hamilton. Get her off that investigation. Plant her where she won't be found."

"Who's gonna do that?"

"I got an idea. Let me check it out, and I'll get back with you."

"Okay, but you gotta remember that I don't know anything about any of this stuff we're talkin' about--not officially, anyway. This task force has kept me out of the loop."

You might not know anything about this stuff we're talkin' about, Ryan, but I know something on you--and so does James Simolink, David Denison said to himself as they concluded the converstation. He'd get with Joe Davidson right away. He'd know how to take care of Nikki Hamilton. Get her out of the picture--for good. Not that getting rid of Hamilton would stop the task force investigation, not now, but it would appease James Simolink--for a while, anyway.

* * * * *

Chad Jackson, Roger Monsanto, and Jeff Miller nursed their drinks and watched the front door of Barefoot Tom's. It was early in the evening, about the time Nikki and Greg usually came in for bacon-burgers, when Miller spotted them and hissed, "There! There they are!"

"Yeah!" Jackson hissed and nudged Monsanto.

"I see her," Monsanto replied, as he studied Nikki. "She's the one, all right."

"Okay. You've seen her. Let's get on out of here," Jackson whispered.

The three men quickly paid their bar tabs and silently left the bar by way of the back door.

* * * * *

"You recognized her, didn't you?" Jackson asked Monsanto as they drove toward Whiskey Joe's.

"I sure did. Who's the guy with her?"

"We don't know who he is. He's the boyfriend I told you about."

"What do they drive?"

Jackson laughed. "It's hard to tell. She rides a Harley-Davidson and sometimes drives a Ford Escape, but they've been driving different vehicles lately. Maybe some of 'em are his, but I'd guess they're renting different vehicles--and that makes me suspicious that maybe they're running scared. Like maybe they're afraid of somebody recognizing 'em in the vehicle they're in."

"You think they don't want someone to know what it is they're driving? Is that what you're sayin'?"

"Right. Makes 'em more anonymous."

Monsanto lowered his voice. "The reason I wanted to know what they drive is that while I was in the pen I learned how to make a car bomb."

"Wow! A car bomb, eh?" Miller exclaimed.

"Yeah. Shouldn't be any problem to get the parts and make one. Put it on whatever they're driving, trigger it when we're ready, and ker-bam! We get 'em both. Blow 'em sky-high! They're history!"

"Hell, Roger, you knew how to make a car bomb before you went to the pen," Jackson countered.

"Yeah," Monsanto replied, "but I learned how to make a better one from a guy who'd made improvised explosive devices in the Middle East. He taught me how to make an explosive device that can be put under a car and detonated from a common, every-day cell phone."

"If it was her by herself, I'd want to have some fun with her before making her disappear, but the boyfriend in the picture changes things," Jackson said. "But, hey, since they drive various vehicles, how about making this explosive device and putting it in her apartment? Wait 'till they are inside and set it off? Get even with her for the seventeen years I spent in the pen?"

Monsanto thought a few moments. "Yeah, I could make a bomb that we could put in her apartment. Maybe put it under their bed. Blow 'em up togehter. Can you get us inside her apartment, Chad?"

Jackson grinned. "Yeah. I learned how to pick locks while I was in the pen. Learned from an expert, too. There ain't too many locks I can't pick."

"Do you know where to get the things you'll need to make a bomb?" Miller asked Monsanto.

"Yeah. No problem. My pal in the pen told me where to get the things I'll need. We'll order one or two items over the internet, and the rest we'll pick up around here at a hardware store."

"How about the detonator? How's that work?" Miller asked.

"We rework a cell-phone. When we're ready to detonate the bomb, we just have to press the right button."

"Rework a cell-phone, you say?' Miller questioned.

"Yeah," Monsanto replied. "It's real simple. When we get the detonator, we'll get a number with it--like a phone number. We program that number into a cell phone. To detonate the bomb we just dial that number. Ker-boom!"

"Wow! That's all there is to it?"

"Yep. Ya dial the detonator just like you're dialing a phone number. Ker-boom!"

"Hmmm? I thought you wired a car bomb so when somebody turned the key to start the vehicle it detonated the bomb?" Miller questioned.

"That's the way it used to work, all right," Monsanto replied. "Newer cars are harder to wire into like that, though. It's easy enough to detonate it with a cell-phone, so that's what we'll do."

"Enough! Enough! Let's get to work on that bomb tomorrow," Jackson said. "Right now, let's enjoy ourselves."

The three men walked into Whiskey Joe's Bar where things were just getting lively. The two girls who'd cuddled up with Jackson and Miller several nights ago came right over. Moments later, they called another girl over, and the six of them squeezed into a booth, eager to party the night away. When the bar maid came over, the group ordered burgers and beers for everybody. Improvised explosive devices would have to wait until tomorrow.
Chapter 18

Upon returning to town after another wonderful mini-vacation, Greg drove Nikki to the Post Office where she checked her mail box. To her surprise, there was yet another letter waiting for her.

In the envelope was a folded newspaper clipping, quite yellowed with age. The clipping was from a newspaper printed at the time of the investigation into the Beckers murder. Two names were mentioned in the article, and someone had encircled them with a black magic-marker. James Simolink, then governor, was quoted as condemning the murder. Ryan Denison, the newly appointed Chief of Police, was quoted as asking the public for help in finding the killer. In the margin of the clipping, someone had written, "These two men know who killed the Beckers."

Nikki and Greg immediately took the clipping to Gail Frost. She examined it carefully. "It would be nice to know who sent this, and what the person actually knows," she said. What more could be said?

"What's been going on with the task force that we should know about?" Greg asked.

"There's not much that's new," Gail replied. "The team is studying the ledgers. They've got the drugs and the counterfeit currency and are looking into where they came from. The major thrust now, however, is identifying the two bodies that were buried in the hotel basement--and determining how they got there."

"So, there's not much we can help with right now, right?" Greg asked.

Gail shook her head. "No."

"Then we're going to focus on our own investigation," Nikki said, "and if there's anything we can do to help you, you'll let us know."

"I will," Gail replied. "Now there's one more thing you should know."

"What's that, Gail?"

"Chief Denison is very unhappy with me. He knows that I got the District Attorney to put together this task force without any input from him, and he looks murder at me every time he sees me. If anything happens to me, you'll take a look in a safe deposit box in the Harrison Bank over on Oak Street. It's registered in my name, and Nikki is listed as co-owner. Okay?"

"Okay. We'll keep that in mind," Nikki agreed. "Does the chief know about what's in your safe deposit box?"

Gail smiled. "He knows that there's enough evidence to get him kicked off the police force and maybe face several years in the pen, but he doesn't know where it's at."

Nikki smiled in response. "We'll remember where it's at."

"Has the Chief talked to your recently about your investigation?" Gail asked.

Nikki shook her head. "No."

"If he hasn't, I think he will soon. You watch your step with him."

* * * * *

Gail's words proved to be prophetic. Nikki and Greg had just settled into Nikki's apartment when Nikki's phone rang and the Caller ID identified Chief Denison's private number. "Hello?"

"Ms. Hamilton? Chief Denison here." The Chief's voice was strong and mildly angry. He'd seldom if ever addressed her as 'Ms.' Well, Gail had suggested that the Chief might be asking her about her investigation. Now to see what this was all about.

"Yes, Chief?" Nikki almost told him that he wasn't her Chief anymore, but thought better of it--especially if he was upset with her. There was no use in making him more angry than he already was.

"I want to talk to you about your investigation into that cold-case you're looking into. Can you meet me in my office tomorrow morning?"

"Yes. What time will be convenient for you?"

"Any time after nine o'clock. I'd like to see what you've got so far. Bring any information you've gathered. Maybe I can help you with something."

"Okay. Let's make it nine o'clock." It wasn't likely that he'd be helping her with anything, but Nikki would see what he had to say.

The Chief ended the conversation without saying "Goodbye." He simply hung up the phone.

"So, what information are you going to take to the Chief?" Greg asked.

"Not much. I'll take copies of the mail we've received, and that's about it. What I really want to find out is what the Chief knows. Maybe he's heard about what the cops who initially investigated the murder have said--or maybe not. We'll see. Maybe he knows about the findings of the task force and thinks we had something to do with that. The truth is, we don't have a great deal of evidence that I'm going to share with him, because we don't know anything about what we found in that old hotel."

"How about the pictures of the visitors to your apartment?"

"We don't know that they're related to our investigtion, although we assume they are, perhaps in a negative way." Nikki shrugged her shoulders. "The Chief doesn't need to know about them."

"Do you think there's anythng special I should be doing while you're in talking with him?"

"I'm not sure."

"You're not sure? What are you thinking?"

"No. I'm not sure exactly what's going on with the Chief, but I guess I'd want you to keep an eye on things. Maybe keep an eye on my apartment and my vehicles while I'm talking with the Chief."

"Okay. I'll try to keep an eye on your apartment, maybe drive by and look things over regularly, just in case the Chief will be keeping you busy while somebody searches your place--or something like that. Truth is, I don't know what might be going down while you talk to him, but after what Gail said, I'd be suspicious."

"I know."

"Is the Chief going to blow up at you?" Greg questioned.

"I don't know."

"Is he going to blame you for getting that task force investigating the things they're into?"

"It's hard to say. Gail says he's very unhappy with her. How much he knows about you and me working with her, well, we just don't know. We've got to assume he knows everything, I guess. With his father's connections to people like James Simolink, he may be getting pressure from--well, who knows where." Nikki shurgged her shoulders. "Like Gail says, we need to watch our backs."

* * * * *

Chief Ryan Denison was seated at his desk when Nikki arrived at his office at nine o'clock the following morning. He brushed some papers aside and motioned her to a chair, then got up and closed the door.

There wasn't much in the way of greetings. Instead, Denison sank back into his chair, and said, "So tell me about your investigation. How's it going?"

Nikki smiled. She'd try to put the man at ease, knowing it wasn't going to work, but that wasn't her problem. "Let me start at the beginning, Chief. It's been about 30 years since Ross and Crystal Becker were murdered in their sleep at the old Fairfield Brother's Hotel. Three cops--"

"Hell!" Denison exploded, interrupting her in mid-sentence. "I know all that. I was a cop then, you know."

"Yes, I know that. So where would you like for me to start?"

"I hear that you went to talk to the cops who initially investigated the murders, the two that are still alive, that is. What did they have to tell you?"

"Maybe I should tell you what they didn't say. They didn't tell me who shot the Beckers."

"They didn't tell you who shot the Beckers," the Chief growled, repeating what Nikki had said. "They probably didn't know then--and they sure don't now."

"I'm not so sure of that, but somebody has intimidated them." She'd be honest. "My guess is that somebody bought their silence."

"Somebody bought their silence? That's what you think, huh?"

"Yes. Not only did they move away from here, but they've been living in facilities that cost quite a bit more than most retired cops could afford."

"Well! Have they pointed any fingers so far?"

So the Chief knew they had. Well, then, she'd be honest. "Yes."

"Who?" Chief Denison snarled.

Let's see just how annoyed you are. "Care to guess?"

"Damnit, I'm not here to play guessing games."

"Then I suspect you know very well who they fingered."

"All right. All right. So they've said that James Simolink ordered those murders. Am I right?"

"Yes."

Chief Ryan Denison looked like he was going to explode. "Ya can't trust those old cops to know anything. Hell, they're both senile. Their babble wouldn't hold up in a court of law, anyway."

Nikki suppressed a smile. "Perhaps not."

"You ran a newspaper announcement stating that you were going to be investigating those murders and requesting anyone with information to mail it to you. Did you get any responses?"

Nikki noted that the Chief had changed the line of questioning. In response, she handed him photocopies of the mail she'd received. "Yes. Some of them are threats, and others may have some useful information or leads. I've not had time to completely follow up on all of them--but I plan to."

Denison studied each of the photocopies. Studied them carefully. "So this one thinks the killer drove away in a black Lincoln," he growled. "Have you checked to see if anyone you know about drove a car like that way back then?"

Nikki would be honest. "I'm working on that angle," she replied, "but that was a long time ago and the records aren't always easily available."

The Chief shurgged his shouders. "I doubt that anybody could find out who drove a car like that back then. Besides, there were a lot of black Lincolns around. Anybody who was somebody drove one."

Nikki smiled to herself. There weren't that many--and the Chief likely knew that. Well, she'd push him just a little. Rattle his cage, as the expression went. "Didn't you have a black Lincoln when you first were promoted to Chief of Police?"

"Hell, there were a lot of black Lincolns back then. It don't mean a damned thing."

Nikki wasn't so sure about that, but she wasn't about to respond. Let the Chief think about that one for awhile.

"We ain't got a million dollars to spend," the Chief roared, when he read the request for a million dollars in exchange for the killer's name.

Nikki waited. There was no need to respond to his outbursts. He'd get to the newspaper article that named both him and James Simolink soon enough.

Chief Ryan Denison scowled as he read the comments on that newspaper article. "So somebody thinks I know who did it," he growled.

"Well, do you?" Nikki asked.

"Hell, no!" The Chief exploded. For a moment, Nikki thought that he was going to throw her out of his office, but he calmed down, got his anger under control, and turned back to her--quickly changing the subject. "What do you know about this task force the District Attorney put together? Are you involved with it, too?"

Nikki could and would be honest. "I didn't have anything to do with it, and I'm not involved with it in any way."

"No, maybe not, but from what I hear, you gave Gail Frost some information that helped get it going--didn't you?"

Nikki shrugged. She would not respond to that. Let him think what he wished about where Gail's information came from. And if he did know who killed the Beckers, what then? Let him take out his anger on somebody else. She wasn't under his supervision any more.

The Chief stared at her, anger written all over his face. "So what motivated this task force anyway?" he grumbled.

"As near as I understand it, Gail Frost and the District Attorney put together this task force. Somebody must have thought there were things the task force should look into." Maybe she'd push the Chief a little further. "By the way, what's coming out of the task force investigation so far that's of interest?" she asked.

Chief Denison scowled. "I don't know. They haven't involved me in that investigation. Not one damned bit." He obviously was not happy about not being involved with the task force.

"So getting back to that old newspaper clipping, the sender implied that you and James Simolink know who killed the Beckers. The cops who investigated it said Simolink ordered the murders. Do you agree with that?"

"No way! James Simolink was governor. He had no reason to kill the Beckers."

"You're sure of that?"

"Hell, yes!"

"You knew James Simolink pretty well, didn't you?"

"Yes. I knew him real well. He and my dad were great friends."

"So back when he was getting into politics, running for governor, I believe, two of his key rivals disappeared. They were never heard from again, and their bodies were never found. Do you have any ideas as to what happened to them?"

She'd struck a nerve with the Chief, all right. His face turned an angry purple. "I have no idea," he growled.

Nikki and the Chief stared at each other for several moments. The Chief then glanced at his watch. "I've got a meeting to go to," he said.

"Okay. Then I'll be leaving," Nikki said.

"I want to hear if you get any leads as to who killed the Beckers," the Chief said.

Chief Denison seemed deeply disturbed, but he'd gotten his anger under control--for the moment, at least. Well, Nikki would just stir it up a little. "Somebody thinks that you know or have a good idea as to who killed the Beckers," she said.

"I already answered that," the Chief growled, "and before you get out of here there is something I want you to do for me."

"What's that?"

"I want you to give me a call whenever you get anything new on this investigation of yours."

"Okay." Nikki promised that she would.

The small button-microphone in Nikki's purse picked up the entire conversation and the recorder in Gail Frost's office recorded everything that was said.

* * * * *

Chief Ryan Denison did not have another meeting to attend. He'd gotten what he wanted from Nikki Hamilton--and he was not pleased with their conversation. Moments after she'd left his office, the Chief was on the phone to James Simolink.

After discussing the conversation he'd just had with Nikki Hamilton, the Chief told Simolink, "We've got to do some damage control, and we've got to do it fast."

"Damage control, hell!" roared Simolink. "Kill that bitch."

"It isn't that simple," the Chief responded, "because it's the District Attorney's task force and our own Internal Affairs Department that we've got to deal with. Killing Hamilton won't get them off our backs. She doesn't have anything to do with this task force."

"Yeah," replied Simolink, "and now we've got a gang war going on, too. Our distribution system is going to need a complete rebuild. We may need to get Orville McKnight and his people involved."

"McKnight can't help us much any more," the Chief informed Simolink, "but maybe Ted Adams can."

"Okay. Okay. If he's the one we need to deal with, we can. Let's see how things play out over the next few days, and then get in touch with one of those fellows. Get things moving fast."

The bug Nikki had left under her chair in Chief Denison's office picked up the Chief's side of his conversation with James Simolink and the recorder in Gail Frost's office recorded everything the Chief said.

* * * * *

After leaving Nikki at Chief Denison's office, Greg spent the morning driving around, keeping an eye on Nikki's apartment as well as the old hotel and bar. He was not surprised to see several occupied vehicles parked near Nikki's apartment, and he could only guess that someone was keeping an eye on her coming and going. Greg photographed the license plate numbers on those vehicles. Gail could check on them to see if they were "persons of interest."

Greg's impromptu surveillance also would help him get familiar with vehicles and people who should be seen near Nikki's apartment. He had no doubt that Nikki would be under surveillance, and they'd now be especially alert for any tails.

Hopefully, they could keep their "enemies" from discovering the location of his apartment. Still, they'd set up some surveillance devices around his apartment and the parking area. Keep an eye on anybody who might be keeping an eye on them.

With the likelihood that people were watching Nikki's activities, they'd check out rental vehicles frequently. Get a different vehicle every two days or so. They'd stay at Greg's apartment for now, but they'd have to devise something that would let them know if anyone actually entered Nikki's apartment while nobody was there. Maybe they'd tape a little piece of paper such that it would be moved and alert them if the door were opened in Nikki's absence. How long it would be before someone noticed the doorbell camera and smashed it was anybody's guess. Maybe they'd add another surveillance camera to alert them to activity outside Nikki's apartment door. Keep their own surveillance.

* * * * *

David Denison was seated in one of the occupied vehicles Greg had noted in Nikki's apartment building's parking lot. He, and another fellow he'd trade off with later, was there to track Nikki Hamilton's activities. See when she came home and when she left. See who was with her. Plan how they'd take her out of this investigation that was so annoying to James Simolink and to his own son, Ryan.

* * * * *

Nikki's first task after leaving the Chief's office was to sit down with Greg and write out another announcement to be placed in the newspaper. This one would be similar to the earlier ones, but in addition to the post office box address, it would provide a telephone number so that anyone with information could call and leave a message or ask that a call be returned.

It would not be Nikki's personal phone number, of course. Gail Frost had multiple telephone lines with different numbers that could be used for anonymous calls. If anyone had information about the Becker's murders they wished to share with "the investigator," they could leave their message at that number.

Back when she and Greg had begun to explore the murder scene and the old hotel, Richard and Kathy Miles, Greg's friends, had looked for a spot where one of them might observe the old hotel without being observed. They'd looked into a building across the street from the hotel that once had apartments on the second floor. It would be a stroke of luck, but it just might be that someone living in one of those apartments would have seen something related to the Becker's murders--or something else going on around the area that was suspicious. Furthermore, there were other buildings in the area that likely had rooms or apartments to rent. Anyone living in the neighborhood just might have seen something.

With the latest announcement ready for the newspaper, Greg drove them to the newspaper office. They'd get that latest annuncement in tomorrow's paper if at all possible. Now to see if it would generate any new leads.

* * * * *

Roger Monsanto ordered the items he'd need to make an imporvised explosive device and sent Chad Jackson and Jeff Miller on a shopping trip to a couple of hardware stores for the parts he could get locally. He'd have that bomb ready before long, and they'd take care of the detective who'd sent both Monsanto and Jackson to the pen. Revenge would be so s-w-e-e-t!
Chapter 19

Shortly after they had eaten lunch, Greg received a telephone call from Richard Miles. Richard and his wife, Kathy, were planning a week-long camping trip and were inviting Greg and Nikki to go with them. "I know it's short notice, and Nikki may not be able to get away from her investigation for a whole week, but we just got an invitation from our friends in Florida," Richard said, "so we're going to meet them out there. We'll be there over Thanksgiving, and we'd sure like to have both of you join us. We'll share a Thanksgiving dinner, have some fun in the sun, and introduce you to some new friends."

Greg immediately turned to Nikki. "How would you like to spend a week in Florida with Richard and Kathy and their friends?" he asked.

"Florida! Wow! That would be wonderful!" she exclaimed.

"We'll go with you," Greg relayed to Richard.

"Great! Get your things packed and come out to our house this evening," Richard suggested. "You can stay at our house tonight, and we'll leave early in the morning."

Regardless of her enthusiasm, Greg had to be sure. "Hold on, Richard. Let me check something with Nikki, okay?"

"Okay."

"Are you sure you can be away for a week?" Greg asked Nikki, then added, "I don't want you to resent taking time away from your investigation for something like this."

"I think taking a week off is a great idea," she replied. "It'll give us time to think about what we want to do next with the investigation, and give Gail's task force time to do their work. She can get in touch with us if anything really important breaks open--and it well may."

Greg turned back to Richard. "Nikki's good with spending a week with you guys," he said. "We'll be out later this afternoon or early this evening."

"Do Richard and Kathy have an RV?" Nikki asked once Greg finished talking with Richard.

"Yes. They've got a real nice motor home. It's self contained. Sleeps four adults, has a kitchen, bath, television, the works! They've got a nice parking space reserved in one of the national parks in Florida. Friends of theirs are meeting us there, so we'll get to meet some new people."

"Wow!" This was exciting for Nikki because she'd never before visited a national park, never had been able to take that much time off from work--or had anyone to share a vacation with. They'd pick up the investigation when they returned. See what had developed while they were away. See what Gail's task force had uncovered.

Greg drove them to Nikki's apartment. While she packed things she wanted to take along on the camping trip, Greg "doctored" Nikki's entry-door with a small piece of paper scotch-taped to the top of the door in such a way that it would be displaced if the door were opened in their absence. No one could replace it exactly as Greg had done. They'd check the paper upon their return; that way they wouldn't be walking into a trap of some sort. Who could know exactly who wanted her off the investigation into the murders of the Beckers--but someone sure did. Maybe several people did.

While Greg was packing for the trip later that afternoon, Nikki checked in with Gail to let her know what she and Greg would be doing. "I'll call you at least once a day," Nikki told her, "and you can call me right away if anything important develops."

Gail wished them a happy vacation. Maybe one of these days she'd invite herself along with Nikki and Greg. Enjoy some retirement time of her own with them.

* * * * *

Two years before Chad Jackson's release from the penitentiary, his parents had been killed in an automobile accident. At that time, he had inherited his parents house and garage as well as his father's life insurance. In addition, he had inherited a rental-house his father owned. His parent's death, therefore, had left Chad quite well-financed. He had no need for a job, at least for the time being, and was quite content to "make up for lost time" on the party circuit with his friends.

The fact that Roger Monsanto was now able to assist him in his revenge against Nikki Hamilton gave him renewed energy toward that goal. Although he trusted Monsanto's ability to build a car-bomb, Jackson was not about to have him build it in his house or on his property--just in case Monsanto didn't get it right the first time. With only a little effort, Jackson was able to rent a small garage for his friend's use. Not that the owner of the garage needed to know what use his building was needed for; let him assume Jackson needed extra space to park a vehicle for a few months. If Monsanto blew himself up in that garage, Jackson wouldn't know anything about what he was doing there.

The parts Monsanto needed to order on the internet took less than a week to arrive. Jackson and Miller easily acquired the parts for the bomb that could be obtained locally. They'd taken precautions to buy things in different stores and a few at a time so that no one would get any ideas about their intended use.

Once he had the materials he needed, Roger Monsanto wasted no time in assembling his improvised explosive device--the bomb he and Chad Jackson intended to place under whatever vehicle Nikki and her boyfriend were driving--or in her apartment. They'd assigned Jeff Miller to the task of keeping tabs on Nikki and he'd been reporting each day that he hadn't seen her anywhere near her apartment or at Barefoot Tom's. "I'd say that she's out of town, probably with her boyfriend," he told Monsanto and Jackson.

"It's not likely she'll be away for very long," Jackson told his friends, "so let's plant that bomb under her Ford Escape. We'll be ready when she's back."

"But they haven't driven the Escape much lately," Miller protested.

"No, but they will eventually," Jackson said.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather put it in her apartment, like under her bed?" Monsanto questioned. "Blow 'em both up when they're asleep?"

"No," Jackson countered, "I want to see them go up with a bang in their car. Maybe get it on video with my phone so I can watch it over and over again."

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Monsanto agreed, "repay her for messing up years and years of our lives."

"But it might be several days before they drive the Escape again," Miller said.

"That's okay," Jackson said. "We'll take turns watching the Escape. They'll get around to driving it before long, and then whoever's watching can detonate the bomb and video the event."

"Yeah," Monsanto agreed, "that's what we'll do."

While Monsanto and Jackson were quite enthused about the car-bomb project, Miller raised two troubling questions. First, he asked if they were absolutely certain that the bomb would explode. Second, he reminded them that the Ford Escape was parked in a secured parking spot. "Can you guys plant that bomb on the Escape without being observed by one of the security cameras?" he asked.

Miller's first question got Jackson worried as well. "Yeah," he said, turning to Monsanto, "we ought to check to see that your bomb's really gonna explode. See if that detonator you ordered is really gonna work."

Monsanto was annoyed. "What the hell?" he snarled. "You guys don't think I know what I'm doin'? Is that it?"

Jackson would be polite. "Sure, we know that you know what you're doing, but I'd like to be absolutely sure the bomb'll go off 'cause if it don't, and the cops find it, they'll be tracing the parts right back to me and you and Jeff. Besides, we don't know if we can trust that detonator you got on the internet. Who knows where it came from."

"Okay, okay," Monsanto growled, "we'll blow this one, and then I'll make another one. Make it bigger and better than this one. Where do you wantta blow up this one? Prove to yourself that it works?"

"Let's take it out into the country," Jackson said. "I know a place where we can detonate it and the explosion won't be heard."

Monsanto placed the bomb in the trunk of Jackson's Toyota, and the three men climbed into the car. An hour later, they were in an uninhabited wooded area near a stream bank. "Let's plant the bomb behind a tree over there by the stream, and we'll blow it up," Jackson said.

The three men took cover behind nearby trees. Moments later, Jackson pressed the "call" button on his phone--and was rewarded with a loud KA-BOOM! as the bomb exploded.

All right! Now are you guys convinced?" Monsanto growled.

"Yeah!" Jackson exclaimed. He was smiling from ear to ear.

"All right, then," Monsanto growled, "let's get the stuff I need to build another one--a bigger one."

"We'll get on that project early tomorrow morning," Jackson said after glancing at his watch, "but for now, let's celebrate with a stop at Barefoot Tom's. First, though, we'll take a drive, look around, and see if our lady cop is back in town. Maybe head over to Whiskey Joe's a little later. Pick up some girls for the night."

* * * * *

Back "home" from the enjoyable camping trip and at Greg's apartment for the night, Nikki called Gail and asked for an appointment the following morning. Gail assured her that she'd be expecting them. "I've got some interesting things for you guys," Gail said. There was a smile in her voice.

"That's great!" Nikki responded. "We'll look forward to talking with you in the morning."

Nikki felt the surge of energy she'd felt over the years when she'd been involved in her work, the surge of energy that demanded she get to work, that the solution to whatever she was working on was near. No, she reasoned, the solution to the Beckers murders was not near; that there was much more work to be done. Tomorrow she and Greg would find out what "interesting things" Gail had for them. It would be hard to wait. Still, snuggled into Greg's arms that night, Nikki could wait. Morning would come soon enough.

* * * * *

"You really riled up our Chief!" Gail began, suppressing a smile, once Nikki and Greg were seated in her office the following morning.

"How so?"

"After you left his office, he got right on the telephone to none other than James Simolink. He should have had more sense about what he was talking about over the office phone, but from what I overheard, my guess is that the gang war has disrupted some sort of drug traffic operation. Of course, he told Simolink about your investigation and about the task force. I didn't actually hear anything that we could take to court, maybe get him kicked off the police force or land him in the pen, but the whole show gave me several new leads to investigate. The bug you planted in his office is still working and I'm getting interesting feedback from it almost every day.

"Oh, yes," Gail continued, "we apparently had a mole within the task force that was feeding information to the Chief. It took a little extra work, but we got rid of that mole. Didn't send him to the pen, but he's no longer a cop."

"Is there anything new with the task force that you can share with us?" Greg asked.

"Yes, indeed! We found a third body. Haven't identified him yet, but we're working on that."

"Where was he?"

"In the basement of the old hotel, in the same room where we found the other two. As near as we can tell, they all died about the same time."

"Any idea yet as to a motive for the murders of these three men?"

"Yes. The first two we found were political rivals of James Simolink. One was named Herman Lewis; the other was Jim Bradford. We're looking into any connections, but my guess is that Simolink would have lost his first governor's race to Herman Lewis had Lewis lived. That's what the newspapers were saying at that time. Jim Bradford was financially backing Lewis--big time. We can't yet say if Simolink ordered someone to kill these political rivals, but that is one likelihood that we're pursuing."

"What about the third man? Any indication of a motive?"

"No. We haven't identified him yet, so I don't know if he was conencted with the others in any way. Still, you know that Simolink was mixed up with a number of men on the other side of the law."

"Yes." Nikki thought for a moment. "I'm getting an idea that might connect one of those murdered men with the Becker's murder," she said. "I'll have to do some library work before I know enought to talk about."

Gail smiled. "You'll let me know right away if I can help you, right? And you'll let me know what your research is telling you, right?"

"Yes." Nikki turned to Greg. "Let's you and me spend some time in the library when we leave here. But first, another question for Gail."

"Okay?"

"You said you had some interesting phone calls in response to the announcement I ran in the newspaper?"

"Yes! The first one was from an elderly lady. She said she didn't know if it was connected with the murder you were looking into, but she lived across the street from the bar. Said there was always a motorcycle gang hanging out around the bar. Sometime before the Becker's murder, she couldn't be sure of the exact date, she said that she saw two of the "gangsters" (That was her term.) carrying two bodies from a van into the bar. Said she couldn't actually see the bodies but that the gangsters were carrying two rolled up carpets--and she'd seen something like that in the movies where they wrapped up bodies in carpets and carried them. Said she read in the newspaper about two men disappearing, too, but she didn't know if those were the two she'd seen being carried into the bar. Oh, yes, she also told me that she was afraid to tell the police about what she'd seen and that she moved out of that neighborhood as soon as she could afford to.

"The second call," Gail contineud, "was from an elderly, long-retired attorney. He said that some time before the Beckers were murdered, they consulted with him. Seems as if the Beckers suspected that James Simolink had support in his bid for governor from drug traffickers in Central America, that is both from people engaged with and from those profiting from the drug trade. Ross Becker had been in touch with a private investigator in Central America (He didn't remember the country.) and was trying to get evidence regarding the drug traffic that he suspected of supporting Simolink."

"So what became of the meeting between the Beckers and this attorney?"

"Not much. He didn't seem to think that what the Beckers had by way of evidence was good enough to cause any harm to James Simolink's political career, certainly not enough to take the man to court. However, he said he encouraged the Beckers to keep working on that connection between Simolink and the drug traffickers because the FBI would certainly be interested in whatever they came up with."

"So this confims our thinking about what the Beckers were doing, and just might have triggered Simolink's concern enough that he wanted them silenced. It also might have led to the private investigator's murder."

"Yes."

"Any other calls?"

"Just one, the usual, telling you to drop the investigation if you wanted to live. Oh, and I'm sure that somebody used a voice-changing device on that one, because the voice was squeaky and a little garbled--like an old man's voice."

* * * * *

"What's your reasoning about those men's murders being linked to the Becker's murder?" Greg asked, once he and Nikki were in his car.

"I need to do some library research before I try to connect the murders," Nikki replied, not quite sure enough of herself to answer his question right then. "You can help me."

It took Nikki less than an hour's research in the library for her and Greg to determine that Crystal Becker's maiden name was Lewis, and that Herman Lewis was her uncle. Furthermore, they found that Herman Lewis had indeed begun a run for the governor's position, and that James Simolink was his opponent. From what Nikki and Greg could determine, the two candidates were "neck and neck," to quote one newspaper article, before Lewis had mysteriously "disappeared."

Simolink's election would prove to be the first major step in his political career--and a major step. Following that first term as governor, he was elected to a second term, and then to several terms as a senator.

Later newspaper features and editorials stated that Herman Lewis had a good chance of winning that election, but then indicated that he'd simply disappeared. Simolink had, of course, won the election. He'd had no opposition.

There were several opinion pieces in the newspaper questioning the disappearance of Herman Lewis. The police apparently had few if any clues as to what happened to Herman Lewis, and appealed to the public for help in locating the man--to no avail.

Jim Bradford was mentioned only briefly in the newspaper, but he was noted as having financially supported Herman Lewis in his run for the governor's position. While there were several editorials calling for an investigation of the men's disappearance as murders, the police apparently had no leads. One of the cops even went so far as to say that he thought the two men had skipped the country--knowing that Lewis "could never win the governor's race." Following that statement, the editorial staff again called for an investigation of the police--but, of course, that wasn't to be done.

"So," Nikki asked Greg, after they'd studied the newspaper reports, "could it be that Ross and Crystal Becker took it upon themselves to investigate the disappearance of her uncle and the man who financed his run for governor?"

"It's as good a motive as any," Greg replied. "If the Becker's suspected that Simolink had connections with the drug trade or other illegal activities, they might have tried to dig up something dirty about him--and he would not have appreciated that, to put it mildly."

"Not at all. We've been told that Simolink ordered the Becker's murder. That would have given him good cause, I suspect, at least in his own eyes."

"Let's go back and take a look at the little notebook. If I remember correctly, the Becker's had drawn a connection of some sort between El Salvador and the old hotel, the Twisted Heart Bar, and Simolink's restaurant. Do you suppose that link was the drug traffic that was supporting Simolink?"

"I'm thinking like you are," Nikki responded. "Apparently the Becker's had a private investigator in El Salvador looking into that connection. Maybe that's what got that investigtor killed, too."

"We can pursue that possibility."

"Yes, and there's something else I want to ask Gail about."

"What's that?" Greg asked.

"You know how that underground passageway we discovered apparently went from the hotel basement to the basement of the bar, right?"

"Right."

"So," Nikki questioned, "does that underground passageway go from the basement of the bar on over to the basement of Simolink's restaurant, the Golden Eagle Restaurant?"

"Good question. Let's ask Gail if the task force has pursued that possibility," Greg replied. "Now for another question."

"Okay?"

"One more question--for now. Have you got any thoughts about who the third murder victim the task force found might be?"

Nikki would be honest. "No. It won't take the task force long to identify him, though, and then we'll see what connections we can make between him and the others."

* * * * *

"We've identified the third murder victim," Gail informed Nikki and Greg the following morning. "His name was Terry Atkins. He was affiliated with Orville McKnight's underworld empire, likely as a hit man."

"A hit man, eh?" Nikki asked.

"Yes. That's the story we've got. He was apparently available for hire, and he was suspected of half a dozen murders. He was good at what he did, of course, and he didn't leave any evidence--so he never spent a day in jail. Likely got paid well, too.

"He lived right well, too, from what they tell me," Gail continued. "He had a six-bedroom, four-bath mansion not all that far from where James Simolink lives today."

"Any chance that he could have killed the other two guys? The ones that were buried in the old hotel basement? Killed them, and then somebody killed him, maybe to make sure he didn't talk?"

"We don't know," Gail admitted, "but we're looking into that possibility. We do know that Herman Lewis and Jim Bradford were killed with a different gun than was Terry Atkins."

"Lewis and Bradford were killed with the same gun?"

"Probably. The same caliber gun, anyway."

"So," Greg said, "It could be that Nikki's right and that Atkins killed both Lewis and Bradford?"

"Yes," agreed Gail, "and then somebody killed Atkins. Maybe to shut him up for good."

"Could Atkins have killed Ross and Crstal Becker?" Nikki asked.

Gail nodded. "Maybe. It's a possibility to keep in mind."

"Is there any way of dating the time when Atkins died or when he was buried?"

"We're working on that," Gail replied. "We know approximately when Lewis and Bradford were killed, because we know when they were last seen alive. One possibility is that Atkins was killed shortly after they were murdered. However, he appears to have been buried well after Lewis and Bradford were buried. My best guess is that Atkins was buried several months or even as much as a year after Lewis and Bradford. That's to judge by the soil compaction and the way the concrete was broken up and replaced over their graves.

"We're also trying to date Atkin's death by checking into his dental and medical records," Gail continued, "but a share of those records seem to be missing--not to our surprise. Therefore, he might have been killed and buried somewhat later than Lewis and Bradford."

"So Atkins could have killed Ross and Crystal Becker?"

"Yes."

"And then somebody killed him."

"That's one possibility."

"Would Simolink have ordered someone to kill Atkins?"

"We don't know."

"Okay." Nikki turned her attention to her other immediate question. "We know this underground passageway extended from the old hotel to the bar. Does it extend on over to the restaurant?"

Gail nodded. "It did at one time. When our task force team checked it out, we found that the passageway between the bar and the hotel was open, clean, and apparently still in use relatively recently. However, the passageway between the bar and the restaurant was blocked. Somebody, probably some time back, took concrete blocks and built a wall to block that passageway on the restaurant end."

"Did your team clear the passageway?"

"No. They went into the restaurant and then into the basement. Care to guess what they found there?"

"What?"

"Somebody had an office set up in a room in the basement, probably years ago, to judge by the furnishings. There was a desk and two chairs, but the desk had been cleaned out. The main thing of interest was a huge safe, something like the safes you saw in the old hotel basement. Oh, yes, and there was a very little cocaine in storage there, too."

"Okay. I'm not surprise. Did you find anything in the safe?"

"Not yet." Gail grinned. "It was locked tight, but we're getting it opened by a representative from the company that made it. We should have it opened within a day or so."

* * * * *

Although he did not have the loyal following of cops he once had, James Simolink had well-placed friends on the police force who told him what was going on with this task force and the search into the basement of his restaurant. He knew exactly what was in the safe in the basement--and he knew that this task force would be getting into it. The more he thought about what they'd find in his safe, because that's what it was, his safe, the angrier he became. What was in that safe was nobody's business but his. Damn them all!

That safe contained thousands and thousands of dollars, money that he hadn't yet managed to get laundered through his off-shore bank, The money was the last of what had been used to pay off drug couriers for over more than thirty years. Before that, money in that safe had been used to pay off bootleggers during the years of prohibition. And now, the authorities were going to find his stash of pay-off money. Well, they couldn't convict him of a crime for having money, and there shouldn't be any records of payoffs in that safe. Where that money came from was his business--and his alone.

What really angered James Simolink was the fact that this retired detective, Nikki Hamilton, now was investigating the murders of Ross and Crystal Becker, the couple that was looking into his campaign finances. The Beckers hadn't got anything on him, but they and that private investigator in El Salvador were getting close. He'd made sure the Beckers wouldn't cause him any trouble. Made sure that private investigator wouldn't either. Now this retired cop would have to be eliminated--and soon, before she stirred up trouble for him.

Well, there was one person who could and would eliminate Nikki Hamilton for him. The same one who'd eliminated the Beckers. He'd done it cleanly back then--and he'd do it again. Without any hesitation, James Simolink dialed that man's phone number. "Come out to my house right away," he said, "because I've got a job for you that can't wait."

* * * * *

Greg Browning's friend, the Military Policeman stationed in El Salvador, called late that evening. "I've got two boxes of stuff that may interest you, Greg," he said, obviously saying as little as possible in case the phone was not secure.

"What's the best way to get it to us?" Greg asked.

"Why don't you come down and get it. Stay with me for a few days and we'll catch up on old times before you go back home?"

Greg turned to Nikki. "Can you spare me for a couple of days?"

Nikki grinned. "It'll be tough, but yes."

"I'll get tickets and let you know when I'll be there," Greg told his friend.

Moments later, Greg was on the phone with his favorite airline. He'd be leaving the following morning. "I'll be missing you," Nikki told him, "but I'm anxious to see what your friend has for us."
Chapter 20

Nikki Hamilton drove Greg to the airport the following morning, wished him well, and watched him board the plane for El Salvador. How she had been so fortunate to meet him, she wasn't quite sure--but he certainly had made a wonderful difference in her life. She was looking forward to spending a great deal more time with him in the future, and investigating even other cold cases once this one was cleared. And Nikki believed it would be cleared. They had a good picture of what happened. What they needed now was something or someone to point a finger at the one who had actually killed the Beckers.

Exactly what information Greg's friend in El Salvador had for them Nikki couldn't be sure. It apparently was important enought that he thought Greg should come and get it, rather than trusting it to the mail. Yes, Nikki had the feeling they were getting close to solving the Beckers murder and, in doing so, would shed light on a host of other criminal activities. Because people near to those murders were still alive and apparently intent on keeping that case from being solved, Nikki knew that she and Greg and Gail should be on the alert for trouble. How many "drop the investigation or die" messages had she received, anyway? Enough to let her know that people "out there" did not want the murders solved--or even investigated.

Nikki took her time driving back to Greg's apartment. She first drove by the old hotel, the bar, and the restaurant that had played such a major role in her investigation. A number of official-looking vehicles were parked in front of the restaurant. Perhaps people were there to open that safe they'd found in the basement. Gail's task force could determine what should be done with the contents of that safe. Determine what relevance the contents had to its investigation--if any.

The bar had been badly damaged by the fire. No doubt about that. It would likely never be rebuilt. And the old hotel? What would happen to it now? Nikki would have liked to explore the old hotel even more, perhaps looking into each of the guest rooms as well as spending more time in the basement. Who could know? Perhaps there were even more mysteries there waiting to be considered? If only those rooms could talk. Perhaps she and Greg and Gail could find ways to make them talk.

After a brief stop at Greg's apartment, Nikki drove to the library. She'd spend some time looking into events related to James Simolink's rise to power as governor and senator--and "king maker." See if there was anything she and Greg had overlooked. Then she'd spend the night, the first night for some time, in her own apartment. In fact, it also would be the first night for what seemed like "forever" that she'd be going to sleep without Greg's arms holding her close. She would miss him.

* * * * *

Roger Monsanto carefully assembled the parts Chad Jackson and Jeff Miller purchased for him to make a second improvised explosive device, then added the parts he acquired from several internet sources. He'd shown them that he could build a working bomb, and this one would be even more powerful than the first. They'd get that retired cop who'd sent him and Jackson to the pen, blow up her car with her and her boyfriend inside. Pay her back with a loud KA-BOOM! Monsanto loved that KA-BOOM! sound. KA-BOOM! KA-BOOM! He hoped they could get the explosion on video so they could view it again and again and again.

Jackson and Miller had kept an eye on Nikki's Ford Escape and on her apartment throughout the week. Neither Nikki nor her boyfriend had been seen. "We'll continue to keep an eye on things," Jackson growled, "because one of 'em or both of 'em are going to show up before long."

A few days later, Monsanto announced that the bomb was ready. He'd attached several powerful magnets to the bomb to hold it to the underside of Nikki's Escape--right under the driver's seat. Furthermore, he'd spent some time with Jackson looking over the surveillance cameras in the secured parking area where Nikki parked. Attaching the bomb to the Escape would take only a few moments, but getting to the vehicle without being observed on the cameras would take some special effort.

"Does she ever park the Escape anywhere else, like on the street or in the public parking area?" Monsanto asked.

"Not that we've ever seen," Jackson said. "She seems to drive right into the secured parking area when ever she comes home."

"What if her boyfriend brings her home? Where does he park?"

"I don't know that I've ever seen her boyfriend bring her home," Jackson said.

"I haven't either," Miller agreed, "but he'd have to park in the public parking lot in front of the apartment building."

"If we see him bring her home, we could bomb his vehicle," Monsanto said, "but we couldn't be sure we were going to get her--and I don't care about killing him. Unless he's with her when the bomb goes off."

"What we might be able to do is lure her out of her apartment and the secured parking lot," Jackson said. "Get her to drive somewhere in the Escape where we could bomb it without being seen."

"How could we do that?" Monsanto asked. "Got any ideas?"

"I don't know how we could do that," Jackson growled, frustration evident in his voice. "We'll have to think about that."

"We gotta think real hard about this job," Monsanto said, "because we want to do it right, and we don't want to get caught."

"Yeah, neither one of us wants to go back to the pen," Jackson agreed. "Let's head over to Barefoot Tom's and see if she's around. If she is, we'll follow her, see where she goes, who she's with, and where she parks. If she ain't around, we'll check her apartment for lights, see if she's home, and then we'll head over to Whiskey Joe's. Get some refreshments. Find us some girls for the night.

* * * * *

"I think I've decided what I want to do about getting rid of Nikki Hamilton," Jackson told Monsanto and Miller the following aftrernoon.

"All right, whatcha wantta do?" Monsanto asked.

"I want to get this over with, and I've got a plan," Jackson replied.

"Okay. Let's hear it."

"Tonight, you and me are gonna plant that bomb on her Ford Escape. I'll knock out the one surveillance camera that would be sure to see us. You avoid the second camera, get in there and attach the bomb, and we'll get out of there fast."

"Okay, I guess, but from what you've said, it might be some time before we catch her driving the Escape," Monsanto cautioned.

"Yeah, but that bomb'll be ready to blow her sky-high when we do." Jackson replied, then turned to Miller. "I want you to go over to Whiskey Joe's early on this evening. Wait for us there. We'll be over as soon as we can get that bomb planted. If anybody asks about us later, we were all at Whiskey Joe's for the entire evening. That'll give us a good alibi."

No way was Jeff Miller going to let Monsanto and Jackson kill Nikki Hamilton, not after the way she'd been so wonderful in his arms when they'd danced at Barefoot Tom's Halloween costume party. No way. That gal was one he'd die for. She wasn't like those girls he and the guys picked up at Whiskey Joe's. Besides, Monsanto and Jackson had earned their stay in the pen. It wasn't like they were innocent little boys, and they'd deserved the long sentences they'd served. Truth was, Miller had hoped that both men would forget about revenge and get on with what was left of their lives, but that hadn't happened.

And Jeff Miller knew what he had to do to protect Nikki Hamilton. He had listened intently when Monsanto talked about how to detonate the bombs he was building. How to detonate them using a cell-phone. Miller had entered the detonation-number into his own phone. He could detonate this new bomb just as easily as Monsanto had detonated the one they'd blown up out in the country.

Miller watched as Monsanto and Jackson loaded the bomb into the trunk of Jackson's Toyota. Instead of going directly to Whiskey Joe's, however, he followed them as they began the drive to take the bomb to Nikki Hamilton's parking place--to her Ford Escape.

Monsanto and Jackson would be crossing a rough railroad track about two miles before they got to Nikki's apartment complex. Miller figured the rough crossing just might shake up the Toyota enough to detonate the bomb without his having to do anything, but he'd just help it along. Besides, he reasoned, Nikki Hamilton had been extra nice to him. He could get along very well without either of these ex-cons.

The railroad crossing was now just half a mile up ahead. Miller slowed, pulled to the side of the street, parked, got his phone in hand, keyed in the detonation-number, and waited. When he saw the Toyota's tail lights bounce up and down as it crossed the rough railroad tracks, Miller hit the "send" button.

KER-BOOM! The bomb in the Toyota's trunk exploded right on cue. Miller didn't wait around. He was supposed to be at Whiskey Joe's, establishing an alibi for the three of them--and he'd be there just as soon as he could get there.

Before Jeff Miller reached Whiskey Joe's, he met an ambulance and a fire truck, red and blue lights flashing, sirens wailing, headed toward where he'd last seen Jackson's Toyota. He wished them well.

* * * * *

It was almost midnight when Gail Frost got the call from one of the EMTs she knew: "We've just taken James Simolink to the hospital," he told Gail. "His maid found him and pressed his emergency call button, but by the time we got to him, he was unresponsive, and I don't think he's gonna make it. This isn't official, but from the bruise marks on his neck, it looks to me like sombody choked him hard not long before they called for help, tried to kill him--and probably got the job done. I thought you should know right away."

Gail thanked the EMT for the information, called a detective she trusted, and directed him to the hospital and James Simolink, then called Nikki: "Be especially wary," she told Nikki, "because the same one who killed or tried to kill Simolink may be out to get you and me as well."

"Why did somebody go after Simolink?" Nikki asked.

"I think I know," Gail replied. "Here's my thinking. Several of the FBI members from our task force have been talking to Simolink. He seemed to be willing to give out a lot of information, trying to make a deal with them. We think he was about to name Ross and Crystal Becker's killer as well as the one who killed Herman Lewis and Jim Bradford. That would have put the heat on somebody, and maybe more than one person. My hunch is that there's a lot of tension just below the surface in the person who went after Simolink--and that he may be ready to snap, may be ready to kill someone."

"Any idea as to who killed James Simolink?"

Before Gail could respond, her telephone rang. "Got a call coming in. I'll call you right back, Nikki," she said.

Nikki cautiously checked the windows in her apartment while she waited. Didn't see any suspicious vehicles in the parking lot. Made sure her windows were latched and that the door was locked. Minutes later, her phone rang. Gail's name showed in the Caller ID. "Hello."

"Hello, Nikki. That call was from the detective I sent to check on James Simolink. He tells me that Simolink was pronounced dead upon his arrival at the hospital."

"Somebody strangled him?"

"It appears that way. I'm trying to get in touch with the maids who were at home with Simolink this evening when we think this happened, although I'm not sure they can help us much because Simolink seems to have been alone in his room when he had a visitor. We're going to investigate this as a homicide, and I've got two other detectives on their way to Simolink's house."

"Have you involved Chief Denison in the investigation?" Nikki asked.

"No," Gail replied, "and I don't intend to." She paused a moment and then added, "Funny thing, though, I haven't been able to get in touch with him this evening to alert him to Simolink's death. He doesn't answer his home phone or his mobil phone."

* * * * *

"Big Joe" Davidson learned that James Simolink was dead the morning after Simolink had been taken to the hospital. He immediately called the Hooligans gang members together at a house owned by Ted Adams, the son-in-law and heir-apparent to Orville McKnight's underworld empire.

After informing the gang members that James Simolink, their prime benefactor, was dead, Davidson assured them that "everything was ok"--that their activities, and the income derived from those activities would continue as they had in the past. Ted Adams had assured him that the gang's plans for the acquisition of a new club house and a new drug distribution facility were "in the works." He promised to help them get working again just as soon as possible.

"We have the funds to purchase a large warehouse and remodel it. We'll make half of the warehouse into a club house," Davidson told the gang members, "and we will be distributing drugs out of the other half."

Davidson's words were met with a round of cheers. "When can we see the warehouse?" one of the gang members asked.

"Right away," Davidson replied. "As soon as we finish here, we'll ride out to look at our new home. Then we'll meet back here and make plans to get started refurbishing the warehouse. We'll get specific assignments for each of our members--and then we'll get to work."

"What about those bastards who burned our old clubhouse and the Twisted Heart Bar?" One of the gang members shouted.

"We ought to kill 'em all!" another member shouted. "Burn their club house to the ground and kill 'em all!" another echoed the feelings of the gang members.

"Take it easy, guys," Davidson responded. "We've already got plans in the works to disrupt their supply of drugs. Without that source of income, they're burnt toast. Now, come on with me. We're going to look at what's going to be our new club house and distribution center. Then we're going to get to work on the club house. There's plenty of work to be done there, and that'll keep us all busy for a few days," he added.

Without another word, Joe Davidson led the gang outside, then climbed onto his Harley-Davidson. The gang followed, and rode out to see the warehouse--the new club house. That afternoon, they'd get to work on the new club house that Ted Adams had provided for them.

The warehouse would provide more secrecy than the Twisted Heart Bar provided for the drug distribution activities because the vans that brought the drugs to them could park inside the warehouse while the men unloaded and divided the drugs. Motorcycles belonging to the gang members could also be parked inside. They'd be able to black out the few windows in that part of the club house so that nobody outside would know what was going on inside the warehouse.

The gang met with Joe Davidson again early that afternoon to discuss what they'd like in the new club house. They'd need refrigerators and microwave ovens as well as recreational equipment and several large-screen televisions. With a little work they could outfit several sleeping rooms with bath facilities where members could stay overnight if they wished. Ted Adams would cover the major expenses, and the gang would pay him back as they brought in revenue from the drug trade. Yes! With the new club house and distribution center, the gang would be even stronger than it was before the fires.

* * * * *

Jeff Miller learned that Chad Jackson and Roger Monsanto had been taken to the hospital following the explosion. Jackson's car was ruined and both men had been badly burned, but they were still alive. It would take some time, but they'd both recover, although they'd have scars aplenty.

Miller found them to be in good spirits when he visited them that afternoon. The police had visited them and inquired about what they knew about the explosion, but they'd hadn't given the police any information. "We don't know anything about who might have put that bomb in the trunk of my car or why," Jackson told Miller. "We can't help the police with that." Jackson grinned. "We didn't even know it was a bomb."

"Don't you tell 'em a thing if they come around asking what you know, Jeff," Jackson added. Miller assured them that he "didn't know a thing."

Of course, the police had determined that an explosive device of some sort had been in the Toyota's trunk when it exploded. The bomb squad was looking into the wreckage and the bits and pieces that were left of the explosive device. Whether or not they'd be able to determine who purchased the parts for the device was, of course, of concern to both Jackson and Monsanto as well as Miller.

It would be some time before Jackson and Monsanto would be released from the hospital. Until then, Nikki would be safe from their revenge schemes. Jeff Miller would keep an eye on her, however, with the hope that he might be lucky enough to dance with her again. Jackson was right when he'd said that Nikki was too old for him, Jeff told himself, but he surely was in love with her. But then again, Jeff told himself, it was time for him to make plans for his own future, a future that did not include Jackson and Monsanto. Could he be so lucky as to include Nikki in his own future? Probably not, but he could dream.
Chapter 21

It was late in the evening when Nikki's phone rang and the Caller ID identified Greg as the caller. He was still in El Salvador and was planning to come home the following day. "I've got some stuff you and Gail are really gonna like," he told her after assuring himself that she was okay.

"I've really missed you, Greg," Nikki told him, "and there's been a lot of stuff going on here that you'll find interesting."

"I've missed you, too, Nikki," Greg told her. "See you sometime tomorrow."

No way would they discuss anything regarding their investigation into the murders of Ross and Crystal Becker or what the task force was discovering. Nor would they discuss anything personal in nature. Their phone conversations might well be monitored.

"See you soon," Nikki and Greg promised each other again. Greg told her when to expect hm at the airport, and she agreed to meet him there.

* * * * *

Moments after she finished talking with Greg, Nikki's phone rang again. She recognized Gail's number on the Caller ID. "Hello, Gail?"

"Nikki?"

"Yes."

"I need to talk with you first thing in the morning. Can you meet me in my office?"

"Yes. Anything I should know about now?"

"Alan Thornburg is talking--big time! I'll fill you in tomorrow morning."

Nikki wouldn't press for information. Her phone or Gail's might not be secure. "Okay."

"See you then," Gail said. "In the meantime, watch your back."

* * * * *

Moments after she finished talking with Gail, Nikki's phone rang again. She did not recognize the number. She'd answer anyway. See what this was all about. "Hello?"

"Is this Nikki Hamilton?" The voice was a hushed whisper, almost a growl. Still, it sounded vaguely familiar? Oh, yes, she knew who was calling.

"Yes. Speaking."

"Ryan Denison, here. I need to talk to you right away." The hushed whisper continued. Nikki had recognized the voice, all right.

"Okay. You need to talk to me right away, you say?" Nikki glanced at her watch. "Can't it wait 'till morning?"

Denison didn't answer Nikki's question. "Where are you?"

"I'm at my apartment." Whatever was this all about? Nikki had never heard the Chief talk in such hushed, growl-like tones before. Never! Was he angry, or what?

"I'll be over later this evening. Probably very late."

"Okay." What else could she say. "Probably very late," he'd said. It was already very late. Well, now to see what this was all about.

The phone went silent. Ryan Denison hadn't bothered to say "goodbye."

* * * * *

Jeff Miller could hardly believe that Nikki was really at home in her own apartment that evening when he drove through the parking lot as he did most evenings. He'd kept an eye on her apartment for some time and he knew that she was spending time with the man he assumed to be her boyfriend. Figured that she was staying with him in his apartment, wherever that was. Now she was back home--alone? There was no sign of the boyfriend or his vehicle.

He wished that he'd had a chance to get better acquainted with Nikki, even though, as his friends pointed out, she was twenty or thirty years older than him. In his mind, she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever known--at any age. When he'd danced with her, he was absolutely in heaven. She'd been wearing that black, sexy witches costume, and she'd certainly worked her red-hot magic on him!

The girls he'd met at Whiskey Joe's couldn't hold a candle to her. They were younger, of course, and attractive--but Nikki was absolutely beautiful. He'd watch the lights in her apartment, knowing she'd never go for a guy like him, but hey! He could dream.

Jeff Miller glanced at his watch. It was almost eleven thirty o'clock. He'd never known her lights to be on that late, not when he'd been watching her apartment, anyway. And then, just as he was about to leave to go home, he saw the black Toyota Prius turn into the apartment parking lot.

He'd seen that car with it's city-government tag before. Yes! He'd seen it in the parking space at the police headquarters, in the parking space reserved for the Chief of Police.

The Toyota Prius continued on through the parking lot and exited, then drove down a side street, out of Miller's line of sight. "He's checking things over, looking for something," Miller mumbled to himself. "Odd, very odd." He'd not leave just yet. See if he could determine what this was all about.

Ten minutes later, close to midnight now, the black Toyota reappeared. Miller watched as it parked in a shadowy spot near the entrance to the apartment building. He couldn't be sure who was driving it from where he sat, but the hunched figure wearing a hoodie emerged from the car, glanced about, and then headed right into the apartment building.

The only lighted apartments were Nikki's and one on the top floor. Jeff Miller debated only for a moment, then silently followed the man who'd driven the Toyota, followed him inside the apartment building.

The man was moving quietly, glancing around as he went up the stairs. Jeff Miller stayed back, almost certain now as to where the man was going. Whatever was going on with him?

* * * * *

Nikki was nervous. Why did Chief Ryan Denison need to see her so urgently--at that time of night. Gail had warned her to watch her back. Maybe she'd just call Gail. Let her know Denison was coming to see her.

Gail answered with a sleepy "Hello. Gail Frost here?"

"Gail, it's Nikki."

"What's going on?" She'd caught the anxious tone in Nikki's voice.

"Sorry to bother you, but I got a call from Chief Ryan Denison a few minutes ago. He wants to talk to me yet tonight, and he's coming to my apartment. I thought you should know."

"Stall him, Nikki. Don't let him inside your apartment. I'll be there in fifteen minutes!" Gail replied. She was fully awake now, out of bed, and getting dressed. She hoped she was wrong, but she had the feeling that Denison was up to no good that night.

Nikki checked her door to make sure it was locked and that the security chain was in place. Checked the door-bell camera to be sure it was working. She next checked the windows overlooking the parking lot. Although there were a few unfamiliar vehicles there, there wasn't any activity. Nikki paced back and forth between her two windows that overlooked the parking area. She'd keep watch.

Ryan Denison usually drove a black Toyota Prius. Nikki carefully studied the vehicles parked out front of her apartment building but didn't see the Chief's car. Wait! There! There it was. A black Toyota Prius was just turning into the parking lot.

Nikki's phone rang just then. Gail Frost's number. "Hello."

"You okay?"

"Yes. He's just turned into the parking lot. I recognize the car."

"Stall him, Nikki," Gail repeated her earlier warning. "Don't let him in. I'm on my way--and I'll stay on the phone with you."

"He's prowling the parking lot. Now he's turning back into the street."

"I'd guess that he'll be back," Gail said.

Nikki watched. Waited. Minutes ticked by.

"There, he's back, all right. Now he's parked where I can't see the car. Maybe he's on his way to my apartment."

"Stall him. I'm nearing your apartment building," Gail said.

"I just got a glimpse of him. He's . . . He's coming in the building. He's inside now."

Before Gail could respond, there was a light TAP! TAP! TAP! at Nikki's apartment door. "Gail," Nikki whispered, "there's somebody at my door. It's Chief Ryan Denison, all right."

* * * * *

Jeff Miller watched as the man wearing the hoodie inched his way toward Nikki's apartment door. With a deft move of his hand, the man reached out and plastered a band-aid over the door-bell camera lens. As Miller watched, the man then silently withdrew a silenced Colt pistol from under his jacket, glanced up and down the hallway, and then, holding that gun behind him, tapped on the door. TAP! TAP! TAP!

This man was up to no good! Miller looked around for a weapon. Didn't see anything. No way was he going to let this man kill Nikki, if that was his intent--and it appeared to be. Why else would he be holding a silenced pistol now aimed at Nikki's apartment door? Holding it about head-high.

TAP! TAP1 TAP!

Miller recognized the man. It was the police chief, all right, but tonight he looked like a hired killer--a character right out of a thriller movie. Well, he'd see if he could distract the man. Maybe warn Nikki about who was outside her door.

"Drop it, Denison," Jeff Miller hissed as he stepped out into the hallway. He'd risk getting shot for Nikki. Warn her about what was waiting in the hallway just outside her door. Ryan Denison spun around at the unexpected command and swung the gun in Miller's direction.

Miller sprang to one side and dove for cover as Denison fired. The bullet thudded into the wall behind Miller.

"Drop the gun!" Nikki commanded as she opened the door to her apartment, keeping the night-lock chain in place. She now knew what Dension was doing there, and Miller saw that she had a pistol in her hand. He'd done what had to be done to alert her. Maybe saved her life. Now to get out of there himself, alive.

Ryan Denison turned and bolted for the entrance just as Gail Frost stepped into the apartment building, her own gun drawn. "It's all over, Denison. Drop the gun," she told him.

Denison spun around. Looked right and then left. He now was trapped between Nikki Hamilton and Gail Frost, both women holding guns. He knew Frost was right--it was all over. Alan Thornburg had told them who'd murdered Ross and Crystal Becker and the others. He'd gotten rid of Simolink, but he couldn't get to Thornburg in time to silence him. No way was he going to stand trial. No way! There was only one way out. Before anyone could reach him, Ryan Denison put the muzzle of the gun he was carrying to his head and squeezed the trigger.

Jeff Miller quietly made his way out the side door and into the parking lot, then walked directly to his car. He'd saved Nikki's life a few days ago when he'd prematurely exploded Monsanto's car bomb. Tonight, he'd played a small role in warning Nikki about who was waiting outside her door. He knew now, however, that Nikki could never be his girl. Furthermore, she had a steady boyfriend. No way could that beautiful woman he'd danced with what now seemed like an eternity ago be his girl.

No way did Jeff want to be friends with either Jackson or Monsanto, not anymore. It was time for him to get away. Find another place to live. Get another job in a new community. Make some new friends. Find a girl he could love--and try to forget about the one woman who'd really excited him. With those thoughts in mind, Jeff drove straight home to his apartment, packed his bags, loaded them into his car, and drove away.

Jeff would have no problem in finding a new job in another city--far from Jackson and Monsanto--and Nikki. He was an experienced welder, had a good part-time job at the time, and would have another one soon. Start a new life--and try to forget Nikki Hamilton.
Epilogue

Gail would relay to Nikki and Greg the information she'd received from her friend in Detroit, her friend who'd talked with Alan Thornburg. The old cop had known all along that James Simolink had ordered the murder of Herman Lewis and Jim Bradford. Had they remained alive, it was likely that Herman Lewis would have been governor instead of Simolink. Furthermore, Thornburgh knew who killed them. In fact, he'd seen Ryan Denison shortly after the murder of Herman Lewis--and there was blood spattered all over Denison's police uniform. Lewis's blood.

Like Ron Ziggler, Thornburg had reached the point in life where he wanted to "clear his name." In fact, Ron Ziggler had called him several times and encouraged him to do just that. Once Thornburg was sure that Simolink couldn't touch him at his new nursing facility, he'd been more than willing to tell what he knew about Ryan Denison's role in the murders of Ross and Crystal Becker as well as other criminal activities he knew about. He would also tell about the criminal activities of David Denison and a number of others of interest to the task force Gail Frost and the District Attorney had put together, again to "clear his name."

Simolink had ordered the murders of Ross and Crystal Becker when they began looking into the death of Crystal's uncle and discovered the connection between the drug traffic and James Simolink's political ambitions. Thornburg knew all about that, too.

There had been only one man Simolink trusted enough to kill his political rivals and get away with it--Ryan Denison. For those and other favors, Simolink had made certain that Ryan was appointed as the city's Chief of Police, with a huge increase in salary. When the time came to eliminate the threat the Beckers posed, Ryan Denison again was the one man Simolink trusted to do the job. He'd proven that he could do the job and keep his mouth shut.

Alan Thornburg had dictated this information, much of it obtained from his earlier conversations with James Simolink, and then signed it. Gail Frost had that very day received the documents detailing the motives and activities of Simolink and Ryan Denison, among others. She had shared them with the task force and would have shared them with Nikki the following morning.

It would appear that someone tipped off Chief Denison about the content of those documents. He'd wanted to eliminate Nikki Hamilton before she found out about Alan Thornburg's statement. Thanks to Jeff Miller and Gail Frost he was not able to do so. Gail's priority for the next few days would be determining who tipped off Chief Denison. And there would be the process of appointing a new Chief of Police. She'd be involved with that decision.

One of Simolink's maids told the detectives investigating his murder that he'd had a visitor earlier that day--a policeman who had visited Simolink many times before. The maid told of hearing angry voices shortly before the visitor left. Later, another of Simolink's maids identified the visitor as Ryan Denison. There could be only one conclusion: Police Chief Ryan Denison killed James Simolink.

* * * * *

The thirty-year-old materials that Greg Browning brought back from El Salvador implicated Simolink with a notorious drug trafficker. It appeared that profits from Simolink's underworld connections had indeed helped finance his political career. The evidence, apparently collected over several years by the private investigator, indicated that James Simolink was powerful enough to foil law-envorcement attempts to interfere with or arrest the traffickers. Greg's friend had managed to locate a private investigator who worked with the one who was murdered--and had kept the evidence they'd gathered 30-some years ago all these years.

Unless new and compelling contrary evidence were to surface later, Nikki and Greg would consider the 30-year-old murders of Ross and Crystal Becker as a closed case. There was little doubt that Ryan Denison had killed them.

With Gail's encouragement, Nikki and Greg would begin looking into yet another cold case in the near future. Still, Nikki was determined to intermingle some of the pleasures she'd missed out on over the past years. After all, it was because she'd attended a costumed Halloween party at Barefoot Tom's that she'd danced with Jeff Miller--and Jeff had protected her when Ryan Denison came looking for her, most likely with murder on his mind. (Although Nikki didn't know it, Jeff had also protected her earlier from Jackson and Monsanto's car bomb threat.)

And Nikki had enjoyed meeting and dancing with Jeff Miller. He'd been awfully nice to her, and she'd felt happy and protected in his arms. How he'd managed to slip away and then apparently leave the community without seeing her again, Nikki wasn't sure. It was a shame, she reasoned, that they couldn't have become friends. Still, she, like Jeff, knew that wasn't likely to happen.

Greg had indicated to Nikki that he'd be interested in acquiring a motorcycle so that they could go on rides together. They'd spend a few days looking at Harley-Davidson motorcycles at the dealer where Nikki had purchased hers. Come spring, they'd be ready for a nice long "bike-ride."

In addition to investigating another cold case with Greg, Nikki was determined to explore that old, seemingly abandoned, hotel where the investigation into the Becker's murder had begun. The old hotel would likely be torn down in the near future. Before that took place, however, Nikki was determined to explore it room by room. It had been a classy structure in its day--and still was. Then too, who knew what other mysteries might remain in the ancient structure!

Christmas would be upon them before long. Nikki and Greg were already making plans to spend the Holidays with Richard and Kathy.

Once the Holidays were over, however, it would be back to the work Nikki loved. In fact, Nikki already had a cold-case selected that she and Greg would work on together. And there was the likelihood that, if Nikki had anything to say about it, that she and Greg would make theirs a permanent relationship before long.

The End

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