Beneath the Cracks (9 page)

I refocused on the murder
investigation.  "Briscoe, are you and Crevan planning to
search this man's house today?"

"We're on it, Helen.  You want us to
drop you off at home on the way out to the bay?"

Maya interrupted, "I'll take her home. 
Unless you want to go with them."

I didn't.  "I'd rather go with you,
Maya," I said.  "The detectives can call me at home if they
find anything that might help build my –"

"Helen, I really think you should come with
us," Crevan said.  "We won't get the same sense of this guy by
looking at his home as you will.  Isn't that going to be
important in figuring out the kind of person we're looking
for?"

I sighed.  Maya smiled
bravely. 

"Maybe you can call me later, if you have a
spare minute or two, Helen.  Go ahead and work the case with
them."

"Are you certain?"

She nodded.

It went against my better judgment to leave
her alone today, but duty called. 

Duty
.

This wasn't supposed to be my job anymore,
and suddenly I felt thrust onto a roller coaster that had no stop
in sight.  What I really wanted was my home, my friend, a life
without dead bodies and people who so desperately wanted to escape
the criminal justice system that they'd kill a police officer to
avoid prison.  I wanted the solitude that allowed me to
quietly work toward my own goals, prioritize an agenda that had
nothing to do with following civil laws.

In other words, I was wandering through
another mine field that felt an awful lot like the last
one. 

Chapter 8

There's an old English idiom:
when it
rains, it pours
.  I don't find it apropos for Darkwater
Bay only because of the soggy climatic conditions.  From what
I've seen in my short time here, murder seems to be a normal
occurrence as well.  But in this instance, it applies exactly
to my life.  When one thing goes wrong, it all goes
wrong.  At the same time.

Briscoe, Conall and I spent hours searching
every nook and cranny of Detective Jacob Cox's sprawling
ranch-style home in Bay View.  I summed up my impression of
the search when Briscoe asked:

"Well, what do you think?"

"Bupkis," I muttered.  "We got
bupkis."

"Johnny sent me a text."

I glanced at Crevan.  Did I really want
to hear this?  Probably not.  I knew they were
right.  Keeping Orion at bay would be as likely as the killer
walking in off the street, and in an attack of genuine conscience,
confessing his crimes.  Throw Orion’s personal interest in
me
into the mix and there was no way I could expect to
continue to avoid him even a little longer.

Then again, I could always back out. 
Do it right now.  Maya needs me.  The homicide
problems of Bay County are none of my business.  I'm retired,
a private citizen, a –

My eyes caught a glimpse of the photographs
arranged on Cox's mantle in the living room.  His college
graduation.  His ceremony at the state police when he was
awarded for some outstanding act or another.  The beaming
parents ever present at his side.

Ordinarily these mementos wouldn't sway me
in the least.  Like I said.  Not my problem.  But
today, after memories of Wendell invading almost every thought, I
wondered what our family photos might've evolved to look like over
the years.  Would Dad have been beaming at my side when his
daughter successfully completed training at Quantico?  Would
he have bragged to the guys at his precinct that his little girl
was all grown up, and a fed to boot?  My wedding, the lack of
a father to give me away, and a million other little moments
wherein pangs of regret pricked my heart resurfaced.  If Dad
were still in the picture, I wouldn't have resorted to
murder.  He'd have done it for me.

Could I really turn a blind eye to the pain
Jacob Cox's parents were about to experience?  No, in my
vulnerable state, I could not.  My thoughts drifted back to
Maya.  Where was her family at her time of need?  Did she
have proud parents out there somewhere who might get devastating
news tomorrow?

"And…she's gone again," Briscoe's words
floated into my ears a millisecond before his fingers snapped in
front of my face.

I swatted them away.  "What?"

"When is a good time for you?  You said
you got some previous engagement tomorrow.  How about right
now?"

"For what?" 

Crevan sighed.  "Johnny wants to know
when he can meet us to discuss what Jake said during their last
conversation.  There is no file per se."

"No wonder this state is such a mess." 
Yeah, I sounded as cross as I felt.  "How the hell do you
people get anything done when no one makes an official case file on
open investigations?  Even undercover detectives are required
to keep records of what they learn.  Now, if this thing ever
goes to court, what have we got?  Hearsay.  Cox told
Orion.  It's inadmissible."

Both detectives fell silent.

"Well, what are we waiting for?"

Briscoe muttered something to Conall about
hormonal issues being contagious.  It took all of my willpower
not to pin him to the ground with my thumb.

"Where should I tell Johnny you want to
meet?" Crevan asked.

I shrugged.  "I'm sure he's already
decided that it should happen at my place or his penthouse. 
God forbid it look like a normal police conversation.  He can
come to my house, but so help me God, if the two of you find some
convenient excuse to leave him there with me, I will slit your bags
and staple them to your chins."

Briscoe winced, understanding full well what
I meant.  Conall simply looked confused.

"I've got an early morning, and I haven't
slept yet.  You've got exactly an hour to get him to my house
to hear what he has to say and escort him away before I throw the
lot of you out."

"What crawled up your ass?" Briscoe's torso
puffed out.

"What crawled up my ass?  You
did.  And you," I poked Crevan in the ribs.  "And Orion,
and Darnell.  I never asked for this.  I didn't want to
get dragged into your cases.  I didn't intend to continue
doing this work for the rest of my life.  Maybe I'm sick of
death and murder and liars and –"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Briscoe
interrupted.  "Since when did we ever lie to you, and since
when did we ever ask without makin' sure you knew you had the
absolute right to decline?"

"I tried last night!" 

Forceful words made the burly detective
cower just a little bit.

"And when I even remotely indicated that I
was less than interested in being part of this, you acted like I
simply don't care if homeless men are being murdered – because
they're homeless, so who cares?  Wasn't that what you implied
last night, Briscoe?"

"I just figured –"

"You could guilt me into do what
you
wanted regardless of how I feel about working with law enforcement
again."

"Helen, if this is how you really feel, Tony
and I will meet with Orion.  We'll take you home and go to him
and get the information.  Take some time.  Think about
what you want.  If working with us isn't an option anymore,
we'll respect it," Crevan said.  "Nobody wants you feeling
bullied into helping solve this case or any other."

"Fine."  I stomped past them and sat in
the back of their unmarked car waiting for the ride home. 
Both men were uncharacteristically quiet as Conall drove through
winding neighborhoods that eventually led to the cliff where my
house sat waiting for my return.

Briscoe muttered something to his partner, a
what's this
, when he approached the gated driveway. 
Another sedan blocked the entrance.

My heart leapt into the back of my
throat.  "Thanks for the ride, guys.  I've got this."

"Helen, do you know –?"

I didn't stick around for the rest of
Crevan's question.  I slammed the door to the Crown Victoria
and marched across the street to another, with men in suits waiting
for my return.  There was no question necessary.  I knew
who I'd find inside.

Mark Seleeby.

Like I said.  When it rains, it
pours.

The automatic window hummed and revealed his
knowing smirk.  It was a real
gotcha
moment for
Seleeby, and he wasn't hiding it.  "Nice digs, Eriksson."

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to have a chat.  Aren't you
gonna invite me inside?"

"Have you got a warrant?"

"Do I have to get one?"

I crossed my arms over my chest and glared
across the street at where Briscoe and Conall were still sitting in
their car.  "Yeah, Seleeby, I think you do need a
warrant.  I already told you if you wanted to talk to me, it
wouldn't be without an attorney.  Legally, you don't have the
right to ask me questions outside his presence."

"I hear Jerry Lowe's got a great criminal
attorney, Helen.  Maybe you ought to give him a call." 
Snickers rose from the agents in tow, neither of which included
David Levine. 

So Seleeby had gotten rid of my protector
and was making a second run at me for the murder of Rick
Hamilton.  It wasn't completely unexpected, but to say that I
welcomed round two of life under the bureau's microscope was
inaccurate.

"You already searched my home.  There's
nothing in this house that I owned prior to moving to Darkwater
Bay.  Get your warrant.  I'll fight it tooth and nail and
slap you with a harassment suit just for fun, Seleeby.  Now,
if you don't mind, I'd appreciate it if you'd leave my
property."

"It's a public street," Seleeby grinned.

"Not the part you're sitting on," I pointed
to my driveway.  "This is private property.  You wanna
stake out my house?  Be my guest, but you'll do it from public
land.  At least until my lawyer can file an injunction barring
you from continuing this harassment."

"Good luck with that, sweetheart," Seleeby
grinned.  "We got the murder weapon.  And guess who it's
registered to?"

"Screw you, Mark," I called his bluff. 
Got the murder weapon, huh?  Not possible.  Not only was
the gun buried in sludge at the bottom of the Potomac, it was in
various locations, left in numerous pieces.  Dad taught me
well.  Oh, and it wasn't registered to anybody – except for
the owner it had probably been stolen from.  I held out my
wrists.  "Go ahead.  Arrest me if you really have this
evidence."

He glared, but made no move to accept my
offer of surrender to arrest.

"That's what I thought.  Now get the
hell off my property, before I have the nice detectives across the
street arrest you for trespassing."

Eyes darted to the rear view mirror. 
"This isn't over, Eriksson.  I'll be back – with a warrant to
search this house too, and any other house you have lived in, slept
in, or stepped foot in.  Not even the corrupt jerks in
Darkwater Bay can protect you from what you've got coming."

Seleeby backed out of the driveway, paused
long enough to salute Briscoe and Conall and sped away.  Tony
hopped out of the car and stalked across the street.

"Give me strength," I whispered.  His
determined face, mixed with more than a fair amount of anger told
me no amount of intimidation or threats or even feminine temper
could forestall the coming tirade.

"Who the hell was that?  Were those
Datello's boys?"

Jesus.  My forehead found its way into
the palm of my hand.

"Dammit, Eriksson, we ain't screwin'
around!"

"That was Special Agent Mark Seleeby from
the FBI."

"The…the fuckin' FBI?"

"It's a long story, and I really don't want
to get into all of –"

"Well, you're gettin' into it," Briscoe
huffed.  "Open this gate.  Puppy'll drive us up to the
house and you can explain why in tarnation the FBI is pesterin' one
of their former agents."

"It's nothing, Tony.  Please."

"I said no.  Either you talk, and I
mean right now, or I'll call Orion over here and you'll explain
this to him.  Jesus Christ.  That scared the hell outta
us!  And what were you thinkin', marchin' up to a strange car
like that without a clue who was inside?"

That was the rub.  I wasn't clueless
about who they were or even why they were here. 
"Dammit.  Dammit, dammit, dammit."  My fingers worked
through worried furrows on my forehead like it might turn back the
hands of time.  Briscoe wanted answers, and from the look on
his face,
none of your business
was not an acceptable
one.

Conall honked the horn.  Briscoe
gripped my bicep and half dragged me to the car.  "Open the
gate, Helen."

I depressed the button on the remote. 
It felt worse than a man making his final walk to a death
chamber. 
Think Helen!  Come up with something
rational that will explain why Seleeby is here, because you really
don't want this discussion to –

Conall's voice cut through the blanket of
panic shrouding me.

"He's on his way."

"
Who
is on his way?  What did
you do, Crevan?"  My voice leapt into the shrill soprano
range.  Did I think I felt panic before?  Huh-uh. 
That was merely,
gee, a big hairy spider just ran over my
face
concern. 
This
was definitely panic.

Briscoe's eyes darted over his shoulder to
impale me.  "You know who.  Johnny."

Dammit devolved into something decidedly
more profane in my head, although my teeth clamped together hard
enough to splinter enamel. 

Remain calm.  What was that thing Dad
always said?  Oh yeah.  Admit nothing, deny everything,
demand proof.  I don't owe them answers.  Not Briscoe or
Conall.  Certainly not Orion.  And I meant what I said to
Seleeby.  He can go screw–