Hocus (4 page)

“Screw you, Cassidy.”

“Oh, no, thanks. That’s finding out the hard way. You know what, Vince? What’s really startling is the new and amazing ways y’all strive to perfect your craft. Take that remark you made a minute ago. Insulted at least three people in a few short words. Yep, I’d say you were a perfect asshole.”

“You write in that notebook and I’ll break your fingers, kid. Call Carlson, Reed,” Vince said.

“No need to do that,” Rachel said. “He’s in the living room. Why don’t we all move out there? It’s a little stuffy in here.”

I wasn’t looking forward to facing Carlson. Given all the pressure he had put on Frank lately, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to control my temper with the lieutenant. As it turned out, there was an even higher-ranking cop in my living room. Captain Bredloe.

Bredloe stood up when he saw me, walked over, and put an arm around my shoulders. “Irene… I got here as fast as I could.”

“You have news about Frank?” I asked, scared to hear the answer. What would bring the captain out to my house?

“No, nothing yet, I’m sorry.” Bredloe nodded toward Vince and Reed. “These guys treating you okay?” Vince looked a little pale all of a sudden.

“Sure,” I said, wondering if Bredloe had heard me shouting at them as he’d walked up to the house.

“That’s good,” he said. “They won’t be able to stay, though.” He glanced over at Carlson.

“I won’t be able to stay, either,” Carlson said, standing up. “I know this must be upsetting for you, Ms. Kelly. We’re making every effort to find Frank.”

I was just as perfectly polite. “I’m sure you are. Thanks.”

“Vince, Reed, let’s go outside,” he said. Reed followed him, but Vince lagged a little, moving closer to me while Rachel introduced the captain to Jack.

“Thanks, Irene,” Vince said. He looked down at his shoes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Earlier — what I said — that was crap. I don’t know what got into me. I’m sorry….”

He was upset, and this time I saw it for what it was. He was worried. Not about the possibility of Bredloe calling him on the carpet, or what I might tell the paper, but about Frank.

“Damn,” I heard Cassidy mutter behind me. “I guess I’ll have to look for a new one before midnight, Vince.”

Vince smiled a little and said, “If anyone can find one, Cassidy, you will.”

Vince left, and the rest of us took seats in the living room. Jack and Rachel were apparently going to be included in any discussion. She stayed near the phone. Jack was sitting cross-legged on the floor, petting the dogs, keeping them calm. I moved to my great-grandfather’s armchair. It’s big and old-fashioned and doesn’t match any of the other furniture in the living room. Frank likes to sit in it. I held on to the armrests.

Bredloe cleared his throat. “Irene, I brought Tom Cassidy and his partner, er….”

“Freeman, sir. Henry Freeman.”

“Yes, of course. Detective Freeman. I brought them here because they are specialists. Cassidy has worked extensively not only in kidnapping cases, but as a hostage negotiator.”

“So you believe Frank is a hostage?” I asked.

“It’s the most likely possibility, as far as I’m concerned. Other people in our department will work other angles.”

Other angles. Most of which implied that my husband was irresponsible at best, criminal at worst.

There was a snapping noise, and all eyes went to Henry or Hank or whatever he was called. He noticed our attention and looked sheepishly toward Cassidy.

“Hank, you’re making more noise than a turkey eating corn out of a metal bowl,” Cassidy said. “You setting up?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll try to be more quiet.”

“Setting up what?” Rachel asked.

“My computer.” His briefcase turned out to be the carrying case for a notebook computer.

“What about this informant?” I asked. “The one who got shot out in Riverside. Could he have any connection to this?”

“That homicide is not in our jurisdiction, of course,” Bredloe said. “Riverside has been very cooperative with us so far, and we’ve tried to share information with them. Normally, I wouldn’t be discussing an informant with anyone, but the man is dead — telling you about him certainly won’t bring him to any greater harm. Did you bring the file, Freeman?”

“Yes, sir.”

Freeman typed something into the computer, then began reading from a screen. “The victim’s name is Dana Ross. Address — 234 Burnett Road, Riverside. No phone. Aged twenty-eight.” He paused, frowning.

“Something wrong?” Cassidy asked.

“Sorry, sir. He looks older than twenty-eight in the photograph. Dissipation from drug abuse, I suppose.”

“I expect you’re right about that,” Cassidy said. “Go on, please.”

Freeman rubbed his nose. “Do you want me to read his record?”

“Please just summarize it.”

“Several drug arrests, one burglary conviction. Served as an informant on two previous occasions. This would have been his third.”

“Three certainly wasn’t a charm for the late Mr. Ross,” Cassidy said. “And this latest contact?”

“I have my notes from my discussion with Lieutenant Carlson.” Freeman tapped a key or two, then read, “Mr. Ross called the Las Piernas Police Department’s Homicide Division from a public pay telephone in Riverside at twenty-three hundred hours—”

“Hank,” Cassidy said in a low voice.

Freeman colored slightly, then cleared his throat. “He called at eleven
P.M
. The call was taken by Detective Matsuda, who was on the homicide desk. Ross claimed to have information on the Novak case, but insisted that he would talk only to Detective Harriman. He was asked if Detective Harriman should be paged, and said no. He refused to talk to Detective Matsuda.”

“Novak is one of Pete and Frank’s cases,” Rachel said. “A junkie in Riverside mentions a case Frank is working on?”

“Yes,” Cassidy replied. “But Ross used to live here, so perhaps it’s not so strange.”

“Did Ross specify a time?” Rachel asked.

“No,” Freeman said. “Ross’s message was that he would be home between 0900 and” — he caught Cassidy’s frown — “I mean, nine in the morning and one in the afternoon.”

“Didn’t Jake think it was strange that Ross wouldn’t talk to anyone but Frank?” I asked.

“It isn’t unusual for an informant to have one or two connections to the department and to refuse contact with any other officer. No one questioned Ross’s request,” Freeman said, “because Detective Harriman was his contact on each of the two previous occasions.”

“Frank is the only one who has talked to this guy?”

“Affirmative,” Freeman said. I heard Cassidy sigh.

“Pete knows him,” Rachel said. “He never told me the guy’s name, but he said he knew the junkie that Frank drove out there to see.”

“Pete has met him,” Cassidy agreed. “And Frank filled him in on anything Ross said. But I noticed that any report on a conversation with this informant had Frank’s signature. I talked to Pete just before he left to go out to the scene, and he said Ross would only open up for Frank. Wouldn’t give information to anyone else.”

“Any reason why?” I asked.

Cassidy hesitated, then said, “He trusted Frank.”

“He had every reason to,” I said angrily.

“Pardon?” he said, clearly surprised at my reaction.

“Frank would not murder an informant, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“No one here believes that he would do any such thing,” Bredloe said firmly. “I have complete faith in Frank. If he did use his gun, it was with good reason. If he shot that man, it was in self-defense, or to protect another person’s life.”

I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear someone from the department say they had faith in Frank. I found myself on the verge of tears again.

Jack must have realized I was too choked up to talk. “Of course, anyone who knows Frank knows that,” he pitched in, and tried to ask more questions about what was going on in Riverside.

He was politely stonewalled. I listened to the others converse while I tried to calm down. I knew I’d never get the full story from the police about what had transpired at the junkie’s house, what they had found there. Pete might tell me eventually, if Rachel and I leaned on him hard enough. Frank was in danger — I couldn’t wait for “eventually.”

I grew antsy. I needed to act, to do something. The house started to feel too small, too crowded. If I sat around, I’d go crazy.

“Well, I need to get going,” Bredloe was saying.

“It was very kind of the three of you to come by,” I said.

“Oh, I’m the only one who’s going. I’d like to leave Cassidy and Freeman here. Detective Cassidy has a few other things to talk to you about.”

I felt a growing sense of panic but didn’t say anything. When Bredloe stood I grabbed my jacket and said, “I’ll walk you out to your car.”

“I’ll walk out with you, too,” Jack said, making me want to kick him. “I need to get something from my house.”

Outside, Jack said a quick good-bye to Bredloe and went next door. I reached in my jacket pocket and felt the comforting weight of my car keys.

“I want to thank you,” I said to the captain. “Your faith in Frank means a lot to me.”

“Frank earned that faith,” he said. “I came out here tonight to reassure you that I’ll stay personally involved in seeing that he comes home to you safe and sound.”

“Thank you.”

“This is not going to be easy on any of us, Irene. We have to respond to what has happened in a number of ways, looking at a variety of possibilities.”

“ ‘Variety of possibilities.’ By that you mean Frank may be dead, he may be hurt, he may be—”

“I am going to remain hopeful,” he interrupted, “and assume that Frank is a hostage and that whoever has him has nothing to gain by harming him. If so, sooner or later, someone will make an offer.” He paused, then added, “Hostage negotiations are tricky. You know that from your own days on the crime beat. Cassidy is good at what he does, but we’ll need your trust and cooperation.”

I thought of the many times I had witnessed Bredloe’s intervention on Frank’s behalf. More than once I had seen his personal concern for the people who worked for him. I didn’t want to lie to him, so I said, “I trust you. I’ll try to cooperate whenever I’m given any reasonable request.”

He smiled. “You phrase that so cautiously. Well, right now, you need to be cautious.” He opened his car door and started to get in.

“Captain Bredloe—”

He waited.

“I
have
covered hostage situations. I learned a few things. A group or an individual who takes a cop hostage is likely to be playing for high stakes. If they want to exchange Frank for a prisoner, or ransom, you’re not going to meet their demands.”

“You can’t think about this in those terms—”

“I’m trusting you, remember? The truth.”

He drew in a deep breath and sighed. “No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Irene, Cassidy has a very high rate of success—”

“None of the hostages were cops, were they? The guy has saved bank tellers, right? I mean, that’s great, that’s important. But he hasn’t ever been in this situation, right?”

He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Right.”

“And you can’t give in at all in this case, because you can’t run the risk that every twisted son of a bitch who watches the nightly news will get the idea that kidnapping cops is a rewarding occupation, right?”

He didn’t answer.

“Damn it to hell,” I said, and turned away.

Jack returned just as Bredloe was starting his car.

“When you get back into the house,” I said in a whisper, “take Rachel aside and tell her I’m going down to the paper.”

“What?”

“I can’t stay here, doing nothing. I’ve got friends at the
Press-Enterprise
in Riverside. I’m going to call them from the office, try to find out what’s going on out there.”

“Irene—”

“Please, Jack! I need someone to be here in case Frank calls — someone he can trust. Rachel may have to leave, and besides, I don’t want to put her in the position of getting Pete in trouble. This way, she can honestly say she had no idea I was going to leave.”

“I don’t like this,” he said. “Call me as soon as you get to the paper, let me know you got there safely.”

I got into my car. “Thanks, Jack. Sack out in the guest room if you get tired.”

“How long are you going to be gone?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

He made some sort of additional protest, but I didn’t really hear what he was saying. I had started the noisy Karmann Ghia. I whipped out of the driveway, hoping I’d be at the end of the street before Detective Thomas Cassidy could figure out that I’d left.

T
RAFFIC WAS SPARSE
at just after two in the morning, so even though I wasn’t as careful as I usually am when I’m driving near closing time, I noticed the car that was following me. I wasn’t exactly sure when the dark sedan had first appeared, but by the time I was within a few blocks of the paper, there was no doubt in my mind that I was being tailed. I tried to get a better look at my pursuer, but when I slowed he slowed. I couldn’t make out the color of the car, let alone who was in it.

I made a series of unnecessary turns, cut through the parking lot of the downtown senior center, and turned into a little alleyway near the main library. I doused my lights and waited to see if the sedan was still with me. After a few moments I had the attention of a couple of homeless guys but no one else, so I pulled out and drove on to the paper.

Although the newsroom would be empty, there were plenty of cars pulling into the parking lot at the
Express.
This was the hour when the drivers from the circulation department arrived. The first copies of the morning paper would already be off the presses; trucks were being loaded. I didn’t know any of the people I saw walking toward the building, so it took me a moment to see the man who was just standing outside his sedan, arms folded, staring at me.

“Don’t put me in your diary for this, Detective Cassidy.”

He moved off the car and walked over to me. “No, Mrs. Harriman — or do you prefer to be called Ms. Kelly?”