High Country Nocturne - [13]
“The media are going to be camped out for her, too.”
“She’ll be all right.” I sampled the mocha. It had exactly the right amount of chocolate. I hoped Sharon would be all right. Even if the feds weren’t there, the Peraltas’ house, perched on a bluff overlooking Dreamy Draw in north Phoenix, was like a fortress and Sharon was a decent shot.
We were at a table on the front patio with the heaters going. It was in the fifties, nippy for Phoenix. I would have been comfortable taking my jacket off but I needed it to conceal the Python.
Birds sat expectantly on nearby bushes and light poles. The bird issue was large enough that the restaurant had resorted to putting sugar and other condiments in plastic containers to keep them from being carried off.
The other tables were occupied and the conversations loud. They were talking real estate at one table. At another, I heard a man say, “The bankers got away with the crime of the century and my family lost almost everything. I don’t blame Peralta if he decided to cash in.”
I didn’t know any of the other diners, a good thing that day. My partner was front-page news. I was nobody. We were also the only diners reading a newspaper. It was unsettling…say, if you hoped to sustain a civilization or democracy.
Lindsey asked if I could stand talking about the “gem heist.” I nodded.
“You’re convinced Peralta is working deep cover.”
“Yes.”
She studied me. “Even though this new SAC you met said it’s not true.”
“He wouldn’t tell me. He might not know himself.”
The server brought our food with the place’s customary efficiency. Lindsey had soft-scrambled eggs, bacon, and tomatoes in place of an English muffin. I had my usual Sun Devil omelet.
Lindsey ran her finger along another headline: “Texting While Driving, Woman Impaled Through Buttocks.”
She said, “So, History Shamus, if Peralta really is on a case, wouldn’t he have let you know beforehand? Somehow?”
I hadn’t thought this through last night. Now I was glad she was encouraging it.
After a bite and some reflection, I said, “Not if it came up suddenly. He went into the office early yesterday, same as always. He texted me at nine to say he was going on a diamond run. By the time I got there, he was gone.”
“Peralta texted?”
“Old dog, new tricks.”
“Had he texted you before?”
I stopped with the fork in midair, then set it back on the plate. No, he had never texted before. I hadn’t thought much of it because I was getting ready for the day and he had done half-a-dozen of these diamond jobs since we had become private detectives.
“So all you know is that the text came from his phone.”
“True.” I chewed eggs and second thoughts.
She ate and talked at the same time without it ever seeming unladylike. But I was partial.
“So if it was him, and this new undercover case came up suddenly, and all he could do was text you…” She paused. “That doesn’t make sense for him. Not somebody who has never texted before. Somebody like that will stick with habit and call. The next you know, the FBI shows up at the office with a search warrant. That’s the first you heard of the robbery.”
“Yes.”
“They interviewed you there, right?”
“Two hours worth, while they went through the files. Some nerd spent time with Peralta’s computer before taking it.”
“We nerds are useful, History Shamus. It’s curious they didn’t take your computer.”
“That made me think this was all for show.” I glanced at the newspaper. Maybe releasing his name to the press was for show, too. They didn’t release Peralta’s involvement yesterday when someone might have identified him driving to Ash Fork.
“So he leaves you a message on the first business card. Don’t try to find him.”
I nodded.
She put her hand lightly on mine. “I know you’re tired, love, but if he really is undercover, shouldn’t you leave this alone? If you muck around digging into the case, you might put it at risk and endanger him.”
“You mean, be a hotdog.”
I ate in silence. She was right. Perhaps. One of my many character flaws was getting into target-acquisition mode and immediately going to afterburners. Sometimes I needed to slow down.
I said, “But he left the second card. He knows I love trains. He knows I love the Flagstaff depot. He called Sharon from a pay phone there, made sure she heard the railroad in the background. Sure enough, he had left a message where I would find it. That would indicate he wants me to be involved.”
“Why?”
“Maybe something went wrong. Or, he is not undercover but being coerced into this robbery.”
She pointed to the newspaper. “Nothing subtle about it. If he wanted the diamonds, he could have overpowered the other guard before they got to the mall. Instead, he shot him there and did it on camera.”
“That gives him more credibility going deep undercover.”
“And ruins his good name.”
“For now.”
“But something went wrong and now he needs you?”
I shrugged. I didn’t know. The more I ate, the more my body wanted to sleep.
She applied a dainty napkin to her mouth. Then she swigged the coffee like a truck driver. “What if he really did it?”
“Lindsey!” I lowered my voice. “How can you even think that?”
In this "prequel" to the popular David Mapstone mysteries, author Jon Talton takes us back to 1999, when everything dot-com was making money, the Y2K bug was the greatest danger facing the world, and the good times seemed as if they would never end.It was a time before David and Lindsey were together, before Mike Peralta was sherriff, and before David had rid himself of the sexy and mysterious Gretchen.In Phoenix, it's the sweet season and Christmas and the new millennium are only weeks away. But history professor David Mapstone, just hired by the Sheriff's Office, still finds trouble, chasing a robber into an abandoned warehouse and discovering a gruesome crime from six decades ago.Mapstone begins an investigation into a Depression-era kidnapping that transfixed Arizona and the nation: the disappearance of a cattle baron's grandsons, their bodies never found.
The private-detective business starts out badly for former Phoenix Deputy David Mapstone, who has teamed up with his old friend and boss, Sheriff Mike Peralta. Their first client is gunned down just after hiring them. The case: A suspicious death investigation involving a young Arizona woman who fell from a condo tower in San Diego. The police call Grace Hunter's death a suicide, but the client doesn't buy it. He's her brother. Or is he? After his murder, police find multiple driver's licenses and his real identity is a mystery.
Cheryl Beth Wilson is an elite nurse at Cincinnati Memorial Hospital who finds a doctor brutally murdered in a secluded office. Wilson had been having an affair with the doctoras husband, a surgeon, and this makes her a aperson of interesta to the police, if not at outright suspect. But someone other than the cops is watching Cheryl Beth.The killing comes as former homicide detective Will Borders is just hours out of surgery. But as his stretcher is wheeled past the crime scene, he knows this is no random act of violence.
A handsome young New York professor comes to Phoenix to research his new book. But when he's brutally murdered, police connect him to one of the world's most deadly drug cartels. This shouldn't be a case for historian-turned-deputy David Mapstone – except the victim has been dating David's sister-in-law Robin and now she's a target, too. David's wife Lindsey is in Washington with an elite anti-cyber terror unit and she makes one demand of him: protect Robin.This won't be an easy job with the city police suspicious of Robin and trying to pressure her.
Cincinnati homicide Detective Will Borders now walks with a cane and lives alone with constant discomfort. He's lucky to be alive. He's lucky to have a job, as public information officer for the department. But when a star cop is brutally murdered, he's assigned to find her killer. The crime bears a chilling similarity to killings on the peaceful college campus nearby, where his friend Cheryl Beth Wilson is teaching nursing. The two young victims were her students. Most homicides are routine, the suspects readily apparent.
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