S. Tooley - When the dead speak

Jake turned toward her. “I’m listening.” He pulled out a chair and sat across from her. “Now we know how your father happened to get one of the pins. Hap probably gave him one of Ames’ pins.”

Sam flipped through the pages checking to make sure she didn’t miss one word. “Hap probably confronted Preston with one of the pins. Preston felt threatened and that’s when he must have killed Hap. And because my father was going to go to the Senate Armed Services Committee to expose him, Preston had him killed, too.” Her voice trailed off as she thought again of the article reporting her father’s death. “I wonder who was the head of the Senate Armed Services Committee back then?”

“Sam.” Jake reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “We have no proof that your father was murdered. To keep focusing on Preston…”

“Speaking of Preston,” Sam started.

“No.” Jake pushed away from the table and checked his beeper.

“Just listen for a minute.” She told him how Tim had to use Preston’s computer to access the lock and key icon.

Jake pulled his cellular phone from his pocket and dialed Janet. “Did he say what he wanted?… And no one saw him leave?” He covered the mouthpiece and asked Sam, “Did you receive a call or a message today from a Lincoln Thomas?” Sam shook her head no. He returned to Janet and asked, “Did he at least leave a number?… No, that’s okay. I’ll be in shortly. If he comes back, make sure he waits.”

“Who is Lincoln Thomas?”

Jake shrugged. “He said he saw Hap’s picture in the Korean newspaper. It’s a pity he couldn’t stick around.”

“Where’s he at?” Sam whispered, as she and Tim crept in through the back door by the kitchen.

“Upstairs getting ready,” Jackie replied.

They were in Preston’s house. The staff had been given the night off. Jackie had conveniently run into Preston earlier and made arrangements to stop by tonight.

“Wow.” Tim’s eyes took in Jackie’s tight black skirt and gold sequined top that was stretched over her massive chest.

“Down, boy,” Jackie laughed.

Sam stared at her reflection in the mirror above the sink — long, curly hair ratted for even more fullness, the sides punked out to display her cheekbones, cobalt blue eye shadow, lipstick thick and glossy, and large rhinestone earrings. Her royal blue spaghetti-strap dress looked as if it had been painted on.

Sam was thankful that Jake had been at the office most of the afternoon so she didn’t have to explain what she and Jackie were up to.

“Are we ready?” Jackie asked. Looking down at Sam’s feet, Jackie said, “And, pulleeze take care of my shoes.”

“I know. They cost you a hundred and fifty dollars.”

“That’s what I hate about getting a call fifteen minutes before quitting time.” Frank pounded the keyboard, pressed the PAGEUP key. “By the time we’re done talking to the stiff’s family and witnesses and writing up the report, half the night is over. Frank tugged on his tie. He pulled it off and tossed it on top of the IN box on his desk. “It’s so goddam hot in here.”

Window air conditioners were working overtime but did little to cool the central room. Ceiling fans droned overhead. Attempts were made to give desk clutter some resemblance of order by use of paperweights on haphazard stacks of papers or by placing everything from the top of the desks to the IN boxes.

Jake leaned over Frank’s shoulder reading the report as Frank typed. Jerry Sauder, the night duty desk sergeant, lumbered over to Frank’s desk. His jaws worked overtime on a piece of gum and he walked as if his feet were always in position one of ballet — pointed out, looking painfully awkward.

“Frank, call on one,” Jerry barked between chews.

“Who is this Noland guy?” Jake asked when Frank had hung up the phone.

“Parker Smith’s attorney. Parker Smith’s daughter won’t release a letter Parker wrote until she’s had a chance to read it. It seems Parker gave it to Noland years ago and told him to hold onto it and not to release it until his death.”

“I guess the sight of that pin literally scared the old guy to death.”

When Jerry put another call through, Jake punched the speaker phone. “Mitchell here.”

“Detective Mitchell?” The voice had a foreign accent, Asian, Jake guessed.

“Mr. Lincoln. I understand you came by earlier.”

“I don’t trust the phone, Detective.”

Frank looked up from the report he was signing. “Trust me, they are fine.”

“No. Nothing is fine, Detective. And I really don’t want to come back to your office. Not if he’s going to be there.”

“He, who?”

“Please, I need to meet you away from the office.”

“All right.” Jake checked his watch. It was almost eight-thirty. “You aren’t familiar with the city so why don’t you tell us where you are staying and we’ll meet you there.”

“I don’t want to give my location over the phone.”

Paranoid, Frank mouthed at Jake as he shook his head.

“You leave now. I saw your picture in the paper. I know what you look like. I will follow you.”

“What do you make of that?” Jake asked after he hung up.

“Someone who is scared for his life.”

“How are we going to get Parker Smith’s daughter to let us have a peek at that letter he wrote?” Frank asked, sliding into a wide booth in the back of Izzy’s, a restaurant/bar known for its jumbo-sized burgers, fried chicken, and bottomless pitchers of beer.

“She’ll give it up once Carl exercises his authority.”

Gloria Estefan was warning that The Rhythm is Gonna Get You over the jukebox, while a bar filled with men in baseball jerseys tried to talk over the game on the television set. The eating area and bar were separated by a plaque-filled wall.

The bar should be safe enough for Lincoln Thomas, they figured. Everyone in it was a cop, including Rover, the hog-jowled owner/bartender, who had retired from the force three years before.

Two minutes later, a well-dressed Asian man of average height, walked through the front door. Jake slid out of the booth and stood up so Lincoln would see him in the back room.

He saw Jake immediately, walked over and slid into the booth across from the two men. Jake introduced himself and Frank. A waitress came over to take their orders.

“Have you eaten?” Frank asked Lincoln.

“I’m fine. Just hot tea for me.”

The two detectives ordered beer.

“You have a good memory,” Jake said, referring to Lincoln’s ability to pick Jake out of a crowd after seeing his picture.

“Yes, I believe I do.”

The back door opened and a young couple walked down the short aisle into the restaurant. Lincoln gave them a quick glance.

“Is it true what the papers say? Have you closed the Hap Wilson case?”

Karen, their waitress, set the tray on the table and distributed the drinks. “Anything to eat?”

Jake and Frank ordered burgers with the works. Clamping the empty tray under her arm, Karen hustled off to the kitchen.

“That’s the department’s official stand,” Jake replied, “but not ours.”

“And Sergeant Casey? I thought she would be here.”

“We tried reaching her but she wasn’t home and she hasn’t responded to her beeper,” Jake explained.

Reaching into his pocket, Frank said, “Let me try again.” After a few minutes, Frank reported, “Still no answer at home and her beeper isn’t on.”

Lincoln quickly checked the faces of the patrons at the tables and booths around them.

“You’re safe here,” Jake assured him. “All cops.”