Sandra Brown - Smoke Screen

He paused for a moment, released another sigh. “When the officers arrived, Dad was lying in the alley. He’d been shot in the stomach. He was in shock. He bled out before the ambulance could get there.” He looked at Raley, at Britt, then back at Raley. “That was it.”

“The crime remains unsolved, correct?” Raley asked.

“There weren’t many leads,” Pat Jr. said. “No weapon, no eyewitnesses, nothing really to go on.”

“His killer has gone unpunished. That must be frustrating.”

Britt’s observation caused Pat Jr. to lower his head. “You have no idea.”

After a short silence, Raley asked, “Who investigated the homicide?”

Pat Jr. raised his head and looked at him. “Well, several detectives. The whole department was gung ho to catch the killer, or killers. You know how it is when a cop is killed,” he added, glancing at Britt, a none too subtle reference to the murder of Jay Burgess.

Raley said, “Was Jay on the case? George McGowan?”

“Along with others.” At the mention of their names, he became visibly more nervous. “Why do you ask?”

“Their names, along with Cobb Fordyce’s, are always linked to your dad’s because of their heroism the day of the fire.”

“Did your father ever talk about that?” Britt asked.

“The fire? No,” he said, answering hastily. “Not really. Not often.”

“Why not?”

“He hated all that hero b.s.”

“Why?”

“What Dad did that day, he saw as his duty. Nothing else.”

Raley said, “That fire was a defining moment in his career, in his life, and he didn’t talk about it?”

“No.”

“Not even privately? Not even to you and your mom?”

Pat Jr. glanced in Britt’s direction before answering. “The news media wouldn’t leave it alone. Dad didn’t like all the publicity. He didn’t want a big to-do made over it.”

“Jay and the others made a big to-do over it,” Raley said.

“Dad didn’t want to capitalize off a tragedy.”

“Did that affect his friendship with the other three who did?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Raley paused for several beats, then asked, “When did you last see Jay Burgess?”

“To talk to? At Dad’s funeral.”

“Not since then?” Raley asked in surprise. “That’s a long time, Pat.”

“Well, I saw him occasionally at headquarters,” he said. “But not…not socially or anything. Why’s that important?”

“Because hours before Jay was smothered, he told Ms. Shelley that he had a story to tell that would boost her ratings, probably get her on a network. She was drugged and Jay was killed before he could give her that exclusive. Do you know what that story might have been?”

Pat Jr. came to his feet jerkily, like a puppet whose master was uncoordinated. “I have no idea. Like I said, I hadn’t had a private conversation with Jay in years.” Then he turned to Britt and pointed a shaking finger at her. “I’m placing you under arrest.”

“Not today.” Raley stood up. Britt, taking her cue from him, did likewise. Raley walked toward Pat Jr., essentially trapping him against the chair in which he’d been sitting. “What do you know about the night Jay died?”

“Nothing.”

Raley gave him a hard look. Pat Jr. squirmed like an insect about to be pinned to a corkboard. “Nothing except that she killed him,” he stammered. “I don’t work homicide, but I’ve heard word around the department. Everybody has. It’s a big case. Clark, Javier, they’ve got solid evidence that proves she killed him.”

“Wrong,” Raley said. “Either you’re lying now or the detectives are feeding bullshit to the grapevine. They don’t have any such evidence, because there is none. She didn’t do it. And when you see Clark and Javier, you tell them I said so.” For emphasis, he poked the policeman in the chest.

“Now Ms. Shelley and I are walking out of here, Pat.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“We’re leaving and you’re not going to do anything to try and stop us.” Raley held him with a warning stare, then motioned Britt toward the door. He went out after her. As expected, Pat Jr. did nothing to impede or halt them.

Raley kept their pace calm and easy, but when they rounded the corner of the house, he dropped the pretense. Taking Britt’s elbow, he hustled her toward the parked car, scanning the peaceful neighborhood street for signs of the men in the maroon sedan and listening for the wail of police car sirens.

Pat Jr. wasted no time. Using his cell phone, he punched in a number committed to memory. It wasn’t 911, and it wasn’t the number of the police department.

He was hoping he’d get voice mail and not have to talk directly to the person on the other end, but it was answered on the third ring. “It’s Pat Junior.”

“What?”

“Guess who paid a surprise visit to my house.”

“I don’t want to guess, I want to know.”

“Britt Shelley.”

A moment of stunned silence, then, “You don’t say. That is a surprise.”

“She was bold as brass.”

“What did she want with you?”

“To ask what I knew about a big story Jay wanted to tell her before he was killed.”

“Fuck!”

Pat Jr. wiped his sweaty palm on the leg of his trousers. “It gets worse. Guess who was with her.”

“Raley Gannon.”

Well, he thought with relief, at least he hadn’t had to be the bearer of that bad news.

“What did you tell them about Jay?”

“Nothing! Nothing, I swear. I tried to arrest her, but couldn’t get to my service weapon. Gannon, uh, overpowered me, wrestled me to the floor, stunned me. While I was down they ran.”

“In the gray sedan?”

“Yes, same car he was driving yesterday at the funeral.”

“License plate number?”

“I…I thought you had it.”

“He’s no fool. He would have switched.”

Pat hadn’t thought of that. “B-by the time I got to the window, they were too far away, and it had mud-”

“Did you get it or not?”

“Not.”

Another expletive was hissed in his ear. “Did they say where they were going?”

“No.”

“Give you any hints?”

“No.”

“Did you think to ask?”

He hadn’t. Why hadn’t he? “They wouldn’t have told me.”

“Why didn’t you notify me while they were there?”

“I couldn’t. Gannon had a pistol.”

“He threatened you at gunpoint?”

To tell the truth, no. The pistol had remained securely tucked in Gannon’s waistband. “It was an implied threat. He made sure I saw it.” Which wasn’t exactly true, either, but it made his situation sound more life threatening than it had actually been.

“What will you do now, Pat? Call your fellow officers and tell them the fugitive they seek was in your house?”

The question was a ploy. Actually, he was being instructed not to do any such thing. “Gannon threatened my family with harm if I told anybody.”

“You must protect your family.” That was said with a trace of amusement. “If you see Gannon or Britt Shelley again-”

“I’ll let you know immediately.”

“Do, Pat. Because this big story of Jay’s could ruin all of us. Including you.”

On that ominous note the call ended.

RALEY SWITCHED LICENSE PLATES WITH A JUNGLE-READY JEEP with an aggressive-looking brush guard.

“You’re getting good at this,” Britt remarked as he rejoined her in their gray sedan.

“Not that good. I should trade this in for another car, but I’m afraid they’ve laid groundwork for that.”

“Butch and his sidekick?”

“Hmm. All they’d have to do is work their way down the dealerships listed in the yellow pages. As soon as we drove a car off a lot, the bribed salesman would be on the phone with the news flash. We don’t have time to track down individuals with cars for sale. Not to mention the expense of buying another car.”