Блейк Пирс - If She Knew

Just when she thought the call was not going to be answered, she was greeted with a familiar voice. For a moment, Kate felt as if she had never left work at all.

“Agent Wise,” Clarence said. “How the hell are you?”

“Good,” she said. “You?”

“Same as always. I have to admit, though…I thought I was done with seeing your name pop up on my phone.”

“Yeah, about that,” Kate said. “I hate to come to you with something like this after more than a year of silence, but I have a friend who just lost her daughter. I gave her my word that I would look into the investigation.”

“So what do you want from me?” Clarence asked.

“Well, the main suspect was the daughter’s ex-boyfriend. It seems that he was arrested and then let go in about three hours. Naturally, the parents are wondering why.”

“Oh,” Clarence said. “Look…Wise, I can’t really divulge that to you. And with all due respect, you should already know that.”

“I’m not trying to interfere in the case,” Kate said. “I was just wondering why no real reason has been given to the parents for letting the only suspect go. She’s a grieving mom looking for answers and—”

“Again, let me stop you there,” Clarence said. “As you well know, I deal with grieving moms and fathers and widows pretty regularly. Just because you happen to know one personally right now doesn’t mean I can break protocol or look the other way.”

“As closely as you’ve worked with me, you know I mean only the best.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do. But the last thing I need is a retired FBI agent poking around in a current case, no matter how hands-off it may seem. You have to understand that, right?”

The hell of it was that she did understand it. Still, she had to try one last time. “I’d consider it a personal favor.”

“I’m sure you would,” Clarence said, a bit condescending. “But the answer is no, Agent Wise. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m about to head into court to speak to one of those grieving widows I just told you about. Sorry I couldn’t help you.”

He ended the call without a goodbye, leaving Kate to stare at that slowly shifting square of sunlight on the hardwood floor. She considered her next move, noting that Deputy Commissioner Greene had just revealed that he was about to head into court. She supposed the smart move would be to take his refusal to help her as a defeat. But his unwillingness to help only made her desire to keep digging that much stronger.

I was always told I had a stubborn streak as an agent, she thought as she stood up from her desk. It’s good to see that some things haven’t changed.

Half an hour later, Kate was parking her car in a parking garage adjacent to the Third Precinct Police Station. Based on where the murder of Julie Meade—married name Julie Hicks—had occurred, Kate knew it would be the best resource for information. The only problem was that aside from Deputy Commissioner Greene, she didn’t really know anyone else within the department, much less the Third Precinct.

She entered the office with confidence. She knew there were certain things about her current situation that an observant officer would notice. First of all, she did not have her sidearm. She did have a concealed carry permit but given what she was up to, she figured it might cause more problems than it was worth if she was caught being even the slightest bit dishonest.

And dishonesty was really something she could not afford. Retired or not, her reputation was on the line—a reputation she had built with great care for over thirty years. She was going to have to walk a fine line in the next minutes, something she welcomed. She hadn’t been this anxious in the entire year she had spent retired.

She approached the information desk, a brightly lit area separated from the central room by a pane of glass. A woman in uniform sat at the desk, stamping something in a ledger as Kate approached. She looked up at Kate with a face that looked as if a smile had not graced it in days.

“What can I do for you?” the receptionist asked.

“I’m a retired agent with the FBI, looking for some information about a recent murder. I was hoping to get the names of the officers in charge of the case.”

“You got an ID?” the woman asked.

Kate got out her driver’s license and slid it through the opening in the glass partition. The woman looked at it for a grand total of one second and then slid it right back. “I’m going to need your bureau ID.”

“Well, like I said, I’m retired.”

“And who sent you? I’ll need their name and contact information and then they have to fill out a request to get you the information.”

“I was really hoping to step over all of the legalities.”

“I can’t help you, then,” the woman said.

Kate wondered how far she could push it. If she went too hard, someone would surely notify Clarence Greene and that could be bad. She racked her brain, trying to think of another course of action. She could only come up with one and it was much riskier than what she was currently attempting.

With a sigh, Kate gave a curt, “Well, thanks anyway.”

She turned on her heel and walked back out of the office. She was a little embarrassed. What the hell had she been thinking? Even if she did still have her bureau ID, it would be unlawful for the Richmond PD to give her any information without approval from a supervisor in DC.

It was beyond humbling to walk back out to her car with such an absolute feeling—the feeling of being a basic civilian.

But a civilian who hates to take no for an answer .

She took out her phone and placed a call to Deb Meade. When Deb answered, she still sounded tired and far away.

“Sorry to bother you, Deb,” she said. “But do you have a name and address for the ex-boyfriend?”

As it turned out, Deb had both.

While Kate did not have her old bureau ID, she did still have the last badge she had ever owned. It was propped up on the mantel over her fireplace like some relic from another time, no better than a faded photograph. When she left the Third Precinct station, she headed back home and scooped it up. She thought long and hard about also taking her sidearm. She looked longingly toward the M1911 but left it where it was in her bedside drawer. Taking it with her for what she had planned would be asking for trouble.

She did decide to take the handcuffs she kept in a shoebox under the bed with a few other treasures from her career.

Just in case.

She left her house and headed for the address Deb had given her. It was a place in Shockoe Bottom, a twenty-minute drive from her home. She was not nervous as she made the drive but she did feel a sense of excitement. She knew she should not be doing this, but at the same time, it felt good to be out and on the hunt again—even if it was in secret.

Just as she reached the address of Julie Hicks’s former boyfriend, a guy named Brian Neilbolt, Kate thought about her husband. He popped up in her head from time to time but sometimes he seemed to pop up and sort of settle in for a while. That happened as she turned onto the destination street. He could see him shaking his head in frustration.

Kate, you know you shouldn’t be doing this, he seemed to say.

She grinned thinly. She missed her husband fiercely sometimes, a fitting contrast to the fact that she sometimes felt she had managed to move on from his death rather quickly.

She shook the cobwebs of those memories away as she parked her car in front of the address Deb had given her. It was a rather nice house, split into two different apartments with porches separating the properties. When she got out of the car she could tell right away that someone was home because she could hear someone speaking very loudly inside.