Debra Webb - Identity Unknown

As if Windy sensed his mental retreat, she took the reins. “Ms. Williams, this is what we do at the Colby Agency, and we’re very, very good at what we do. We will find the truth and take whatever steps are necessary to resolve your dilemma. You’re in good hands.”

On cue, Patrick felt a tremor.

Maybe he wasn’t as ready for a field assignment as he’d thought.

This wasn’t a mere compilation of facts and data to be passed along to an investigator for follow through. This involved dealing directly with the people of interest in the case.

This was the real thing.

Chapter Three

2422 Johnson Lane Chicago Suburb

“Here’s how we’re going to play this.” The first part of the job would be no hardship for Patrick. He knew how to read people. “We approach—”

“Wait.” Sande looked from him to the house across the street and back. “I’m not sure about this. What if I do or say the wrong thing?”

Fifteen minutes ago she had been fully prepared to participate in this phase of the investigation. No hesitation. The plan was simple. They would approach the residence listed on her driver’s license and see if she recognized the place or anyone residing there. At the same time, he would be analyzing any occupants for recognition of his client. In and out in a matter of minutes. No big deal.

“Windy checked out the lady living here,” he offered again, in hopes of calming Sande’s fear. “She’s a CPA. Single. And she has no criminal record, not even a parking ticket. She’s lived here for three years. There’s nothing to be worried about.”

Sande cast another furtive glance at the house. “But what if she somehow knows the people who did this to me? What if she’s involved?”

Her teeth tortured her bottom lip. He’d noticed she did that when she was nervous or uncertain. The need to protect stirred in him. Not unusual in this situation. She was vulnerable, he was not. Basic human compassion dictated that primal response. He’d tried to ignore going down that path for a few years now. But compassion was a necessary element of his interaction with the client. There was no discounting it now.

Patrick gazed at the ranch-style brick home across the street from where he’d parked along the curb. “Determining whether or not the lady of the house is involved is part of what we’ll hopefully learn on this visit. Remember, we have the element of surprise on our side. She has no idea we’re coming. She won’t be prepared to cause trouble or set any sort of trap.”

He wasn’t sure he’d convinced Sande, but she hadn’t flat out refused to go inside as of yet. He wondered if she would be more willing if a woman had been here. His associate was running Sande’s fingerprints and doing additional research on the hospital where she had awakened on that gurney.

Patrick didn’t need Windy for this step. He could handle an interview without his associate’s guidance. This was his specialty. All he needed was the client’s cooperation.

“Okay.” Sande took a deep breath. “Let’s do it.”

He breathed a little easier with that decision out of the way.

They crossed the street side by side. His client’s trepidation was palpable despite her determination to go through with this step. They had been watching the house for more than half an hour when the owner had come home. Since the woman had parked in the garage before emerging from her car, neither he nor Sande had been able to get a good look at her.

According to Windy’s research, the owner was Nancy Childers. Other than her occupation, the fact that she had no criminal record and that she had moved to Chicago from Detroit, they knew nothing else. She appeared to be a loner and had no listed next of kin.

The instant Patrick and Sande reached the front door of the house, she turned to him, her eyes wide with worry again. “I don’t say anything, right?”

“Exactly.” They’d been over this already. “Study the woman. The house. If you’ve been here before you may experience déjà vu or some emotional tug.”

Sande took another of those deep, bolstering breaths as she nodded.

“Try to stay relaxed and just feel .”

“I can do that.”

Her voice sounded strong despite the uncertainty in her eyes. Patrick rapped on the door and waited. A second knock was required before it opened.

A female matching Nancy Childers’s physical description looked expectantly from Patrick to Sande. “Can I help you?”

“Ms. Childers?”

The expected suspicion flashed in the woman’s eyes. “Yes.”

“My name is Patrick O’Brien, and this is my colleague, Sande Williams. We’re canvassing the area regarding a problem with burglaries. Do you have five minutes to discuss the recent rash of incidents in your neighborhood?”

When looking for a cover story, he’d read about the outbreak of robberies in the area. Any criminal activity in the community was likely to prompt immediate cooperation from residents. And if Ms. Childers reacted as expected, she would automatically assume he represented the local authorities in one capacity or another.

Nancy Childers hesitated only half a second. “Sure.” The suspicion vanished and she managed a polite smile. “Come in.” The door opened wider in invitation as she stepped back, allowing them entrance.

“We can talk in the living room.” She led the way.

When they were seated, Patrick explained briefly what he’d learned about the rash of robberies before asking, “Have you considered that someone in your neighborhood might be the perpetrator?”

Nancy frowned. “No.” She shook her head. “I discussed the problem with one of my neighbors just yesterday and we’re shocked. This isn’t the norm for this area. I guess I’m lucky my home wasn’t hit, since I’m rarely here.”

“So you haven’t noticed any suspicious activities? No strange automobiles or people loitering about?”

“No. Not at all.”

“May I use your restroom?” Sande interjected.

No one was more surprised by the question than Patrick. He glanced from Sande, who’d asked, to their host.

Nancy’s brow creased with another frown, this one laced with renewed suspicion. “Sure.” She hesitated a second or two, then waved her hand in the direction of the hall. “Second door on the right.”

When Sande had left the room, Patrick drew the woman’s attention back to the conversation. “Are any of the residents in the neighborhood new arrivals? Or is there anyone who perhaps keeps a particularly low profile? You’d be surprised how important small, seemingly insignificant details like that can be to an investigation.”

Nancy pondered his question. “It’s difficult for me to say, since I travel so frequently. In fact, I only just returned from several weeks in Dallas.”

“Your work keeps you away for extended periods?” She’d mentioned that, but he wanted details.

“Most of the time.” She shifted to a more relaxed position, but the tightening of her jaw gave away her continued uneasiness. “I help analyze and organize accounting departments for major corporations.”

So far he’d learned nothing he didn’t already know. Once he and Sande were gone, the woman’s actions would tell the rest of the story—if there was anything else to tell.

Noting Sande’s approach from the hall, Patrick stood. “We certainly appreciate your cooperation, Ms. Childers. If you think of anything at all out of the ordinary that you might have forgotten to mention, please give me a call.” He provided her with a card that included his name and cell-phone number. “One of us will be in touch if we think of any additional questions.”

Sande resumed her position at his side, her expression as neutral as it had been when they first entered the house. She shook Nancy’s hand and thanked her for her cooperation. Patrick studied the interaction between the two women. Nothing. Not a flicker of recognition.