Becoming Quinn (16 page)

The sergeant looked over. “Yes?”

“Sergeant Stroop, did you personally talk to Berit?”

“That’s department business, and you are no longer a member of this department.”

He could see the answer in her eyes, though. She hadn’t talked directly to Berit. He was willing to bet no one had.

The sergeant’s face softened a bit. “You’re young, Jake. You’ll find something else.”

She left.

Myers, who had been waiting behind her, stopped in the doorway. “I trust there won’t be an appeal.”

“No,” Jake said, knowing there was no future for him in the Phoenix PD even if he should somehow win.

“I thought not.”

22

Jake did everything he could to find Berit. He tracked down what friends she had, and learned in the process that he was probably the one who knew her best. As for family, what he’d been trying to say at the meeting was that she had none, not close anyway. She was an only child whose parents had died in a private plane crash somewhere back east. There might have been aunts or uncles or cousins, but Berit had never talked about them.

She had been from Atlanta, a big city where the name Davies wasn’t exactly unusual. When he checked an Atlanta phone book at the Phoenix public library, he’d found over forty listings. Dutifully, he had called them all, but none of those who answered had ever heard of Berit.

For two days he staked out her townhouse, finally breaking in through the back patio door when he began to worry that she might be inside and hurt. He’d been smart enough to use gloves, but the instructions he’d found on the Internet on how to pick a lock had not accurately described how hard it was. It took him nearly thirty minutes to get the door open, and when he was through, he’d made enough scratches on the locks to leave no doubt what he’d done.

What he found inside confused him even more. Though her place was nearly as neat as it always was, it was evident that some things were missing. Clothes and toiletries, mainly—things someone would take if they had to leave in a hurry. There were even indentations on the bedspread that could have been created by a suitcase or a bag.

Had she really left? Had Sergeant Stroop been right?

As much as Jake had thought not, he couldn’t refute what his eyes were seeing.
Someone
had been here, and taken the things Berit would have taken with her. Even her running gear was gone.

But if he was wrong, then why was her phone under a car at the impound yard? That aside, why hadn’t she tried to get a hold of him at some point? She knew he was on thin ice. She would have wanted to know what happened, at the very least.

For the next several days he kept searching and calling people, but nothing brought him any closer to knowing where she was. Even the few contacts on the force who would still talk to him knew nothing more than that she was on extended leave.

By the second week he’d run out of leads, and was left with visiting the places he knew she liked to go. By the start of the third week, he stopped doing even that, and began to accept that she had indeed left town. Why, he couldn’t even begin to imagine, but apparently, given her lack of communication, it wasn’t his business. She was probably distancing herself from his problems, and there was no way he could blame her for that.

For the first time since he’d been fired, he started to think about what he was going to do now about
his
life. He’d been away from his home in northern Minnesota for five years now, and while Phoenix had been the place he’d spent the most time, it was no longer home. In fact, it probably never had been.

He needed a fresh start. A new place. New people.

California
, he thought. He’d always wanted to live on the coast.

He called his landlord and gave his thirty-day notice. As for where in California he’d end up and what he would do when he got there, he could figure that out later. For now, it was just good to know he was moving on.

But then the next day his phone rang, changing his plans.

“Am I speaking with Jake Oliver?” a male voice asked. In Jake’s estimation the man was probably middle-aged, and sounded like he was used to being in control.

“Who’s this?” Jake asked.

“Robert Usher,” the man said. “Are you Jake?”

“Yeah. Why?” Jake had a sinking suspicion this was some sort of sales call. He poised his thumb above the disconnect button, ready to hang up.

“I got your number from one of the officers at your old job.”

Unconsciously, Jake moved his thumb away from the phone. “Who?”

“Officer Haywood.”

His former partner? They hadn’t exchanged a word since Jake’s suspension.

“What is it you want, Mr. Usher?”

“I have a potential job opportunity for you. That is, if you’re looking for work.”

Usher’s words surprised him. “What kind of job?”

“I’m recruiting investigators for my firm, Usher International.”

Jake was taken aback. “I’m…not an investigator.”

“Don’t undersell yourself, Mr. Oliver. I’ve heard that you have an aptitude for it. Your position would, of course, be as a junior investigator to start, but I’m getting ahead of things. First we’d like you to come out and interview. Are you interested?”

“Come where?”

“Houston, Texas.”

Jake looked out the window, staring at a nothing. An investigator job? Sure, it was with a private firm, but did that matter? He knew he could do the job well. So, hell yes, he was interested. Texas was fine, too. It fit right in with his criteria of being out of the cold zone he’d grown up in.

“Mr. Oliver? Are you still there?”

“Sorry,” Jake said. “Still here.”

“So, can we set up an interview? Or…”

“Yes. I would love that. I’m definitely interested.”

“Fantastic. I know this is kind of short notice, but would you be available tomorrow? We’d fly you out, of course.”

Tomorrow was quick, but it wasn’t like he was doing anything. “Sure. I can do that.”

“Great. My secretary will call you with details in a little while. Until then, have a great day, and I look forward to meeting you in person.”

“Yeah. I look forward to meeting you, too.”

•    •    •

“Yes. I would love that,” Oliver said. “I’m definitely interested.”

Durrie pulled the headphones off and set them on the table. He didn’t need to hear any more. The plan was on. The rest of the details he already knew.

The truth was, he was pissed. Taking the kid out was a borderline call at best. Yes, his continued pursuit of the woman had been an issue, but as Durrie had predicted
and
pointed out, Oliver had started to lose interest when the trail of information dried up. The only question was whether his interest would return in the future.

Durrie had argued that, with the right encouragement, Oliver would put it behind him and not look back. What he kept to himself was that he felt Jake Oliver’s death would be as much a crime as the woman’s had been. The kid had raw skills and instincts that were better than a lot of operatives who’d been in the business for years. Besides picking out Larson and Timmons from the crowd at the hotel, the stuff the cop had noticed at the Goodman Ranch Road site, the connections he’d made, the path he had followed—the
true
path—had all been brilliant. Then finding the phone at the impound yard?

Durrie had nearly thrown a fit over that. How could Larson not have remembered that the woman had dropped her phone? The job had been riddled with screwup after screwup, every single one traceable back to Larson.

And every single one uncovered by the kid.

That morning when they saw that Oliver had the phone, Larson had wanted to kill him at the first opportunity. Durrie had to practically tie the assassin down to keep that from happening. The thing that really saved Oliver’s life was the fact that having two missing rookie police officers from the same substation at the same time would create a much larger problem. Questions would be asked, and where the answers led could be dangerous for some very important people. Durrie had been forced to make the same argument day after day until finally Peter took Larson off the assignment.

The decision to finally remove Oliver had been Peter’s alone.

“We just can’t take the chance,” Peter had said. “He’s resourceful. I don’t buy that just because he’s stopped looking into things now means he’s giving up forever. One month from now, one year, ten—it could still be a problem.”

Durrie knew he was right, but the waste, the goddamn waste!

The plan was straightforward. Now that some time had passed, they would lure Oliver out of town to a place where no one knew him, and finish things there. Durrie was to stay in Phoenix and empty out both Oliver’s and Davies’s places, then make sure little things like shutting off utilities were taken care of so that the two cops’ “moving out of state” would look legitimate.

No, Durrie didn’t like it at all, but it was the job. It was what he was paid to do.

•    •    •

That afternoon Jake made a few calls, checking to be sure Usher International was someplace worth working. According to the people he talked to in Houston, Usher was a well-respected agency, headquartered there, but with offices around the world. Not long after he found this out, Mr. Usher’s secretary called with his flight information, and told him the ticket would be waiting for him at the counter. A car would then pick him up at the airport in Houston, and bring him straight to the offices. Did he have a favorite beverage they could have on hand for the meeting? A preference for dinner in case things went long? He told her he was flexible.

After hanging up, he actually felt a bit of hope for the first time in a while, a feeling that things were going to be okay.

He packed an overnight bag in case he would be there longer than a day, then treated himself to a meal out.

23

Durrie hadn’t slept well.

There were times when he could be a good little soldier, blindly doing whatever he was told. And there were times when he could perform his duties while well aware of the ludicrous nature of the assignment. But never in his nearly two decades in the business had he contemplated what he was contemplating now.

It wasn’t an altruistic move born out of a sense of decency or kindness. Those were not qualities Durrie would use to describe himself. It was opportunity and waste—losing the former by committing the latter—that was making him think this way.

He knew better than to share his thoughts on the matter with anyone, so he had spent a rough night tangling with them himself. When he gave up and pulled himself out of bed at 5 a.m., he had two plans in his mind. One, the plan he was expected to carry out, and the other, the plan he thought he should.

The only question he had was, which one would it be?

•    •    •

Jake’s flight was scheduled to leave at 11 a.m. It would take only a couple of hours to get to Houston, but with the time zone change he wouldn’t arrive until just after 2 p.m. His meeting with Mr. Usher was scheduled for 3 p.m., which seemed tight, but since they were the ones who’d made the arrangements and were picking him up, Jake wasn’t going to worry about it.

He was up early enough to go for a run. It was nice to feel the road beneath his feet. He hadn’t done any real exercise since he’d been let go from the force. He’d been too wrapped up in first trying to find Berit, and then trying to figure out what he was going to do with his life. But now the warm air and the sweat were revitalizing.

Back home, he showered, made himself some instant oatmeal, then spent thirty minutes trying to decide which tie to wear with his only suit. Finally ready, he headed out to his car.

•    •    •

Durrie spent the time between 5:30 and 8:00 a.m. preparing. Whichever plan he would ultimately go with, there were things that needed to be done first for each. It was a busy two and a half hours, but he needed to be in front of Oliver’s apartment building before the kid left for the airport, so he had to make the most of his time.

Once he was in position a block from where Oliver lived, he placed the portable receiver on the dash, and turned it on. It was quiet in Oliver’s car—no engine noise, no sound of breathing.

Durrie settled in his seat.

At 8:25, the dead air on the receiver was replaced by the sound of a car door opening. Less than thirty seconds later, the engine started.

•    •    •

The airport was only a fifteen-minute drive away. Jake would easily be there before the recommended one hour prior to departure for domestic flights. He glanced at his overnight bag sitting in the front passenger seat, and went through a quick mental checklist of everything inside to be sure he didn’t forget anything. Satisfied, he pulled out of his space in the parking garage, and headed for the exit.

Outside, the day had grown considerably warmer than it had been when he’d gone on his run. He cranked up the A/C a few notches, and switched on the radio.

It’s going to be a good day
, he told himself.
A new beginning.

The idea of that was really starting to appeal to him.

•    •    •

The former cop didn’t seem to be in any kind of hurry, then again, the airport wasn’t that far away. Durrie followed just a couple of cars behind, his mind still going back and forth. He knew if he waited too long, the decision would be made for him, and Jake Oliver would be flying toward his death in Houston.

Durrie wasn’t going to let it come to that. Whatever was going to happen, it would be what he decided was best. To do otherwise would be to take the easy way out, and he hated people who took the easy way. If more people would just take responsibility and make a damn decision, the world might not be as screwed up.

By the time Oliver pulled into the airport parking lot just off Van Buren Street, Durrie knew which plan he was going to carry out.

He turned in after Oliver, the tension of having to make a decision finally gone.