Finder's Fee (12 page)

“I prefer to think that I finessed my way in.”

“Nonetheless, you used guile.” He shook his head then smiled. “That's what I like about you.”

“Well, it didn't do me any good. The only person we spoke to was Find's stepson, Marlin Find. He's the senior VP or something like that. Once he learned we weren't there to interview him, he started to show us the door. To make him feel a little better, we taped a few minutes of him telling us how well the emergency policies he instituted had worked. I'm just guessing here, but I don't think they have an emergency policy. I asked the receptionist on the way out and she said she never heard of one.”

“So the guy's a blowhard.” Dwayne Hastings looked a year older than when she saw him this morning. Once an eager newsman, he had grown weary of the game and could no longer keep his disdain a secret.

“Yeah. You know the type. My point is, something odd is going on over there, but I don't know what.”

“What evidence do you have?”

“Find's assistant …” She paused as she tried to recall the name. “Terri Finn … no Penn — Terri Penn. The woman looked ready to crawl out of her skin. And the phone blowing up — ”

“You said it didn't really blow up.”

“True. It just sort of fractured. I saw it before having to do a soft shoe with Find's stepson.”

Dwayne rubbed his chin. “I don't know, Karen. That's not much. We certainly can't run anything other than the false alarm angle.”

“There's more. Just as we were leaving, the county crime scene department shows up. I recognized one of the techs
from the High Tech detail. I did a piece on them about six months back.”

“I remember. It was my idea.”

Karen smiled. “Of course it was. All the good ideas are yours.”

“That's my girl. What do you glean from the fact that someone from the High Tech detail came to the scene?”

“You don't send someone like that out without cause. I think there's something more going on with the phone and with Judith Find.”

“Do you think she was hurt by the trick phone?”

Karen leaned back. “Maybe. They could have snuck her out or something.”

“Did you — ”

“Call the hospitals? I did that while Cindy drove us back. No good.”

“What you're telling me is that you're running on gut instinct.”

“For now.”

“Okay, stay on it. This station could stand to scoop the competition for a change. Just don't get so involved I can't use you for other things.”

“I assume you have identification?”

He looked at the cop and smiled. Of course he had identification. He had lots of it, much of it with various three-letter combinations from the government's alphabet soup. Those he kept hidden away. For today's activities, he produced an ID card issued by the State of California Bureau of Security and Investigative Ser vices showing his legal standing as a private investigator.

“Sam Pennington, P.I.” The cop, a kid who couldn't be over twenty-five and still looked like he was waiting for his first shave, studied the picture then compared it to the real thing.
Go ahead, ask for my driver's license.

Satisfied, the officer handed the ID back. “Tell me again.”

“Sure. I'm supposed to be tailing a wayward husband and snapping a few photos — I know, I know, it's lousy work and a long way from my detective days in Dallas.”

“You worked for the Dallas PD?”

“Yup. I started in Mesa, Arizona. I grew up near there, but had a chance to move to the big city. R and H for three years.”

“Robbery/Homicide? That's good work.”

“It was until I messed up my back taking a perp down. He didn't like the idea of going back to jail, something he should have thought of before he offed a convenience store clerk. He decided to run; I decided to pursue. He earned a lifetime bed in the pen and I earned a tweaked back and dislocated shoulder.”

“Ouch.”

“The shoulder healed fine but it took a couple of years of therapy and two surgeries before I could sit long enough to hold down a job.”

“So you lived on disability and later started a career as a P.I.”

“That's the story. It ain't glamorous, but it pays my Netflix bills.”

The cop chuckled. “Do I want to know what kind of movies you watch?”

“Probably not.” They shared a brief laugh.

Then the officer turned serious. It doesn't do to laugh at the site of a burning home. “Okay, I gotta get this straight for my report. You were tailing a cheating husband.”

“Waiting for him is more like it.” He leaned against the car and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. “Do you mind?”

“Actually, I do. I hate cigarette smoke.”

Pennington nodded. “Understood. I hate these things too but I can't seem to get the monkey off my back. They're not kidding when they call it an addiction.” He returned the pack to his coat and continued.

“Thanks.”

“Anyway, this is a new case for me. Pretty routine, really. A woman thinks her man is sleeping around and comes to me for proof one way or the other. She gave me this street as a place where the mistress might live. I get a description of the car and a picture of the man. Following is too risky, too easy to be noticed. So I came here to stake the place out.”

“Did he come by?”

“Nah. I think the wife is missing a cog or something, if you catch my drift.” The cop said he did. “So I'm sitting here waiting and watching when I see that car over there pull in front of the house … or what used to be the house.”

“Did you see who got out?”

“Absolutely. A man and a woman. Both go to the front door and someone lets them in. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes later, the guy comes, goes to the car, pops the trunk, and pulls out what looks like a computer bag. At least I thought it was a computer bag.”

“You think maybe there was a bomb in it?”

“I can't swear to that, Officer. I didn't get to see inside the thing.” He looked at the house. “Then something strange
happens. The man spies me and looks real worried, like he thinks I've been watching him, but instead of going back into the house, he walks over to me.”

“You're still in your car at the time?”

“Yup. Hadn't budged in over two hours. My back is telling me all about it.” For affect, he reached a hand behind him and rubbed the small of his back. “So, he comes over and leans in my open window.” Pennington decided not to mention that the man touched his car. The cops would want to fingerprint everything and that couldn't be good for him. “Now I'm spooked. I thought I was dealing with some kinda nutcase. He looks me over and eyeballs my photo case. I wonder if he's going to rob me but instead he asks about finding a decent restaurant. He wants to take his Aunt Edna or Ida or something out and could I tell him of a good place.”

“What'd you tell him?”

“I told him I didn't know of any places. I just wanted him out of my window. He had me trapped. I feel kinda stupid about that. I shoulda seen it coming.”

“Then he went back to the house?”

“Exactly. He crosses the street again, jogs up the stairs, and disappears inside. Ten minutes later, kaaboom! There's an explosion, the windows blow out of the house, and it starts burning.” He paused for effect. “Do you think they were still in there?”

“Don't know, Mr. Pennington. The fire department will have to figure that out. How can I reach you?”

Pennington made up a cell phone number. “There's one more thing: I recognized the woman.”

“You're kidding.”

Pennington shook his head. “I've been trying to think of her name since the explosion, and then it hit me.” Again he
paused for effect. “I've been seeing this girl and on nights we don't go out, I sit around her place and watch the tube. She likes all those home improvement shows, you know, the ones with all the interior designers?”

The officer said he knew.

“Well, because my girl likes to watch the shows, I have to watch the shows. Truth is, they're not that bad. Well, the woman I saw go in the house is the same woman I've seen on some of the commercials. Her name is Judy Find … no, that's not right.”

“Judith Find?”

“Yeah, that's it. I take it you've seen her.”

“I'm married to a woman who likes those same kinds of shows. Martha Stewart and Judith Find, the two biggies.”

“Except this Find lady is more into interior design and furnishings, things like that.”

“Are you certain it was her?”

“As sure as a man can be.”

The officer nodded, lost in thought. It wasn't every day that a nationally recognized figure is associated with a possible bombing.

The officer thanked Pennington, shook his hand as one cop to another, and excused himself. Pennington knew that a more senior officer would be over to talk to him and he'd have to run through the same story. He'd tell it the same way. Cops were morons.

Mostly he had told the truth. That was the best way to lie. The more truth in the mix, the easier the lie went down.

Firemen doused the flames in short order but most of the damage had been done. The shell of what had once been a home was all that remained. The fire had done its job. If only he had been able to set off the device before Ida Palek and her visitors had escaped.

More work remained to do.

He hated it when things didn't go according to plan.

I
da sat in the business jet's leather seat shaking and rocking like a metronome. When Judith first met the woman she noticed her red and swollen eyes — that condition had worsened. Awash with pity, Judith sat in the seat closest to the woman and wondered what to say. What opening lines could be used with a woman who two weeks ago lost a husband unexpectedly, then had a child kidnapped from her home, only to have two strangers come by and ask for answers she couldn't know, then hear the sound and see the smoke of an explosion that surely devastated her house.

Instead of words, Judith reached across the narrow aisle and laid her hand on the woman's arm. “Can I get you anything?”

Ida didn't respond. She rocked. She quaked. She stared straight ahead.

Looking forward, Judith watched as Luke spoke to the pilots. They nodded and he came back to where Judith and Ida sat. He hunkered down on one knee. “I think it's best if we get going soon. I'm not sure what happened at the house, but I know it means nothing good for us.”

“Couldn't it have just been an accident? A fluke?” Judith already knew the answer was no.

“We're alive,” Luke said looking at Ida. “That's what matters. Staying alive and finding Abel.”

“Why would someone do that?” Ida asked. The question came with childlike innocence.

“I don't have many answers, Ida.” Luke looked exhausted. He had saved them from serious injury, probably saved their lives, and it had taken its toll on him. After the explosion, Luke led them to the strip mall and made a call for a cab which brought them back to the Fresno Yosemite International Airport.

Ida gave no sign of hearing the words.

“Ida, look at me.” Luke touched her knee. “Ida, I need your attention.”

As though climbing out of a hypnotic trance, Ida turned her face to Luke. To Judith she looked like a porcelain doll with too many years of hard play on her.

“Ida, I know you don't know us, but we are your friends. What has happened is horrible. We can't bring back your house. We can't bring back your husband. What we can do — at least what we can try to do — is help find Abel. To do that, we will need your help. Do you understand?”

She nodded without conviction.

Luke continued. “We are alive. You must focus on that and on helping us locate Abel. Can you do that?”

“I don't know. I'm so confused.”

“We know you are,” Judith said. “You are not alone.”

Ida dissolved into tears.

Luke rose and stepped to the front of the plane motioning for Judith to follow.

“I'm going to get you some tissue. Would you like water or juice?”

Ida didn't respond. Judith moved forward to the small galley behind the cockpit.

He whispered. “What are we going to do with her? She's a wreck.”

“You'd be a wreck too if you endured all she has. Give her time; she has to let all that out before she can reason clearly.” She opened a small refrigerator and removed a bottle of water. She then picked up a couple of napkins. The galley didn't have the tissue she promised.

“I asked the pilots to take us to San Diego.”

“What? Why did you do that?”

“Remember the document. The only other physical location we have is Torrey Pines. That's in San Diego County.”

“As I recall, all we have is the name of the town and the fact that it was the boy's birthplace.”

“True, but I'm betting on your ability to use those sales and distribution records.”

Before the plane had landed in Fresno, Judith placed a call using the business jet's phone. The very act of making the call had frightened her. The scream from Terri still rang clear in her ears. She could never forgive herself if she caused her assistant pain, but she was the best one to get the job done.

At first she tried Terri's cell phone. Like all key personnel, the company provided her with the phone. Unhindered communication remained one of the key business principles for Find, Inc. It began with her husband and she continued the practice.

The moment she dialed the number she received an automated voice informing her that the party could not be reached. Judith felt no surprise. Her phone ser vice had been decommissioned; she assumed it might be true for every phone on the account. But Judith had an ace in the hole — Terri carried
more than one cell phone, a practice she began when her aging mother began to call during business hours to ask her daughter to pick up milk or the latest
TV Guide
. In her eighties, she could no longer comprehend that her daughter went to work and attended meetings with the president of the company. The second cell phone could be silenced, granting Terri the power of answering only when appropriate.