Full Disclosure (14 page)

She finished her drink. “Let me show you the vault.”

She set the combination and spun the door lock to ease back six inches of balanced steel door. The shelves were neatly arranged to push back and forth, and only one aisle could exist at any one time. Boxes were uniform and in three sizes—small, medium, and large. “Anything in a box sealed with red tape has already been documented and is ready to go to county. I've got just a portion of a shelf still to review.”

“Your personal box is safely set aside so I won't accidentally load it?”

“It is.”

“Do I need to close the vault between each trip?”

“I'll lock the front door and ask the dog to maintain vigil in the hall. It will do. Most of the valuable items in evidence were moved by Brink's last week.”

“That's the last one.” Paul slid the box into the moving van.

Ann pulled down the door and set the padlock. “All right, Kevin. Sign the paperwork, and it is now the county's evidence and files.”

She took the signed document and handed him the keys.

“Greg's going to drive,” Kevin told her, “and Bob and I will
escort just to make sure there's no road accident. Want me to call when it is settled into its new vault?”

“It's your problem now but, yes, give me a call.”

She watched the van pull out. “Thanks, Paul. I didn't think it would be done today.”

“My pleasure.” He held out the keys to her truck. “You've got a decent load of personal effects.”

“I'm a pack rat on occasion. I'm not planning to unload the truck today. I'll just park it in the garage.”

“An hour, it can be unloaded, and you'll be done. Invite me home, Ann.”

He was amused to see her mentally debate it with herself.

“I'm the first drive past Neva's. Follow me.”

Ann's crushed-rock driveway took three leisurely turns as it moved through an avenue of trees. Paul tried to imagine clearing snow in winter for this length of driveway. The house was set in an open patch of land, a two-story and classic country, with a new addition of a double-bay garage.

She opened the garage door and parked the truck outside near it. A car that from the radio antennas and lights was a police issue was in the far bay. He parked far enough to one side to not block either vehicle.

Her dog bounded out of her truck and disappeared around the house.

“The boxes with red tape can be stored in the garage. There should be room on the shelves with a little rearranging. The boxes with yellow tape go inside, first door on the left.”

The dog returned with a ball and considered Paul. “Throw it as far as you possibly can out in the field. He gets offended if you give him a little kid toss.”

Paul hefted the ball, considered the weight, and threw the ball from home plate into the deep outfield. The dog looked at the sailing ball, looked at him, and took off with a joyous bark.

Ann smiled. “You just made his day.” She passed him with the box of pictures and disappeared inside.

Paul turned on lights in the garage and began shifting boxes to make space for the new items. He saw Christmas decorations and several boxes marked Party Supplies. Paul started unloading the red-taped boxes.

When Paul was done, he started carrying the yellow-taped ones inside. The dog returned, maneuvered around him, and disappeared into the house. Ann came to help him, and between them they got the last of the boxes. Paul locked the truck and followed her inside.

The doorways were wide and the ceilings high. “The house doesn't look like what I expected.” Even the hallway was cheery, with soft-toned walls and rich cherrywood.

“I've had most of this level gutted and rebuilt,” Ann commented. “The upstairs is closed with rooms full of what would now be antiques. It looks very much as it did when my grandparents lived here. Come on through to the living room.”

It was the room he had seen on the video, with its couch and wingback chairs, and a large table serving as a desk with three monitors letting her do her work and research at the same time. There was an easel set up by the north windows.

“It's not an office, but I use it as such.”

“It's a comfortable room, Ann.”

The photos on her wall-long murder board were a jarring contrast to an otherwise peaceful setting. He walked across to study, understand, what she was working on. The timeline ran for more than two years. He stopped at the photo of an airline crash, looked at the next photos and saw the house fire, and smiled. “These are the O'Malley books.”

“I'm working on a background piece on Jennifer.”

“Really?”

“It's not going to be a book, or even a story with a spine; it's just my notes from when I was building the series. I'm doing the days when Jennifer and Tom met. Tom's going to
be at the gathering this fall, and I wanted to give him the piece as a gift.”

“I'd love to read it. They were a solid set of books.”

“Thanks.”

“What's it like, being asked to write a book about your friends? Does it make you nervous, wondering if you'll get it right?”

“It did at first, and then I realized the request was really a gift. When friends ask if I would write their story, what they are really doing is saying, I trust you, ask what you want to ask. For the months of working on a book, I could ask any question, ask about any event in their life, and they would spend hours giving me the inside history on what they were doing, thinking, and wishing might happen. It's intense, for both sides. It's why the stories ring so close to who the person is, even though I'm wrapping it all in fiction. The books turn out to be them at every level I can figure out how to capture in words.”

He stopped by the third book in the series on the timeline, Lisa and Quinn's story, looking at the photos on the board and her written notes. “When you chose the themes for the books—that Lisa's struggle would be about the resurrection and the case would be buried victims—were you choosing those because that was her question, her case, in real life, or because it gives you the best vehicle to present your friend?”

“Real life is busier and more complicated for both of them than what the novel presented. Lisa's a forensic pathologist in real life, and she's that in the book. She came to believe in God as an adult, and that happened because of conversations she had with Jennifer. Quinn is a U.S. Marshal. They married and now live on his ranch out West. How they fell in love is almost word for word what I heard from them as they reminisced. So it's real life. But the case itself was my creation, the topic of the resurrection my choice of where to focus. I try very hard to find the heart of the matter, the key thing that if you understand this about the two of them, you will know who they really are.
That's what people notice the most when they read the books. The fact it rings true to who they are.”

“I've had dinner with them,” Paul said, nodding, “and you really did get their story right. It was a good series.”

“That's what I hoped when I wrote the six books. We're a close group. I got the people right; I got the people to be real. So the series worked.”

“The group works because you're part of it. You're the eighth O'Malley. You might not be in the books by name, but it is your voice threading through all the stories.”

She looked thoughtful. “I hadn't thought about it that way,” she said, then smiled, “but yes, I am the eighth O'Malley. It's a lovely compliment.”

He lingered another minute studying the board, then turned back to her. “So this is what you do in your spare time.”

“I get bored watching TV.”

He laughed.

Her dog walked into the room carrying his dish, paced over, and dropped it on her foot. She affectionately shoved him back. “Black, that's just rude.” She scooped up the bowl. “Excuse me while I feed my family. He thinks it's possible to forget him.”

Paul and the dog trailed her into the kitchen, where she pulled open a pantry door and chose a can of dog food. She dumped two cups of dry food and the contents of the can into the dish and set it on the dog-bone-shaped mat by the patio door. The dog planted two massive paws on either side of the bowl to keep it from moving and ate so fast he practically inhaled it.

Paul leaned against the counter to watch him. “How old is he?”

“Six, probably,” she replied, watching the dog with obvious affection. “Someone left him at the gas station and drove off when he was about two. They no doubt knew from the size of the feet he wasn't done growing yet.”

She opened the refrigerator. “I've got Coke and Pepsi and one ice tea.”

“I'll take the tea.”

She handed it over and opened a Diet Coke for herself. “The dinner hour was a couple of hours ago. You must be very hungry.”

“I'd say you must be the same. Neva invited you to join us for dinner. Roast beef sandwiches, she said, and I remember pie being mentioned. I gave her a heads up once I saw what needed done, and suggested we'd be done about eight p.m. We've beaten that handily.”

“If I stop in, it will be a couple hours of conversation before I can escape. I've got a few things around here that have to be done tonight. And before you ask, I've got lunch plans for tomorrow already scheduled. I'll be free after about one o'clock.”

“Then I'll take some of your time after one o'clock. We'll take a walk and let the dog wander. I plan to head home around four and be back in Chicago at a decent time.”

Her phone rang. She walked over to pick it up. “This is Ann.” She found a pen and wrote a note on a yellow legal pad. “Yes. I'm on my way.” She hung up the phone and stuffed the note in her pocket. “Somebody just drove himself into Larry Jenkins's pond. Not a heart attack, as the guy is floundering around in the water yelling at the cows. Probably a tourist and drunk since only those who don't know the road miss that curve in such a spectacular fashion.” She found her keys. “I need to go.”

“Last days as sheriff.”

“If it is a DUI, I'm dumping him off on county—it's their road.” The dog was now licking his empty bowl and pushing it around the kitchen floor. “Black, I've got to go. Find your bed.”

The dog howled but disappeared down the hall. She laughed. “Now he'll sulk.”

Paul walked outside with her.

She backed her car out of the garage and did a swift three-point turn. The garage door closed. She lowered her window as she paused beside his car. “Tomorrow you'll have to tell me the real reason you came.”

“Didn't buy my packing story?”

“Not entirely. If something comes up to disrupt tomorrow, my thanks for today. It was nice.”

“You're welcome, Ann.”

She flipped on the lights and headed out to do the job.

Paul watched her car disappear and slid into his own. For the day it might have been, he was pleased with what it had turned out to be. The look at her place would have been worth the trip alone. She hadn't expected company, so he had seen it as she had left it this morning.

Coupons on the refrigerator, mail piled on the table she used as a desk, the dishwasher run but not emptied, stacks of legal pads and notes on the table by the couch, an old towel balled up on the fireplace hearth next to a dog brush, an easel and drop cloth tucked in the corner of the room. She was painting in a semiserious way. What he hadn't seen was just as interesting: no food wrappers, newspapers, glass on a coaster, kicked-off socks or shoes, signs of a shopping trip. The only thing that had surprised him to see was the two guitars. She lived with stuff out and visible, but neat in its own way.

P
aul took his time on the short drive from Neva's back to Ann's on Sunday to look around. He understood why Dave said Ann liked to walk. The countryside was beautiful. Paul parked where he had the day before, walked up the front sidewalk to Ann's porch and rang the bell. The breeze rippled hanging pots of flowers and two wind chimes. With no sounds of traffic, or sounds of crowds, it was as different from his home as it could be. There wasn't silence—too many birds were singing, and the trees were rubbing branches in the wind—but it was nature's sounds.

The front door opened, and Ann pushed open the screen door. “Hi, Paul. Come on in.” She was wearing jeans and an army shirt, with white socks on her feet. She was towel-drying her hair.

“It looks like you didn't get much sleep.”

“I'm an absolute idiot for ever wanting to wear a badge.” She walked back toward the living room.

“Bad night?”

She snorted. She stepped over the dog, who didn't so much as lift his head to acknowledge company, and sat down on the couch which, by the look of the tweezers and Band-Aids and the about empty quart of orange juice on the coffee table, was where she had been stationed when he knocked.

He settled into a chair with a smile. “Tell it. You'll enjoy the telling, and I'll enjoy the listening.”

She drank the rest of the orange juice and waved the carton at him. “Pond guy. I convince him the cows aren't going to charge at him, get him out of the pond. He's obviously drunk, so we end up at the hospital getting his wrist X-rayed. I hand him off to county on the DUI while my best tow-truck guy figures out how to yank the car out of the water. Larry calls me back. Seems there are now babies floating in his pond. Swears he's not joking. So I'm back out to the pond, and he's right. There are baby dolls floating in his pond. The guy was hauling display-quality baby dolls for his company and states he ‘tossed them out of the car to save them.' I rescue twenty-two lifelike baby dolls worth several thousand from the pond. His company now wants to sue him for property damage.

“So I'm leaving the office having finished the paperwork on pond guy, and dispatch calls. Someone cut the locks on the Petersons' chicken coop doors, and there are now one hundred forty-six chickens wandering around on the railroad tracks that border his property. Black and I are good at flushing birds, there were nine of us to walk the line, and it still took three hours. Think very uncooperative birds, brambles and sticker bushes, and grass as sharp as a razor blade. A miserable night all around.

“From there I went and arrested the Gibson twins, seeing as how they wrote their names and the date on the chicken-coop door. They were drunk too, both of them, and laughing. Their birthday is tomorrow. Since today was their last day to be charged as juveniles, and they hadn't done anything worthy of note this year, they thought chickens and a train would be a memorable birthday present to themselves. Their dad went to have a talk with Peterson and pay for the damages. I believe the boys are going to be mucking out that chicken coop for the summer or volunteering for the army, whichever they find least onerous.” She ran her hand through her still-damp hair.

“My job as sheriff,” she said, “is ending with drunks, dolls,
and chickens. No one is ever going to believe this story. I went to church from there and stayed awake on too much coffee, and I don't particularly like coffee. I'm going to have to pass on a walk, and I'm going to be a pretty lousy hostess and let you fend for yourself. There's now root beer on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator, so help yourself.” She nudged her dog with her socked foot. “Black might move sometime next month. I put salve and Band-Aids on his big paws and gave him the rest of a cheeseburger. He's done for the day.”

Paul leaned over to pick up one of the wounded paws, and the dog opened one eye to look at him. “You did a nice job on the first aid.”

“Lots of practice. He'll lick them off when the paws stop hurting.”

“You had lunch to go with that coffee?”

“Coleslaw and fried chicken from one of the best cooks in the county. She's got grandson troubles.”

“Neva served steak, twice-baked potatoes, fresh green beans, and dream-whip-topped pumpkin pie.”

“I'm officially jealous.” She pulled over a throw pillow and dropped back on the couch.

Paul headed to the kitchen and came back with two sodas. She accepted hers, and he settled into a comfortable chair. She was struggling not to yawn, and he smiled just watching her. She was adorable. “You have to admit, your days are not boring.”

“What are yours like?”

“I've got a conference room maybe twice this big, with walls that look very similar to your board there. A bunch of active cases and a lot of people to keep busy. I haven't had to wade into a fistfight or haul in a drunk or even had a decent car chase in more than . . . what, ten years? Five, for sure. It's paper, and interviews, and more paper, and eventually a lead you can follow that goes somewhere. It's way too much time inside office walls.”

“Lady shooter, thirty murders, that's got to tug at the interest.”

“It's a nice rush to solve a tough case. But it's process work—
phone records, bank records, travel records, interviews, surveillance to locate a guy, wiretaps to listen in. It's being smart to see the details and figure out where to look, and careful to build a case that can get through court. What the job is not is dispatch calling to report a problem, with me expected to go out and solve it. I'd trade you for a few days. You get to be sheriff of your town. It's a kid's dream job.”

“I used to walk the square as a young girl, sit on that bench outside the post office, and write stories about the cops who came and went from the police station I now call mine. It was always exciting, being a cop, and there was always some big wrong to make right. That's why I said yes when they asked. I remembered the childhood dream.”

“I wanted to be the guy who caught the guys on the FBI's Ten Most Wanted list,” Paul remarked, following her childhood dream with his own. “It was an incredible idea to a young boy, that you could catch one of the most wanted guys in the world, and you'd get on the news with the capture, and then they would put another name and photo on the list and make it ten names again, and you could go do it again. It was like permanent job security. You always had ten people you were to chase, and you got paid to chase them.”

She laughed. “We were idealists.”

“We were kids.”

She considered him. “I don't know that I would like your level of being a cop. It's more going after organizations or particularly bad people. Being MHI is more the mid-level of crimes, the guy who kills his wife, the employee who shoots his boss, the random shooting at a school. They are tough puzzles since I don't get called unless an experienced cop wants some help, but they are generally understandable crimes.” She ran her foot lightly over Midnight's back.

“I typically come into the investigation late,” she went on, “so the MHI calls are mainly process work for me, not unlike your typical day. A murder book. Someone who died. Someone
who's hoping to get away with it. Lots of interviews, photos, and lab reports. Lots of alibis and gathered facts. Two questions you ask as the MHI. Why are the cops stuck? And who lied to the cops? There tends to be a way to help if I can answer one of those questions. And I'm willing to admit I am better at the murder cases than I am at being sheriff. You have to react as sheriff, but you also have to anticipate. My predecessor was much better at anticipating than I am. He would have seen the Gibson twins doing something like the chicken coop a month before they'd even thought of it.”

“The policing shift to county is for financial reasons?”

“When you factor in the insurance, liability, facilities and vehicles, the town can get two officers assigned by the county and spend about half what they do now to have Marissa and I on the job. This change saves money and gives the town a community center. It's a good trade-off.”

“Is Marissa going to shift over to work for the county police?”

“They've offered, but I don't think she's decided yet. She's getting married in a few months.”

Ann set aside her soda, moved from the couch to the floor, and reached for the dog brush. Midnight rumbled a sigh of pleasure as she started brushing tangles out of his thick coat. “Why don't you tell me why you really came?”

Paul smiled. “You're interesting, Ann. You tell nice stories, write good books, and have a reputation I admire among your friends. According to Dave, you're not seeing anyone in particular. And I'm looking.”

She brushed Midnight for a while, then looked over at him. “You came all this way to ask me on a date.”

“Nothing as common as a date. We're going to start a romance.”

She took it as a charming punch. The brush paused, but her eyes barely flickered from his. “Not shy, are you?”

She blushed easily, he was intrigued to see. “I'd just be wasting time.”

“Breathtaking directness aside, I don't move at your speed.”

“I didn't figure you did. Just setting the stage. You might be slow to catch the drift of things, and I'm of a mind to speed up that part of the matter.”

“Quick enough when a Falcon is circling.”

He laughed.

She smiled at him, just a bit more shy than before, and then focused on the dog, who had lifted his head to see what was amusing. Paul waited to see if she wanted to say something, but she stayed quiet. “So what are you thinking?” he asked.

“I'm thinking I'd say yes to a date, if you take some care in what you offer.”

“What constitutes a good date?”

“I'm partial to a movie. I love to get lost in someone else's story. And I'm for walking and talking and a vendor hot dog over a fancy place to eat.”

“I'm going to like dating you. Do you want to set the day and place, or do you want to leave it as the next time we're within fifty miles of each other, we'll call and see if there are a couple hours that can be freed up for a movie?”

“I figured a friend would have already warned you.” She tossed him her pocket calendar. “Take a look.”

He found one date in the rest of the year with an entry, and it was for Midnight to get his three-year rabies shot. “You keep a clear calendar.”

“I don't like juggling life around things I have to do. I'll share a movie and enjoy it; just don't ask me now to say when or where.”

“You don't plan vacations, or trips, or meeting up with a friend?”

“I know it sounds stupid, but no, I don't. I show up when weather works in my favor, and close my eyes while I pay more for hotel rooms. I factor in what's available when I get somewhere. It's worth it. I find life is a lot less stressful.”

She started with the brush again. “That ball game with Lisa. We agreed it would be fun to go to a game together. Quinn had
tickets for that particular one. We both snuck away from work and had a wonderful time. But I didn't plan it. I'd call it a wish and a want too.

“No one called urgently needing me. The day was open. But I didn't book a hotel room. I didn't sort out a plane for that morning. I just called around the night before, found what my options were, went to Milwaukee at dawn, caught a ride back to Chicago, dropped a case off with you, took a cab to the game, and had a wonderful time with Lisa. I didn't plan it. I just did it.”

“Ann, you planned it, you just didn't plan it in advance. You wanted to go to a ball game with Lisa. You did. If it had been raining, I bet you would have made a road trip of it and gone to Chicago the night before. It was a nice day to fly, so you flew up early enough you could make a side trip and hand me a case. You are good at knowing what you want and flowing your life around those wants. How about this. You put on your want-to-do list, Go to a movie with Paul, and we'll see how soon it happens.”

“I can do that.”

“I'm not interested in rushing you as that would not be in my best interest or in yours. But I do want to get somewhere, and I'm not inclined to leave the destination to chance. I want you to learn to trust me, and for that you need to know who I am. I was thinking on the way down that one place I could start opening doors for you is to start with you seeing my career. How high is your security clearance?”

She looked uncomfortable.

“That high?”

“Vicky says I've got a security clearance higher than God, but she's exaggerating a bit.”

“Then when I ask them to clear you to see my file, they won't redact much. You've read a lot of police reports. You can draw your own conclusions from the details.”

“I'm not comfortable with that, Paul.”

“I know. But you need to know what is there. I've been shot twice, Ann, and while I'd like to talk with you about those events,
I'd rather you know the background from the official file before I do.” She'd been brushing the dog's coat rather than looking at him, but she stilled at the news. He gave it a moment, then changed the subject. “How much do you know of the Falcon family?”