The Devil's Snare: a Mystery Suspense Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thrillers Book 4) (4 page)

Since opening his private investigative agency four years ago, Derek had done well keeping a control on things. He wanted his agency to be small and nimble and wanted to be in the financial position that would allow him to pick and choose his cases. When he first quit his job as an officer with the Columbus, Ohio Police Department and opened his own “Freelance Detective Agency,” as he called it, he took on any person with a case and a checkbook as a client, usually working no more than two to three cases per month. As his notoriety increased—due in large part to two high profile cases he had solved—his case load, and his ability to flex his desire of selectiveness, increased. When, at the suggestion of friends and other private eyes, Derek decided to hire an assistant and to expand his agency, he slowly felt his control over the agency’s direction slipping away.
 

Crown was his first hire. She served as his assistant and case manager. Her crass and no-bullshit mannerisms were, at first, challenging for Derek to accept, but her competence and uncompromising dedication to making his agency one of the most respected in the county convinced him to deal with her personality flaws. And each month when Crown detailed the agency’s financial reports and balance sheet, Derek was glad she was part of his team.

In the nine months Crown was working for him, Derek’s one-man private investigation agency had grown to include a total of five employees. Derek was the managing partner and lead investigator, Nikkie Armani, (whom Crown had hired without Derek’s knowledge after recruiting her away from a high profile detective agency based in Los Angeles) held an investigator position,
 
Brian Jacobson served as an associate investigator and Alex Manner was the agency’s “field agent,” who lived outside of New York City and worked on a per diem basis. Though Alex seldom made the trip from NYC to the agency’s home office outside of Columbus, he was paid his hourly rate to join in on all the team’s weekly meetings by conference call.

“Sorry,” Derek said to the room. “Maybe I misunderstood the context of this meeting. See, I thought I had to rent this conference room out, which I’ve done every Monday for the last who-the-hell-knows-how-many-weeks, in order for us to discuss working cases and new cases. But so far today, all I’ve heard is banter about the weekend, how much of a dick some of our clients can be and a few mentions of a fourth of July party planning committee.”

“It’s called ‘team building,’ ” Crown said. “Whether you rent this conference room for thirty minutes or two hours, the cost is the same so don’t complain about wasting time. We’ll get to the important stuff.”

“How about we get to the important stuff, now?” Derek said.
 

“Fortunately, and no thanks to you I might add, we do have several new cases to discuss. And,” Crown said, her eyes boring holes into Derek’s head, “we need updates on working cases. According to my records, you, Mr. Cole, are the only investigator who hasn’t show the respect that Nikkie and Brian have shown by providing case updates to the team. So, why don’t we start with your cases, shall we? You know, the ones you worked on last month?”

“Crown,” Derek said as a reluctant and unavoidable smile swept across his face, “I really wonder who owns this agency: Me or you.”

“Well,” Crown said, a mirrored smile playing on the corners of her lips, “it’s your name I forge on the checks, but we both know who really runs this place.”

Once Derek filled in the team on the two cases he had been working, stating that one of the cases was closed (with a positive-client outcome) and the other was an ongoing service providing employee background checks for a large law firm in Cincinnati, owned by a personal friend of Derek’s, Crown moved the meeting forward with a discussion of the newest cases the team had to consider.

“We have four potential clients who wish to hire us. I’ve met with all four and have made the decision to take all four cases.”

“So much for this being a team, huh Crown?” Derek said.

“Don’t be an asshole,” she shot back. “If it were up to you, we’d only take cases that sparked your interest and would decline cases that actually bring revenue in to the agency. The team part comes when you all decide who’s going to take which case. It’s also nice when we actually have paying clients so when I forge your signature on checks, they actually clear the bank.”

“Why don’t we get to the cases and we’ll worry about the ‘team building’ later?” Nikkie said. Nikkie Armani, who had turned twenty-nine on Christmas day six months ago, was as competent as anyone would want or expect a private investigator to be. Her African and Middle Eastern upbringing had taught her the value of hard, honest work, and the prejudice she experienced growing up as a black Muslim living in a time in America when Muslims where feared, disliked, mistrusted or considered better left alone, had taught her the value of standing up for herself. Nikkie was not one to ever play the role of victim and she made damn sure that none of her clients or coworkers ever allowed themselves to fall into the alluring trap of victimhood. “Let’s hear the cases, Crown.”

Crown spent the next thirty minutes giving detailed information about the cases and clients “Cole and Associates” recently added to their case load. The first was a hedge fund manager whose partner absconded with over two million euros. “The client is based in London and has offices in Cleveland; Novi, Michigan; and Salt Lake City. He provided as many clues as he could about the thieving partner as well as the case file from the last PI firm he hired.” She dropped a bright yellow colored folder onto the conference room table. “The last firm he hired sucked ass. Couldn’t get out of their own way, based on what little info they uncovered. Figured chasing someone around the world would be a good case for Brian.” She paused, placed her right hand on her expanding hips, and said, “That is, if the team agrees with my assessment?”

The sarcastic tone Crown used was not lost on the team.

“Makes sense to me,” Derek said. “Fees and expenses?”

“Fifteen percent of recovered funds and twenty-thousand dollars in total expenses. If Brian blows through twenty-K and finds shit, we’re off the case.”

“Brian?” Derek said to Brian Jacobson. “You cool with the case?”

Brian Jacobson had only been an employee of Cole and Associates for a little over four months. Fresh out of a ten-year police career with the Boston Police Department, he was aggressive in his investigative approach and tireless in his work ethic. Being single and without kids made him the perfect investigator for cases that required more time in a hotel than in the home office of Cole and Associates.

“Sounds good to me,” Brian answered. “I’ve just been sitting around for at least two days getting bored. I’m itching to hit the road again.” Crown slid the yellow folder towards Brian who immediately grabbed the folder, leaned back in his leather chair and began perusing the contained notes.
 

Crown covered the final three cases, all of which were local clients, each expected to take no longer than two or three days to close out. “Assuming that Brian doesn’t shit the bed with his case, total expected revenue for the month will be three hundred and sixty-one thousand dollars with the current exchange rates. That’s more that you ever brought in for an entire year, Mr. Managing Partner,” she said through a sly smile to Derek.

“And if all goes well, I’m hoping that you actually allow me to share in the bounty,” Derek said.

“I’ll figure something out. You know, just to keep you from annoying me more than you already do.”

Alex Manner’s voice boomed through the conference call speaker phone situated in the middle of the conference room table, saying, “No new cases for me?”

“Not at this point, no,” Crown said. “Are you keeping busy with your other freelance jobs?” she said bitterly. Alex Manner came to Cole and Associates with a pristine record, one that both impressed Derek and also, based on the per diem agreement Alex was in favor of, convinced him to hire Alex as a field agent. Crown was suspicious of Alex, due in large part because of the person who had referred Alex to Cole and Associates. It was her ex-husband, a powerful attorney in the Northeast that Alex listed atop his resume. And it was a letter from Crown’s ex, sent directly to Derek—a letter Crown never knew about—that served as the final push in Derek’s decision to hire Alex Manner.

“Busy enough,” Alex said. “But I always find time for new opportunities.”

“I bet you do,” Crown replied. “I bet you do.”

Derek stood, slid his hands down the front of his slacks to hand-iron out the wrinkles caused by sitting for well over an hour. “If that’s all, let’s get to work.”

“Derek,” Crown said, her voice softer and more sullen that her normal voice, “there is one more case we need to talk about. One that I didn’t accept. One that, believe it or not, I need you to make a decision on.”

“I’m flattered,” Derek said.
 

It was the tone of Crown’s voice and the blank look in her eyes that caught Derek off guard. In the months since he hired her, Derek had never seen Crown look lost and never expected her to not have the confidence to make up her, and his, mind on any matter. “You got me a little nervous, Crown. What’s the case?”

“I honestly don’t know where to begin.”

“You said you spoke with the client, correct?” Nikkie asked.

“I did.” Crown replied.

“And can you give us a little hint about their needs?” Derek said.

“He’s my son.”

“Your what? Did you say ‘
your son?
’ ” Derek asked. “Crown, I know you’re not big on talking about your personal life, but I’d figure you’d at least have said something about having a son at some point. I mean, jeez.”

Nikkie said, “Crown, tell us why your son needs our help and what he needs us to do.”

Over the next twenty minutes or so, Crown gave the team all the details she knew about her son’s legal troubles. She told them that her son, Bo Randall, had secured the legal services of his father, Crown’s first husband.

“He’s an absolute asshole,” Crown said of her ex, “but he’s a damn good lawyer. He can talk the pants off just about anyone. Trust me, I should know.”

“Thanks for the visual, Crown,” Derek said. “Listen, I’ll do whatever I can to help your son out, but it sounds to me like he needs a good lawyer and, based on what you’ve said, he already has that covered. Not sure what we could do for him.”

Crown said, “Listen, I know my son. Sure, I haven’t spoken to him much in the past ten years, but I know he isn’t capable of arson and I’m even more sure he could never burn a house down with people inside. Especially people he knows and considers friends. He’s in trouble based on what my ex told me. My ex will do everything he can but without some good old fashioned private investigator work, you know, gumshoe type of shit, my boy’s in trouble.”

“What’s your ex-husbands name?” Alex Manner asked.

“Louis Randall. He’s managing partner at Randall, Levine, Mahoney, Randall and Patterson Law Firm outside of Albany, New York.”

“Who’s the other Randall?” Derek asked. “He have another son or daughter who’s a lawyer?”

“He’s the only Randall at the firm. Son of a bitch demanded his name be listed twice, just to remind the other partners that he’s the reason the firm is in business.”

“You and he get along?” Alex asked, his voice sounding thin and stretched.
 

“As long as he keeps paying me, we do. I caught him screwing some bimbo a few years after we got married. That bimbo turned out to a Congressman’s wife. Call it hush money, alimony or whatever the hell you want to call it, he pays me a salary to keep my trap shut. Which isn’t easy for me to do. I should be getting additional hazard pay.”

“What I’m asking,” Alex continued, “is will there by any reason he won’t cooperate with us knowing you’re part of this firm?”

“I’ll cut his balls off if he so much as puts up a detour sign in our way.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ ”

“Okay, Crown,” Derek said, “we’re on the case. Nikkie and I will handle the on-scene investigation. Brian and Alex will work their cases and Crown, you provide backup support as usual.” He paused, stood, then turned to Crown and said, “Where does your son live?”

“Small town called Ravenswood, New York.”

“Alex, find out how far you are from Ravenswood,” Derek said. “I might need your help on this one.”

“Got it,” Alex said.

“Good. Crown, you stay back here and keep things running. I don’t want the entire team out of the office in case more cases come knocking on our door.”

Crown said, “Cole, you’re as stupid as I thought if you think I’m staying here and letting you run this investigation.”

Nikkie said, “Crown, Derek’s right. You’re way too emotionally invested in this case. You won’t be able to maintain professional indifference.”

“Go screw yourself,” Crown said. “How about you shove your professional indifference up your ass?”

“How subtle,” Derek said. “Here’s the thing, Crown, I have a process I follow when I’m working a case and I’m pretty damn sure that you being around will…how shall I say it?…screw me up so bad I won’t be able to do what I need to do. You’re free to take some time to be with your son, but, when it comes to work on the ground, you’re off the case.”

Crown said, “Your process is drinking shit scotch and stumbling and fumbling you way through the case.”

“Not going to argue,” Derek said, “but my process works. Nikkie and I will fly out to Ravenswood tomorrow. We need you to make our travel arrangements, and make sure we have a rental car and hotel, both reserved for at least five days.”

Crown stared at Derek, jaw clenched, body tensed as her thoughts raced to a thousand different conclusions. Knowing Crown and her explosive personality, the conference room’s air was dripping with tension. Derek began tracing the three-inch scar on the left side of his face, a habit of his since a few months after he had put a bullet through his face, causing the scar. For Derek, the scar was a reminder. It reminded him of his wife, Lucy, and how she was shot to death as he watched, held back from trying to stop her death by police procedures. It was a reminder of how desperate he was the day he put the Glock 9mm into his mouth. The scar was a reminder of his wife’s face that flashed in his mind’s eye a split second before he pulled the trigger. The flashing of her face, causing him to turn his head, had sent the bullet ripping through the side of his face, and not through his brain.