ZERO HERO (The Kate Huntington Mystery series) (3 page)

            The unenlightened probably wouldn’t guess that the children had different biological fathers. Edie was a miniature version of her mother, with out-of-control dark curly hair and sky blue eyes. But her personality was pure Ed Huntington, sweet and cheerful.

            Billy was a mixture of his parents. His hair was the same straight brown as his father’s, but instead of Skip’s hazel eyes, Billy’s were light blue. Personality-wise, the little boy shared his mother’s tendency to be a bit intense.

            One way that intensity was exhibited was by talking several decibels louder than necessary, as he was now doing while regaling his parents with the details of his day in kindergarten.

            “Inside voice, Billy,” Kate reminded him for the second time.

            “Sorry, Mommy,” the boy said, with no discernible reduction in volume. “We’re gonna have a pettin’ zoo soon. Miss Sylvia sent home a paper ’bout it. We can bring in our pets as long as it’s not a snake or a trantula. I’m taking Peaches.”

            “
Ta
rantula,” Kate corrected, then grimaced at the thought of their neurotic cat surrounded by a group of excited kindergartners. “I don’t think Peaches would deal with that very well. Why don’t you take your gerbil instead?”

            After a brief argument, Skip said, “It’s the gerbil or nothing, son.”

            Billy slumped down in his chair, a pout on his face.

            Kate decided a change of subject was in order. “Are you likely to have to work next Saturday, sweetheart?”

            Skip looked at the ceiling for a moment, mentally reviewing his cases. “Don’t think so. Why?”

            “Because I do have to work.”

            He tilted his head at her. She never scheduled clients on Saturdays, unless it was a dire emergency.

            “I be ’round if you need go out, Skip,” Maria said.

            “You’ve got your party to get ready for,” Kate protested, giving her husband a meaningful look. For the past seven years, ever since Rose, her cousin, had sponsored her immigration from Guatemala, Maria had been Kate’s live-in nanny and housekeeper. Her only activities, beyond Kate’s little family, involved the extensive Hernandez clan or going to church on Sundays. This Valentine’s party, sponsored by her church’s singles group, was the first social event Maria had ever expressed interest in attending.

            “You’ll be home long before she has to leave, won’t you?” Skip asked.

            “I don’t know. I’m going to Pennsylvania, so it may be late afternoon before I get back.”

            Skip gave her the cocked head questioning look again, but client confidentiality meant she couldn’t give him much of an explanation. “I’m doing an
in vivo
intervention, helping a client face his fears.”

            “How are you getting there?”

            “I’m driving us up there.”

            “This guy safe to travel with alone?”

            Kate had given that some thought after Pete had left her office. She trusted Rob’s judgement of the man’s character, and her sense of him was that he was harmless. “Yes, I don’t think he’s capable of hurting a fly.”

~~~~~~~~

            The audio book of Janet Evanovich’s latest Stephanie Plum romp turned out to be an excellent choice. Kate had figured it would be rather awkward trying to make conversation for over three hours each way in the car. And silence would be even more so. But Pete Jamieson actually laughed out loud a few times at the antics of New Jersey’s bounty hunter
extraordinaire
and her sidekick, Lula.

            The book was just past the halfway point when Kate turned into the entrance for the Fernville Cemetery in Columbia County, Pennsylvania. She turned the CD player off.

            “I thought we were going to see the girl’s uncle?” Pete said.

            “We are.”

            Kate pulled her Prius up behind a dark green SUV parked along the cemetery road. She got out of the car and waited for Pete to climb out. Then she headed up the sloping hill in front of them, huddling into her jacket as the cold February wind gusted around her. At the top of the incline stood a middle-aged man, wearing a navy pea jacket.

            Pete stopped when they were close enough to read the words on the small marble headstone at the man’s feet.
Kerrie Ann Phillips, beloved daughter, niece, granddaughter, b. December 2, 1996, d. September 11, 2001.

            Kate stepped forward. “Mr. Blake.” She held out her hand. “I’m Kate Huntington. Thank you for doing this.”

            “Thank
you
, ma’am,” the man said as he shook her hand.

            Kate turned back toward Pete. “This is David Blake, Kerrie’s uncle. Mr. Blake, Peter Jamieson, the man who tried to save your niece.”

            “Mr. Jamieson, I can’t tell you how grateful I am,” Blake said. “Thank you, sir, for returning Kerrie to us.”

            Pete stared at him, his mouth open. The unsaid words
but I didn’t save her
hung in the air.

            “My sister and her husband, their bodies were never recovered. We had nothin’ to bury, my parents and me. It killed my dad. He died of a heart attack a month after 9/11. And my mom only lived another year after that. They said it was ovarian cancer, the silent killer the docs said, ’cause it don’t hurt much ’til it’s too late. But I say she died of a broken heart.” The man’s voice choked on a stifled sob. “At least we had Kerrie. At least we could lay her to rest.”

            He held out his hand. Pete stepped forward to take it.

            Kerrie’s uncle pulled Pete toward him and broke down in sobs as he pounded his other hand on the firefighter’s back. Pete awkwardly put an arm around the man. He looked at Kate over Mr. Blake’s shaking shoulder, and nodded.

            Kate decided this was the best client “session” she’d had in weeks.

~~~~~~~~

            Kate shook her head, trying to dislodge the cobwebs so she could focus on her aikido
sensei’s
words. Not an easy task at seven in the morning on too few hours of sleep.

            She’d been tired yesterday after her long day on Saturday, but also elated by the outcome of her experimental technique. Pete had talked for almost two hours on the way home, then he’d fallen asleep. They never had finished listening to Stephanie Plum’s exploits.

            She’d gone to bed early last night and had fallen asleep instantly. Then at two in the morning, one of those damned dreams had yanked her awake.

            She’d had a reprieve for the last several months and had hoped the dreams were gone for good. But apparently not. This one was the vaguest of them–someone carrying her over his shoulder in the dark.

            Something she didn’t actually remember since she’d been unconscious for that part of the ordeal. Even though she’d only been taking aikido for six months at that time, what she’d already learned had been helpful in thwarting the plans of those who had kidnapped her and Skip.

            She’d found that quite empowering, and since then she’d increased her classes to at least three mornings a week. She liked the defensive nature of aikido, sometimes referred to as the gentle martial art. You used your opponent’s energy and momentum against them. They come at you and you dip your shoulder just so. They fly right over your back. The students didn’t fight
per se
but rather took turns practicing the defensive moves until they were second nature.

            In addition to the sense of empowerment, Kate’s muscles were toned like they hadn’t been in years. A nice serendipity that made her feel more on an even plane with her muscular hunk of a husband.

            As her body went through the warm-up exercises on autopilot, her thoughts shifted to Pete Jamieson. She wasn’t sure what to do for an encore. Maybe she should call today to check on him? She decided to leave it alone, just wait until his session on Thursday to see how he’s doing.

            The class had moved on to practice rolling properly when their opponents flipped them. Time to pay attention or she would be bruised tomorrow from landing wrong.

~~~~~~~~

            Pete Jamison knew he shouldn’t be here. He could imagine what his NA sponsor would say, had said more than once.
Boy, ya gotta stay away from them slippery places. The folks ya use ta call your friends, they ain’t your friends no more.

            But he had to try one more time. He walked down the street toward the apartment building, two blocks over from Baltimore Street and the notorious red light district known as The Block.

           
This is an eleventh step
, Pete told his sponsor in his head.

            He and Jimmy Matthews had been best friends since their freshman year of high school, drawn together by their shared interest in law enforcement and firefighting. They’d spent many hours in their adolescence debating the respective virtues of the two careers.

            But Jimmy had ended up on the wrong side of the law. It had started as normal college drinking and partying, and had escalated from there.

            Pete had gone out of state to study firefighting in Connecticut. He hadn’t realized how far his friend had sunk until his return to Maryland after graduation. He came home to discover that Jimmy had started dealing to support his own habit.

            Pete had made several attempts to convince Jimmy to get his act together. Finally he’d decided his friend had slipped beyond redemption.

            A decade later, Pete discovered that redemption wasn’t as easy to achieve as he’d assumed. Desperate to sleep without nightmares and get through the day without the flashbacks, Pete had found himself talking again to his old buddy. He had become one of Jimmy’s customers.

            Pete knew his efforts today would probably be futile, but he had to try. He hunched his shoulders inside his coat and reminded himself to breathe through his mouth as he entered the dingy lobby. As usual, it stank of decay, stale sweat and urine. He climbed dimly-lit stairs to the third floor.

            Jimmy’s face broke into a huge grin when he opened his door. “Hey, man, wha’s up?”

            “Hey. Gotta minute?”

            “For you, always, my man.” Jimmy turned back into his apartment. He spread his arms expansively, then staggered a bit to one side. “
Me casa es su casa
.” His words were slurred.

            Pete’s heart sank into his stomach. “Sampling the merchandise, is that good for business?” He tried to keep his voice light as he closed the apartment door behind him.

            “It’s what you call
quality control
, man. Gotta check it out now and then, make sure it’s good shit.”

            Pete wasn’t sure what to say or do. Why the hell had he assumed his friend would be sane and sober when he happened to come calling?

            “Hey, Petey, lemme show you somethin’.” Jimmy shuffled over to a table beside a battered sofa. “Got me a new piece.” He turned back around.

            In his hand was the biggest pistol Pete had ever seen.

            “Big mutha fucker, ain’t it?” Jimmy slurred, waving the .44 Magnum around. “Got me a few new enemies, since I been pimpin’ girls. Bet this little baby’ll make ’em think twice.”

            Pete fought the urge to dive behind the sofa. This had been a very bad idea indeed. His mind scrambled for a game plan.

            “Hey, Jimmy, let me have the gun. I wanna take a closer look.”

            Jimmy waved the gun vaguely in his direction again. Pete cringed. He grabbed for the barrel and Jimmy let him take the gun out of his hand.

            Pete transferred the gun to his other hand and made a show of examining it. There didn’t seem to be a safety. He thought about removing the bullets but decided Jimmy wasn’t quite that out of it. He probably wouldn’t get away with dismantling the gun.

            “Nice piece.” Pete laid it down and put himself between Jimmy and the table. “Come on, let’s take a walk. Talk about old times.” Jimmy started to reach around him for the gun. “You don’t need that cannon today, man. I’ve got your back.”

            “You sure, man?” Jimmy swayed on his feet.

            “I’m sure.” He was braced to get the hell out of there if Jimmy insisted on taking the .44 along. When his friend turned and staggered toward the door, Pete let out a pent-up breath.

CHAPTER THREE

            The house line rang at eight-ten on Tuesday morning.

           
What the...? Who’s calling this early?

            Kate picked up the portable phone from its charger on the kitchen counter. She recognized Rob’s cell number on the caller ID. “Hey there. What are you up to this early in the morning?”

            “I’m at the county jail,” Rob’s voice sounded grim. “Pete Jamieson’s been arrested.”

            Kate shook her head. Had she heard him right? “Pete’s been arrested? For drugs?” She glanced over at the big oak table, where the children were chatting with Maria while eating their breakfast cereal.

            She missed part of Rob’s next comment as she headed around the corner into the living room. “Wait a minute. What did you just say?”

            “Not for drugs. For first-degree murder.”

            “Say what?”

            “He’s been charged with killing his former drug dealer. And he’s not in good shape. Is there any way you can get down to the jail and see him today?”

            Kate perched on the edge of an armchair and tried to wrap her brain around what she was hearing. “Did he do it?”

            “From what I can tell, probably not,” Rob said. “The guy was also a friend of his. He was trying to talk him into cleaning up his act. Says the man was still very much alive when he left him.”

            Kate did a quick mental review of her schedule for the day. “I don’t think I have anybody right after lunch. I’ll have to double-check but I should have at least a semi-decent window to go down midday.”