Claws Bared Page 14

  “I think they did.” I held up a hand, stopping him. “It was probably something they didn’t even think mattered, something not connected to looking for a woman. I’m not out to blame them, I just want to know what they took and get it back. No harm, no foul.” I looked at the other Board members. “We’ve got enough on our plate as it is. I’m not interested in your internal discipline. Do what you want, I don’t give a damn.”

  Carson rubbed his right ear for a second, kneading the earlobe between two fingers. He glanced at the other two members, his expression hovering between embarrassed and annoyed. A minute later he nodded. “Dang fools. Let me get hold of them and we’ll all meet you at the hotel.”

  “No,” McCallum interrupted. “Call them and have them come here.” He looked at me. “I want to see them as well, let them know we’re not happy.”

  Carson’s nostrils flared. “We had the right to do that. We had the right to investigate and search his home.” He narrowed his eyes. “We did what we needed to.”

  McCallum pursed his lips. “That you did. But if they took anything, the smallest thing, they need to know it’s not acceptable.” He glared back at Carson. “We know about it this time. What about the future? What about the past?”

  “My boys aren’t thieves,” Carson said in a low, measured voice.

  I watched the power play with as stoic an expression as I could manage. It was plain that McCallum was topping Carson and the chief didn’t like it.

  Carson wrestled with his cap for a minute before throwing it down on the seat beside him and digging out his cell phone. I didn’t hear what he growled into the phone but it was short and fast and not friendly.

  The waitress reappeared, coffee pot in hand. She refilled our mugs with a smile before placing three fresh empty ones in front of the Board. On McCallum’s nod she filled them and strolled away—but not before giving Plussey a flirty wink. He responded with a low chuckle and shake of his head.

  We sat in silence and sipped good coffee.

  It took all of ten minutes before a large grey pickup truck roared into the parking lot, digging deep ruts in the gravel as it settled down beside my rental.

  Trace looked over from where he sat. He didn’t move.

  I sucked in my breath as two men exited the vehicle.

  The middle-aged blond men wore identical T-shirts and jeans, their short-cropped hair at exactly the same length as far as I could tell. The only distinguishing marks were tattoos on their necks, long flowing scripts of their names. The twins were tall, at least six feet and a whisper each.

  They strode into the diner and headed for our booth—a pair of dominant males who filled the role of Felis enforcers easily.

  The pair snapped to attention in front of us and waited.

  Their blue eyes drilled into mine. They knew who they answered to and it wasn’t me.

  I felt Bran’s muscle twitch under my hand.

  McCallum glanced at me and nodded, giving permission to start the conversation.

  “Thank you for coming.” I started short and simple. “Chief Carson told me you were the ones who searched Hancock’s residence.”

  “Who?” The twins said in unison.

  “Mike Hansa’s place,” I said. “You two were asked to search his apartment.”

  Mike spoke first. “We did.”

  They fell silent. I wondered which one had peed in my toilet.

  “What did you find?” I prompted.

  “Nothing at all.” Dave answered. His tattooed name rose and fell on his skin as he spoke. “We were told to search for evidence of a woman, someone who would have reason to kill the stripper.”

  I noted their depersonalization of Mike Hancock. Standard practice for Felis.

  “How long have you been working for the chief?”

  The pair shifted as one. Mike spoke first. “Since we were teenagers. He’s a crib brother.” His eyes snapped over to Carson’s and back again, re-establishing the battle for control with mine.

  I flinched inside. I’d seen firsthand what crib brothers would do for each other, how far they would go to keep secrets.

  “Okay. Did you find anything?”

  “Nothing,” Dave answered. “It was like no woman had ever even entered the place. Couldn’t sniff out anyone, couldn’t find nothing.” He glanced at his twin. “Kinda strange. Maybe he was a faggot pretending he liked women?” His face scrunched up as if he’d drunk skunky beer.

  I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes. Backwoods, redneck Felis. Wonderful.

  “He was actually a reporter.” The blank look threatened my patience. “An investigative reporter.”

  The twins stood up straighter, a bemused expression on both faces. Between the two of them you might have a sniff of a brain cell.

  “A reporter,” Mike repeated. “Who’d have thunk that?” He turned and grinned at his brother. “Goddamn tabloid trash.”

  Bran’s leg jumped against my palm. I pressed down with all my strength.

  “You took something from his apartment.” I held up my free hand before either twin could respond. “I’m not your mother and I’m not your priest so I don’t care that you took it. All I want is to get it back.”

  Dave’s eyes snapped to Carson’s face, searching for permission.

  I slammed my hand down on the table, pulling all attention back to me. “Don’t look at him. You’re not helping him any by stealing like a common criminal.”

  Mike’s nostrils widened.

  I was about two seconds from a challenge.

  I stood up and leaned forward, pressing both palms down on the table. “You answer to this Board. But right now you answer to me.”

  Carson moved back out of my vision, pushing himself into the cushions.

  McCallum and Plussey said nothing. I knew this was another damned test.

  I didn’t intend to fail.

  I glanced toward the truck. “Guess I’ll have to find it myself. Starting with searching that truck and then going to your homes and searching there.”

  Chapter Ten

  The two men spoke at once.

  “You can’t—”

  “We won’t—”

  “It’s not your choice.” I remained standing. “What did you take?”

  “Nothing.” The two replied as one.

  I resisted the urge to go over the table.

  “Rebecca,” McCallum interrupted, “it’s possible they didn’t find anything.”

  “Was it his laptop?” I pressed forward, ignoring the Board member. “Did you take his laptop? Did you take his flash drives, his file folders? His journals, his notebooks?”

  Mike didn’t look at me, keeping his eyes pinned to the wall behind us. Dave did the same in classic military style.

  “What did you take?” I repeated.

  Carson tugged at my sleeve. “They didn’t find anything. Let it go.”

  I pulled away, continuing to glare at the twins. “What did you take? Who are you covering for?”

  My voice rose, pulling attention from the other diners.

  “We didn’t take nothing,” Mike said, the low, measured words carrying an air of menace. “You better not be calling us liars.”

  “Double negative,” Bran murmured.

  “What?” Dave cocked his head to one side. “What?”

  “Double negative. Cancels each other out to be a positive.” He examined his syrup-covered fork. “You’re saying you did take something.”

  Mike took a step forward, breaking the solidarity. His eyes flashed from Carson’s to Bran’s, searching for a weakness.

  Bran maintained the link, not blinking.

  “We. Didn’t. Take. Anything.” Mike ground the words out between clenched teeth. “You calling us liars?”

  I moved my leg against Bran, trying to warn him. He could only push his luck so far.

  McCallum broke into the would-be challenge. “Mike, Dave, go back out to your truck while we talk this over. Please.”

  Mike a
nd Dave shuffled from side to side as they waited for direction.

  Carson nodded at the pair. “Dismissed.”

  The twins fell over each other to retreat from the diner. They tumbled into the truck and waited. Trace stayed inside his own vehicle but I saw him watching the twins.

  They didn’t look at him.

  McCallum cleared his throat. “I don’t think they took anything.”

  “I think they did,” I replied. “I think they snatched a laptop. If not to help cover up the crime, then to resell and make some extra cash. They may not even know the importance of what they stole.”

  Carson’s lips curled back from his teeth. “I don’t think I like you calling my boys thieves.”

  “Bet it makes you wonder what I’d call their keeper.” The words were out before I’d had a chance to mentally edit them.

  It was a mistake.

  Plussey picked up the paper napkin and dabbed at his lips. The other two members sat in silence as he finished his preening.

  “You are here as a guest.” He pounced on the last word. “A guest. While I understand you have a job to do, I don’t think planting seeds of distrust with our people is the way to go.”

  The smug look on Carson’s face made me want to slap it off.

  “If you have any proof of these accusations I will back you going to their homes and searching for this item.” Plussey folded the napkin into a neat, perfect square. “But I won’t have you going on a wild-goose chase and messing up our lives, our routines.” He pushed the paper square into the center of the table. “We’ll use our resources to see if either of the twins tries to dump a laptop or any other electronic device—and we’ll call you if it happens. Until then I repeat that you’re not to go banging on doors and making a nuisance of yourself.”

  I flashed back to a lunch date with my police contact, Hank Attersley. He’d been scorching mad about being denied a search warrant because he hadn’t had enough evidence.

  “I know he’s dirty, Reb,” he barked, “but I can’t get the warrant until I have the dirt and I can’t get the dirt unless I have the warrant.”

  We’d decided to wash the afternoon away with a bottle of tequila and enough salt to empty the Flats. In the end he’d gotten the warrant due to an informant giving the right story to the right officer and justice had been served.

  I wasn’t sure I’d get that lucky.

  “I think it’s a good time for us to go and leave you to your work.” McCallum shuffled out of the booth, Plussey following close behind.

  Carson joined the pair with a slower, more calculated retreat. His lips were still curled up in a half snarl. It didn’t take a genius to see I’d showed him up in front of the Board and would pay the price eventually.

  “I’ll keep you updated as the investigation progresses.” I nodded to the Board, letting my shoulders slump barely enough to be submissive. “Thank you for your help.”

  The three men walked away.

  Bran let out a hiss as he rubbed his thigh. “That hurt.”

  Now it was time for me to bare my teeth. “Do you know how close you came to getting in another fight? Are you just looking to get killed?”

  He popped another forkful of syrup-soaked pancake into his mouth and winked.

  “You are not taking this seriously,” I snapped.

  “I take this very seriously.” Bran dipped his index finger into the syrup and tapped the edge of my nose. “What you don’t get is that I don’t have to play by your rules. And that’s what I want them to know.”

  I resisted the urge to try to lick the syrup off. “What?”

  “I’m the damned wild card in the deck. They may think they know you but they sure as hell don’t know me.” He slid out from the booth. “Let’s go to the hotel and pick up my car.”

  “You think Prosser is going to be up to talking?”

  “She’s going to want to talk about Mike’s death to somebody, anyone. Especially another reporter.” He tapped his chest. “Consider it our own type of family.”

  “How are you going to handle it?” I asked, scowling as I thumbed through my wallet. Damned American money, all the same color. How everyone didn’t get constantly overpaid was beyond me. “You can’t call it a murder.”

  “I can say it’s a suspicious death.” Bran grinned. “I’ve got official credentials. I’m a fellow journalist.”

  “You can’t call it a murder,” I repeated. “Whatever Hancock was into probably caused his death but you can’t say that. If she calls in the outside cops it’s going to get really messy.”

  “Messy” was an understatement.

  “Murders have been hidden as accidents before,” Bran answered. “She’s already suspicious—you said so yourself.”

  I resisted the urge to slap my forehead. “Suspicious, yes. But if you give her reason to go higher and demand further investigation...”

  Bran put up his hands. “It’s an animal attack. That’s what the coroner ruled. It might look odd but stranger things have happened. She can’t stir up shit if there isn’t anything to back it up.”

  I sucked in air over clenched teeth.

  He continued. “I’ll behave myself. I can tell her I’m looking to pick up the story, whatever it is, and slap Hancock’s name on it as a memorial. If she’s as dedicated to the truth as she thinks she is she’ll want the story over the mysterious death, consider it a living memorial to Hancock’s memory.”

  I shook my head. “Just try to keep her clear of Carson. If she goes in guns ablazing and screaming that they’re trying to cover up a murder...”

  “She’ll be next. I got it.” Bran jerked a thumb to one side as we walked to the car. “Ghost is still here.”

  I ignored the pickup truck waiting in the parking lot and jammed the key in the ignition.

  I wasn’t in any mood for this.

  We traveled in silence back to the hotel, me worried about Bran getting himself and/or Cassie Prosser killed and Bran probably worried about the same thing if he was smart.

  Or he was trying to figure out how to kill Trace and hide the body. I figured it was a 50/50 split.

  We pulled into the parking lot beside the loud blue rental. Trace stayed on the side of the road, just in eyesight range.

  “Is it possible there is no laptop?” I mused.

  “Possible. Not probable but possible.” Bran fished in his pocket for the second set of keys. “Hancock might have kept all the evidence on his cell phone or committed it to memory. When you’re in enemy territory you have to consider your equipment being confiscated or destroyed.”

  “If there was a laptop and they took it, it’d be to protect Carson.” I put my head back. “Which implicates either him or his wife.”

  “In what? The affair or the cover-up?”

  “I don’t know.” I rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands. “I just don’t know at this point. But the clock is ticking.”

  Bran got out, watching me exit from the other side. “What are you going to do?”

  “What I should have done yesterday.” I jabbed a thumb back toward the hotel. “Basic research. I can’t believe anything I’ve been told up to this point.”

  He nodded. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Just play it safe.”

  I resisted the urge to snort. “Just see what you can get from Prosser and get back here. No side trips and watch your back.”

  “Aw,” Bran replied with a grin. “I feel so loved.”

  He headed for his rental before I could respond, and turned out of the lot onto the small street.

  The green pickup cruised into the parking lot as soon as Bran moved out of sight. Guess Bran wasn’t worth his own babysitter.

  I scowled at Trace and headed toward my hotel room. This might be a good thing. If I kept Trace here he couldn’t “accidentally” run into Bran. There was enough testosterone flying around to choke a herd of horses. Zebras, even.

  I drowned my worries by searching Bran’s bag for any more chocolate bars.


  He had plenty. Emphasis on “had.”

  I spent the next hour devouring nougat and doing computer searches on some of the more notable personalities I’d met. Sophia Martin. Trace Bryson. Lisa Darning. Dale Langstrom. Cassie Prosser.

  There wouldn’t be much there about Lisa or Trace, other than what was given out for public consumption—a bit more fluff for Councilwoman Darning, the politician, than Farmer Bryson. The Felis kept their private lives private.

  I studied the news articles I’d pulled up via a search engine. The Cat’s Meow had been a major event for Penscotta, hiring a lot of locals for the construction and renovation of the old warehouse. The local unions were thrilled and it’d been built without any accidents or labor unrest. The mayor had actually been at the ribbon-cutting ceremony, wrangling oversized scissors to maul the bright red ribbon while hiding her annoyance under a flat smile. Prosser was there to one side, scowling while Darning beamed and engaged in a mock tug of war with the two dancers holding the ribbon.

  After the opening they’d opted to bring in male dancers from other cities, keeping away from local talent. That was understandable. Add in the boycott from the Felis for men working there and it pretty well demanded outside entertainers.

  A smile tweaked my lips as I remembered the dancers from the previous evening. Good money if you can stay in shape and take the abuse from the women. I wasn’t foolish enough not to admit I’d been pretty turned on by the time we’d left.

  The quarterly votes on the town council to keep the club were public records. Boring reading filled with long words and fractured phrasing to try to keep the words “stripper” out of the transcript. Every meeting had a few community activists standing up and ranting about destroying the town with this immoral business but it seemed to be more of a ceremony than a serious protest at this point.

  Dale Langstrom might be the mayor and anti-club but she kept being outvoted by three other members, including Lisa Darning, the lone Felis on the council. The other negative vote came from a woman who’d been on the council for decades and phoned in her vote via telephone, being homebound with crippling arthritis. Every few months the same routine—rinse and repeat.

  A twinge of pain shot down my spine, alerting me that I’d spent too much time hunched over the laptop.