Jackie leaned over Denny’s shoulder, one hand braced on the edge of his desk. He had the crime-scene photos uploaded onto his computer, a spread of thumbnail pictures across the twenty-four-inch screen. Laurel stood in the corner of his cubby peering from the other side.
When he scrolled to the next set, Laurel pointed. “Stop.” She stepped forward for a closer look. “Tenth one and the next few. Those look like the right area.”
The tenth photo was enlarged to fill the screen, and Jackie looked at the faces of the crowd. Hands in pockets, pairs and small groups chatted with one another. Nobody that she could see had any of the telltale signs that might implicate something more than casual interest.
Denny looked up at Laurel. “See anything?”
“No. Did you shoot video first? These pics might be too late.”
“Too late for what?” he asked.
“Her knight in shining armor,” Jackie said.
“Being polite doesn’t make you chivalrous,” she snapped back.
Denny snickered and clicked through to pull up the playback screen. “Here’s what I’ve got. I shot it before I began taking the pics.”
It was from the vantage point of the park grass, somewhere between the big maple and the parking lot. It started near where they had parked and panned slowly across to the television crews, zooming in gradually to pick up clearer images of the crowd standing at the edge of the grass.
When the view panned all the way to the other side, Laurel pointed at the screen. “Stop there.”
Denny paused the video. Jackie could tell immediately who she was likely referring to. A tall, broad-shouldered figure past the crowd, walking away from the scene. “The big guy there, jeans and sweatshirt.”
“Yep, that’s him.”
“Okay,” Denny said and zoomed in closer. He clicked the play button again, and they watched him continue walking away. A few seconds later he stopped and looked back.
“Look at where his gaze is,” Jackie exclaimed. “He’s not interested in the tree at all.”
Laurel straightened, crossing her arms over her chest. “Hmmm, you’re right. He’s looking back at us.”
The still frame zoomed in more, and the image blurred. Denny began to go to work. “I’ll get this cleared up and enhanced. It should give us a pretty good shot of his face to work with if you want.”
“Do it,” Jackie said. “Run it if you get a good one, and see if anything pops up.”
“Sure thing.”
Laurel shrugged. “He’s probably just wondering if I’m all right.”
“Maybe,” she agreed. “But he could be wondering a lot more than that, too.”
“Paranoid.”
“Innocent.”
“Ha! My title is better.”
Jackie clapped Denny on the shoulder. “Thanks, Den. Figure out who he is, and I’ll buy you a shot.”
“I’m there.”
She stepped away from the desk. “I want to see about that penny they found. Maybe the geeks can tell us what it is.”
After acquiring the penny, Jackie and Laurel went down to the basement and tracked down Mark Hauser, head of the Geekroom, where all things information were acquired and processed. Jackie never ceased to marvel at the kinds of things the FBI was capable of finding out. It was almost disturbing.
“Hey!” he exclaimed, spinning around in his chair when Jackie knocked on the open door to his office. “What brings the FBI’s sexiest agents down into the depths?”
Jackie took in the sprawling desk with its three thirty-inch monitors and grimaced. “Seriously, Hauser? Can you ever greet us without mentioning looks?”
“Why? That would be boring.” He gave her a smug grin. “Besides, who else around here can get away with it besides us harmless geeks?”
Laurel laughed. “He has a point. Hauser’s about as harmless as they come.”
He pointed at Laurel. “Exactly.”
Jackie thrust the bag containing the coin at him. “You guys are also the sneakiest, most conspiratorial bastards in the agency. Everything has a plan.”
He plucked the bag from her fingers. “It makes us more interesting. What have we got here?”
“It’s a coin found under a dead boy this morning. Only real piece of evidence we found at the scene, so I’m hoping you might give us some info on it.”
“Cool. Let’s have a look.” He grabbed a pair of tweezers from a drawer and withdrew the coin from the bag. After turning it over a couple times, he arched his brows. “It looks like an Indian Head Penny, 1862. Perfect condition, by the look of it.”
“Worth much?”
“One sec, and I’ll find out,” he replied and spun back around to type on his computer. About thirty seconds later he tapped his screen. “If it’s real and as pristine as it looks, it’ll fetch about twenty-five K.”
Laurel whistled softly. Jackie could hardly believe it. “For a damn penny? Wow.”
“Coin collecting is serious business, Jack,” he said. “And this was just found on the ground beneath a dead body?”
“Yep.”
“Robbery gone bad?”
The image of loose, gray skin washed through Jackie’s mind. “Don’t think so. We think it was left on purpose.”
“Really.” He nodded and reexamined the coin. “Someone sending a message, perhaps?”
“What sort of message requires killing a twelve-year-old boy?”
He winced. “Ouch. That sucks. I’ll look into this and see if I can find anything-coin collectors, auctions, that sort of stuff. Maybe something will pop.”
“Thanks,” Jackie replied. “Let me know the second you find something.”
Back on their floor, Jackie sat down at her desk to the sound of Denny’s voice coming from the other side of the cubicle’s wall. “Check your e-mail, Jack. Got some interesting stuff on your guy.”
“Already? Nice going, Den. Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Jackie turned on her computer and accessed the e-mail, downloading a picture of what turned out to be a photo ID card. Laurel leaned over her shoulder, her head next to Jackie’s.
“He’s a PI?”
“So it would seem,” she said.
“Man, would you look at those eyes. Those have to be colored contacts.”
“Maybe. So why would PI Nick Anderson be interested in the body of a dead boy from the Chicago burbs?”
“Coincidence?”
Jackie shot her a skeptical glance.
“It’s been known to happen, you know.”
“Not in my lifetime.” Jackie scrolled to the next page, where another picture greeted them.
“Whoa, he cleans up nice,” Laurel said.
It was a newspaper clipping dated over a year earlier. Jackie scanned through the article. “Nicholas Rembrandt Anderson? What the hell. Hey, Denny!” she shouted. “Are these the same guy?”
“Yeah. Interesting guy. Wait till you see the next page.”
“CEO of Bloodwork Industries,” Laurel said. “Wonder what that is?”
“Curious, isn’t it? I think we might want to have a little chat with Mr. Anderson.”
“He donated two million dollars to the children’s hospital.”
“So he’s a saint.”
“Bet he likes tough FBI types.”
Jackie smirked. “Rules you out then, doesn’t it?”
“Screw you. I’m tough in the ways that matter.”
“Like an Annabelle’s cream puff.”
“Oh, Annabelle’s! We’re stopping, right? Where’s this Anderson guy located?”
“Um, I don’t know where this address is,” Jackie said, pointing at the screen.
“Just type it into Google maps.”
“What?”
“Oh! Look at this.” Laurel had scrolled to the next screen, which was another newspaper clipping. This one was dated April 1970.
Jackie stared at the picture. It was the spitting image of Nick Anderson. “Wait a sec, that can’t be right. That the same guy?”
Denny’s voice piped in again. “It’s his dad, keep reading.”
“Creepy,” Laurel said. “Looks just like him.”
“Acquitted of murder.” Jackie tapped the screen. This was getting better by the word. “In the slayings of five people…”
Laurel chimed in at the same time. “… who were drained of all their blood.”
Jackie leaned back in her chair. “Holy shit. Coincidence, my ass. We really do need to go have a chat with this guy.”
“Okay,” Laurel admitted. “Got me there. This is too strange.”
“So where’s this guy at?”
“Just Google it and see.”
“I only Google after about six drinks.”
Laurel shook her head, chuckling. “You really should try using your computer once in a while. They’re actually useful.” She pulled up the Google screen and located their address. “See? Ten seconds, and presto! Special Investigations, Inc.”
“Shit. That’s almost an hour from here. Call and see if he’s there. Otherwise track down his home address.”
“We’ll need to hit Annabelle’s first.”
“You know, I hope your ass gets fat. Where the hell do you put all the crap we buy from there?”
Laurel grabbed at her breasts. “Boobs, baby. You should eat more cream puffs.”
There was snickering from nearby cubicles. Jackie rolled her eyes and got up. “Let’s go, you bitch. You’re buying.”
“Don’t I always?”
“Fuck you,” Jackie grumbled, walking away. She never won these things.
The call to Nick Anderson’s office let him know they were to be expected. It was located on the barest outskirts of what could properly be called “greater Chicago.” It was virtual farmland, carved out in places with wealthier subdivisions.
“More villains need to live out this way,” Laurel said. “It’s lovely out here.”
Jackie gave her a wry look. “Have we passed a single coffeehouse in the past twenty minutes?”
“You’ve had enough caffeine for the day, young lady. Besides, I could see you living out here. Look!” She pointed at a large white farmhouse, complete with blue shuttered windows, a picket fence, and an ancient tractor with a FOR SALE sign leaning against its front grill. “That place is beautiful.”
“And what would I do with a place like that?” Place for a bed, her piano, a fridge, and a bathroom was everything she needed. The rest was just wasted space.
“You could raise three or four kids in a place like that and still have space. A nice, strong guy to throw the hay bales around.” She grinned at Jackie. “Anyway. I’m just saying-”
“Three or four kids? Are you insane? I can barely take care of my goddamn cat.”
“Actually,” Laurel said with all seriousness, “I can see it pretty goddamn clearly.”
Jackie stared at her for a second. Was this one of those prescient moments? God, please, no, she thought. “You know as well as I do, Laur. I’d be a horrible mother.”
“You’d be a great mom.” The clipped, forceful tone of her voice had Jackie leaning up against the door. It was that “I know better than you, so shut the fuck up” voice. Sadly, the damn witch was usually right.
“I really hate that tone of voice.”
“You just hate that I’m right.” Laurel crossed her arms over her chest and stared straight ahead at the road, a smug smile on her face.
Jackie grumbled and shook her head. “Bitch. I’m getting a new partner.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Shut up!”
Laurel laughed but said nothing more.
Special Investigations, Inc. was a very unassuming place. A simple, one-story, brick office building with a small paved parking lot stood in a small strip of older shops in a blip of population along the highway. The downtown was one of those more recently renovated sorts that gave the buildings much of their old-world charm. Cracks in the parking lot were sprouting dandelions and grass, but across the street wafted the heavenly aroma of a doughnut shop.
Laurel pointed at what Jackie’s nose had immediately sniffed out when they got out of the car. “Bet there’s lattes in there. Everyone makes them now.”
“On our way out,” she replied. Walking up to the door, Jackie noticed the name of an attorney on the door above Nick Anderson’s. The attorney’s name was twice as big.
“Not big on advertising, is he?”
“Yeah. Low-profile type.” She failed at hiding the sarcasm.
Jackie opened the door and stepped inside, finding a short hallway down the middle of the building dividing Special Investigations from the attorney. The door to the office was unlocked, so she opened it up and found herself in a typical reception office. A variety of Western-themed paintings adorned the walls, which were painted a cool and soothing blue. The furniture was worn but well made with soft, brown leathers and dark wood stain. Next to a colorful bouquet of flowers on the spacious desk was a cute thirty-something. She could have been passing herself off as Santa’s girlfriend with the bright red, tailored suit. Jackie could tell by the way she studied them that the woman was no airhead.
The woman smiled, friendly but still cautious. “Good morning, and welcome to Special Investigations. How may I help you?”
Jackie laid her badge down on the desk. “FBI. I’m Agent Rutledge, and this is Agent Carpenter. I believe Mr. Anderson is expecting us.”
The woman picked up the badge and gave it a thorough look before nodding once and handing it back with the same friendly smile. Not a single flinch of worry or concern crossed her face.
“Might I inform him as to what this is about?” The voice was polite in that almost saccharine way that told you a person was not terribly fond of your presence.
“If you could just inform him we’re here to see him,” Jackie said, trying to mimic the same sweet tone. Behind her, Laurel walked around the room studying the paintings.
The woman shrugged, watching Laurel’s casual perusal as she did. “Very well. One moment.” She called, and the sound of a phone ringing in the back room could be heard. “Mr. Anderson? There are two women here from the FBI to see you. Yes, the badges look legit.” She glanced at each of them for a moment. “Yes, that’s right. Okay. You’re welcome.”
Jackie frowned at the knowing little smile the woman gave them. There had been a strong tone of familiarity in her voice. Either she and Mr. Anderson went back a long ways, or they were intimate. The deep voice on the other end had been slow but too quiet to make out any of the words.
“If you’d like to have a seat, he said he’d be just a moment.”
“Thanks,” Laurel said and sat down in one of the leather chairs.
Jackie turned to give her a look but stopped when she saw Laurel’s grim face. Her mouth was pulled taught, her eyes squinting with concentration. With her back to the secretary, Jackie gave Laurel a quizzical look. What’s going on? Laurel didn’t notice, so Jackie turned back to the woman.
“Actually, could we bother you for something to drink?”
The opportunity to get up and do something appeared to relieve the secretary. “Sure. No problem.” The loose-fitting red skirt swished back and forth as she hurried down the short hall to the partial kitchen inset into the wall. “There’s fresh coffee,” she called back at them.
“Great for me,” Jackie replied. “Water for Agent Carpenter.” She leaned over Laurel, lowering her voice to barely above a whisper. “What? You sense something?”
The frown relaxed a bit while one hand played idly at the crystal around her neck. “I think I just felt a ghost.”
Jackie arched an eyebrow. “You sure?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Gone now, but it was here when we walked in, and the same feeling from the scene is here. It’s like ghost central.”
That was the last thing Jackie wanted to hear. She avoided asking herself if it could get any weirder. “You okay for this?
“Yeah, just a little unexpected is all. I’ll be okay.”
“Agents, here’s your coffee and water.”
Jackie nearly jumped out of her skin. The woman had made no sound coming up behind them and now wore a curiously innocent expression on her face. She would have put her month’s check on the fact that the secretary was far from that. Jackie gave her a halfhearted smile. “Thanks.”
“I hope it’s not too strong. I watered it down just a bit. Mr. Anderson likes his coffee to hold spoons upright.”
“It’s fine.” Could not fault the guy for that, at least.
He came out then, holding his own steaming mug, brown hair cropped short and laying close to his scalp, and with brilliant, gleaming hazel-brown eyes. Jackie found herself staring and finally blinked away. It was the same look from the video. Nobody’s eyes were naturally that color. He had on rough, leather, square-toed boots; faded blue jeans; and a long-sleeved, navy-blue T-shirt. Not a dress-up kind of guy, but he was fit, lean muscle through and through. He looked a bit older than his forty years. It was the slight crow’s-feet around the eyes, Jackie decided. The rest of his face was smooth, if a bit unshaven.
“Good morning, agents,” he said and nodded to each of them. “I’m Nick Anderson. How can I help you?”
No sign of nervousness in the voice. He appeared relaxed. Jackie took a sip of her coffee. “We’d like to ask you a few questions regarding Archibold Lane.”
His eyes widened a hair. “This a case I’m involved with? The name isn’t familiar.”
Like hell. Jackie shrugged. “Perhaps. We’d just like to talk to you for a few minutes and settle some questions for us. It won’t take long.” Or it could take all day, depending on how you answer, cowboy.
“Sure,” he said, waving them toward the back. “Come on back. Cynthia? No calls, please.”
“No problem, Mr. Anderson.”
Nick Anderson’s office was quiet and clean, but not compulsively so. There were a lot of Western motif knickknacks around, dominated by a saddle mounted to the wall behind his desk. Either the guy had some real Western blood in him, or he was really over-the-top on the whole cowboy image thing. She had a hard time imagining it as a selling point for a PI.
Laurel picked an old craftsman-style leather chair in the corner, as far away from him as she could get, avoiding the more comfortable-looking, overstuffed chenille chairs in front of the desk. Jackie wondered but said nothing. She decided to stand before the desk between the two chairs, close enough to show him she was not threatened.
Nick stopped before sitting down in his own chair. “Please sit, Ms…?”
“Agent Rutledge, and thanks, but I’ll stand for now, Mr. Anderson.” She wished Laurel had remained standing as well, but she merely sat in the chair, ramrod straight, clutching the case folder tightly in her hand. Ghost feeling must have been stronger in the office.
He sat down and leaned back, sipping at his coffee. “Okay. Suit yourself. What sort of questions did you have for me then?”
“Can you tell us where you were last night from roughly midnight until dawn?”
“Sleeping mostly. I was up around five thirty to go for a swim.”
Jackie bit off the sarcastic bark of laughter. “At five thirty AM? What pool is open at that time of day?”
He apparently found her annoyance amusing. “It’s quiet then and a pleasant way to begin the day when I have a case to think about. It helps clear my head.”
She found her mouth inching into a matching grin, her eyes locked on to his. What was it about them? They had a fire all their own. Or was it just a trick of the light?
Jackie snapped her gaze away from Nick’s, focusing instead on his mouth. Tricky little shit. This guy was smooth. She would have to see if he could be ruffled up a bit. “You happen to have any witnesses to corroborate this, Mr. Anderson?”
“Only if someone was hiding out at my lake.”
“Bit cold in the morning to jump into a lake, don’t you think?”
“More of an oversize pond, but I find it refreshing, and I’ve a high tolerance for the cold.”
The smile on his face once again had the corner of Jackie’s mouth quivering upward. A quick glance showed her that Laurel was riveted by this man. She sat unmoving, her pen poised on the blank notepad. What the hell was she seeing? Jackie wished she could have a word with her.
“So after the swim to clear your head, you did what?”
“Showered, ate, came into work around eight.”
“Were you here all day?” Come on, cowboy. Lie to me. Go ahead.
He shook his head once. “No. I left from about nine until one.”
“Doing?” The effort at sounding casual with the question did not fall well on Mr. Anderson. He leaned forward in his chair, placing the now empty coffee cup on the desk.
“Agent Rutledge,” he said calmly, “I was at your crime scene today. I was driving through the area and spotted the circus going on in the park. I was curious, so I stopped to see what it was all about. I ran into Agent Carpenter there when she was about to pass out, and then I decided to leave shortly after. I’d heard and seen enough to know more or less what happened.”
“What did happen, Mr. Anderson?” Jackie suppressed the urge to wipe the smile off his face, though, admittedly, it was the urge to smile along with him that got under her skin more than anything else. If she got the chance, she would have to ask him how he did that.
“Some sociopath exsanguinated a young boy and stuck him under a tree.” There was a note of anger there now, a hard edge to his voice.
“Agent Carpenter? Would you show Mr. Anderson our piece of evidence, please?” When no reply came, Jackie turned and cleared her throat. Christ! What was wrong with Laurel?
“Oh. Sorry.” Laurel flipped open the file folder and pulled out the sealed penny, handing it to Jackie with an apologetic smile.
Jackie frowned and plucked it from her fingertips, giving her a “What the hell?” stare. Laurel smiled apologetically, settling back into the chair. She spun back to face Nick and set the coin down on the desk. “Does this look familiar to you at all, Mr. Anderson?”
Something washed over his face, gone as quickly as it appeared. Surprise? Fear? Jackie could not be sure what. He picked up the coin and studied it intently for a moment, turning it over with large, steady hands. The eyes, which so often gave suspects away, narrowed just a hair. Without their gaze focusing on her, Jackie watched them, but everything about his demeanor remained unruffled and calm.
“It’s a penny.”
Nice deduction, Sherlock. She snatched the penny out of his hand. “Yes, a rather rare and very valuable penny. You know nothing of it?”
“Should I, Agent Rutledge? Was this found on the boy?”
Jackie handed it back to Laurel, who returned it to the folder. They were not going to get anywhere with the penny. That much was obvious. “Mr. Anderson, what exactly is it that you investigate? Special Investigations is a rather vague name.”
He paused. For the first time, he looked just a bit unsure about how to respond, and Jackie felt a twang of satisfaction run through her. He looked over at Laurel, and Jackie wondered why Laurel’s opinion would make any difference to him.
“Ghosts, Agent Rutledge. Most folk come to me about ghosts.”
Jackie blinked a couple times in disbelief. She heard Laurel suck in her breath. That had not been the answer she expected, but given Laurel’s response, it certainly made some sense. “Seriously? Why does the CEO of a multimillion-dollar medical company spend his time investigating ghosts?”
The bright hazel eyes caught hers again, and Jackie glared back. He certainly looked to be telling the truth, as bizarre as it sounded. “It’s something of a calling, I suppose.”
For about two seconds, it made perfect sense, but then Jackie shifted her eyes away, and the ridiculousness of it all rushed back. “So you expect me to believe a man of your means spends his time being a ghost hunter?”
He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking against his weight. “Why would I make up something like that, Agent Rutledge? I figured the FBI would have already known that. The fact is, I stopped at the park because I sensed a ghost in the area. Likely the boy’s. They will linger at a scene sometimes.”
“No,” Laurel said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jackie turned to look at her. “No?”
“No,” she repeated, standing up and walking up next to Jackie. “It wasn’t the boy’s ghost.”
Nick looked over at her, a genuinely curious look on his face now. “Do you know whose it was, Agent Carpenter?”
“No, but I sense it here, and it’s very close. In this building, I believe.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding. “You’re a medium then. I’d guessed as much.”
She shrugged. “Yes and no. I can sense spirits though, and something really strong is very close by. Do you know what it is?”
At that moment, the office door swung open, and a very pretty, dark-haired woman wearing black wraparound sunglasses poked her head inside.
“Nick! There are feds snooping-” She stopped, seeing the two of them at last, and grinned sheepishly. “Oh. Seems the feds are already here.”
Jackie could hear a definite note of tension in Mr. Anderson’s voice now. “Shel, this is Agent Rutledge and Carpenter. This is my business partner, Shelby Fontaine.”
The grin got wider, and she stepped into the room. “Hi.” She thrust out her hand at Jackie, who took it reluctantly. The skin was very cool and smooth. Her lips were painted a brilliant, gleaming red, and the hair was pulled back into a French-style braid. Her eyes were a crystalline blue, like tropical ocean water glittering in the sun. It took Jackie a second to realize they had the same unnatural shine to them as Nick Anderson. What the fuck? Was it some special PI mind trick? Jackie decided she didn’t like this woman with the model looks and the freaky eyes.
When Laurel took the hand, the friendly smile on her face dissolved like sugar in water. The blood-red nails of Shelby Fontaine’s hand gripped Laurel’s firmly, but certainly not so tight to create the gasp of shock that burst from Laurel’s mouth. The color sank out of her body as though someone had pulled a plug.
“Sweet mother,” she whispered, staggering away from Shelby’s now limp hand. After a second she regained her balance, looking decidedly green, and then bolted for the door. A moment later, the bathroom door in the hall slammed shut, but it did not entirely muffle the sounds of vomiting.
Jackie struggled to close her mouth, which had mindlessly dropped open. What was going on?
Shelby offered a nervous laugh. “I say something wrong?”