Buried: A Bone Secrets Novel Part 29

She exhaled slowly through her nose. Like anywhere with him is okay.

The car moved slowly for a short time and stopped. The engine turned off.

Jamie held her breath. She heard the car door open. He got out, slammed the door, and his footsteps grew fainter. He was leaving her alone. In the dark.

She strained her eyes to see in the dark. He'd left the s.p.a.ce open to the trunk, but all she could see was a narrow view of cement walls, like the inside of a parking structure. An indirect light source gave the walls a soft glow.

Where was she?

Silence.

She relaxed and closed her eyes, thinking of Michael. If anyone could figure out where she was, he could.

Ray stretched in his chair, joints audibly popping. "Brody says the senator is spending the night at the governor's mansion and then leaving with the governor for j.a.pan in the morning on some political trip. He tried to reach him, but his cell is probably off. He's heading to Salem to try to catch his father before they head to the airport."

"Looks like our killer is headed that way anyway." Mason rubbed at his eyes. It was four in the morning, and he wasn't going home anytime soon. There were too many irons in the fire that he wanted to keep an eye on.

"We've got his vehicle description and plates out to every trooper on the road. We'll find him," Ray said confidently.

"I want to know who this son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h really is. And I can't believe that trooper took a fake ID." Mason paced in the police building. He and Ray were the only ones on their floor working. Normal folks had gone home long ago.

"Wasn't fake. Was legit. Just wasn't him."

"I want to catch this a.s.shole. Then I want to pull the lever on the electric chair."

"I suspect there'll be a brawl to be the lucky guy who gets that job."

"There's got to be something in that old murder case that points us in the right direction."

"You already talked to Lee Fielding. You think you could get any more out of him?"

Mason shook his head. "I've listened to that interview twice. Fielding doesn't know c.r.a.p."

"What about the Darby file?"

"Until one of us talks to Senator Brody, I don't think we'll get much further there. I want to know what exactly his relations.h.i.+p was with the young woman."

Ray wrinkled his nose.

"For f.u.c.k's sake. You know as well as I do. Senators and their employees get it on all the time. Anytime a man has power like that, he's suddenly attractive to a lot of women. Especially the young ones," Mason stated.

"I don't like to think of anyone taking advantage of Cecilia Brody."

"Of course not. She's a very ill woman. But she's smart, and I've seen her and the senator interact. He cares. If he hurt her at some point in the past, she's forgiven him. But that doesn't mean she's forgotten about it."

"Are we gonna draw straws to see who gets to talk to him?"

"I'll do it. I wish he wasn't leaving the country. I'd rather talk to him in person again. I just can't get the same feel for a person on a cell phone. People are much more comfortable lying on a cell phone. I need to see his face so I know what he's not telling me."

Ray nodded. "Maybe we need to try to talk to him before he gets on a plane."

"s.h.i.+t, I drove to Salem yesterday. I don't want to go again. And I haven't f.u.c.king slept." Mason rubbed a hand over his face, pulling at his cheeks. It felt like the blood had left his skin; there was an odd numbness to his face. Lack of sleep.

About three times a year, there'd be a case that would keep him and Ray up all night. A case where they were so close to something big that neither man could sleep because the answer might be right around the corner. This d.a.m.ned tattoo man was just out of their reach. If they didn't close their eyes, maybe they could sneak up on him.

"Let's both go. Let's just get in the car and head south. We'll hit Starbucks and be waiting at the Salem airport when the senator gets there. He'll have to take a few minutes to talk to us. h.e.l.l, he can catch a plane to j.a.pan the following day if he needs to. Leave a message on his cell to call us back, saying we want to talk to him this morning. He'll get the message when he wakes up."

Ray was right. Standing around the office, staring at their phones wasn't helping. They might as well put themselves in the senator's path. At least it'd feel like they were doing something.

"You're right. But d.a.m.n, I wish I could take a shower first." Mason discreetly sniffed at his armpits. "Christ! I reek."

"I've got some extra s.h.i.+rts. Go wash up, and I'll loan you one," Ray offered.

Mason eyed the width of Ray's weight-lifter chest. "Your stuff won't fit me. I'll look like an idiot."

"You want to stink for the senator? Or just look like you don't know your size? Your choice."

"I'll take the s.h.i.+rt."

Thirty minutes later, Mason and Ray were headed south out of Portland. Two coffees in Mason's sedan's cup holders and a file from Lee Fielding's murder trial on Ray's lap.

Mason was wearing an orange polo s.h.i.+rt. It had the d.a.m.ned little horse on it and everything. He felt like he glowed. Ray had offered him three different polo s.h.i.+rts. Pastel stripes, solid yellow, or solid orange. He went with the lesser of three evils. The s.h.i.+rt wasn't as baggy as he expected, probably because Ray had a tendency to wear them a little on the snug side.

Ray had referred to his s.h.i.+rt color as "tangerine." Mason had stared at him.

"It's orange."

"No, I have an orange one at home. This one's a little different."

Holy s.h.i.+t.

"You buy this stuff or does your wife shop for you?"

Ray looked hurt. "I buy my own stuff. Jillian likes how I dress. She'd tell me if I looked like an idiot. What the h.e.l.l's your problem? There's other clothing in the world besides b.u.t.ton-down collared dress s.h.i.+rts. Other colors besides blue, gray, and white."

"Drink your coffee." Translation: I'm ending this stupid line of conversation.

Ray took a sip of his Venti black coffee and dug through the papers in his lap. He cleared his throat. "Since all the stuff from Gary Hinkes's trial has vanished, I'm getting what references I can from Fielding's case."

"Right."

"We've already been through the transcript. Now I'm just looking at all the letters sent between the DA's office and Fielding's attorney and the judge. I can't believe how formal and longwinded all this c.r.a.p is. It takes ten pages of letters to get everyone to agree on one little thing. It's like that over and over. No wonder attorneys rake in the big bucks. They charge three hundred dollars an hour to write a letter. I could send a text in ten seconds that accomplishes the same thing."

Mason grinned. "If only texts were nicely kept legal doc.u.ments."

"Anyway, they spend a lot of time arguing back and forth. Most of this s.h.i.+t doesn't make any sense to me. I'm just looking for the Hinkes name. He's in here quite a bit. The prosecutor reprimands Fielding's attorney every time he mentions him. Says his case is separate and to keep his focus on Fielding only."

"Fielding's attorney was appointed, right?"

"Yeah, he couldn't afford one. Same with Hinkes. Glad to know we paid for their trials."

"Same guy from the DA's office prosecuted both?"

"No..." Ray shuffled through papers. "I'd thought so at first, but there's a reference somewhere for Fielding's attorney to take some issue up with a different prosecutor...I'm looking for it."

Ray sucked in a breath. "Well, I'll be d.a.m.ned."

Gerald jogged up the stairs from the parking area below the house. He'd let himself into the secured parking area and tapped the security code to disarm the house. He knew all the security; that was his job. He also knew that at five in the morning on a Sat.u.r.day, his boss would still be asleep and the house empty of employees.

How was he going to be received? The boss wasn't going to be happy that he hadn't taken out Chris Jacobs. But he'd found some good bait to bring the man out into the open. Once Jacobs heard about his missing sister, he'd have a good idea who took her. And if the word about the pile of Twinkies got back to him, Jacobs would have no doubt.

Jamie had said she contacted her brother by leaving a phone message. He could get the number out of her and do the same if things didn't move fast enough.

He liked the idea of Jamie being locked in his trunk. And tied up. He'd experimented a bit with the bondage-type play but had never gotten turned on by it. But the long-haired woman in his car was sticking in his brain and distracting him in a big way.

Even if she never led him to Chris Jacobs, he still came out ahead.

He needed to find a different place to take the woman. He'd considered and rejected his own home or a hotel, and there was no way he could go back to the bunker. His boss had a few private vacation homes in the state that he could drive to in a couple of hours. He just needed a thumbs-up from his boss-and a key.

The big house was quiet and dark. Feeling a bit like a burglar, Gerald quietly sped through the halls and up another flight of stairs to the boss's bedroom. He raised his hand to quietly knock and then froze.

What if he wasn't alone?

He'd never walked in on his boss with anyone, but that didn't mean this couldn't be the first time. Gerald was often in the home at night, the boss knew that, but they'd never established a protocol for him needing to talk to the boss during sleeping hours. He still wasn't answering his cell phone.

The intercom.

There was an intercom system through the phone extensions on the house landline. He'd call from one of the other rooms first. His boss hated mornings. The man was a night owl and always struggled to wake up even on normal mornings.

He tiptoed away from the door. The intercom was a bit obnoxious sounding, but that should be better than Gerald appearing at the door if the boss wasn't alone. He headed back to the kitchen.

Nearing the kitchen, he stopped and sniffed the air. Coffee? Clinking of dishes told him someone was up. He pushed through the swinging door. His boss stood at the counter in front of the coffeemaker, his back to Gerald.

"Oh, I thought you'd still be asleep," said Gerald.

The man whirled around, his mouth in an O.

Not his boss.

"Sorry, Senator. I didn't know you were in town," Gerald apologized. His boss's brother was a common visitor in the governor's mansion. He tugged his jacket's sleeves down an inch and wished he'd worn his usual driving gloves.

"You scared the s.h.i.+t out of me, Prentice. You shouldn't sneak up on people like that."

"I didn't know anyone else was in the house."

"We're leaving for the airport in a couple of hours. I should wake Phillip up."

That would take care of Gerald's dilemma. "Good, I need to talk to him real quick. I was about to call him on the intercom. I'd rather you did the honors."

The senator chuckled with a smile, and Gerald understood why the man had never lost an election. He knew how to appear completely charming and relatable. "Phillip's never been a morning person. I'll let him know you're waiting to talk to him. Must be urgent if you're here this early on a Sat.u.r.day morning."

Gerald s.h.i.+fted on his feet and pulled his sleeves again. "A personal matter, actually."

The senator nodded. "Got it. I'll let him know." He poured two mugs of coffee, adding plenty of cream to both, and backed through the swinging kitchen door. "A little peace offering. We were up till one last night packing and talking. Coffee should wake him up easier."

Gerald sincerely doubted coffee was going to help after his boss found out he hadn't completed his mission.

"What? What the h.e.l.l is it?" Mason asked Ray again. The other detective was frantically rooting through his papers. Mason was about to pull the car over and grab the papers to see for himself.

"Hang on. I want to make sure I'm not totally wrong first."

"Christ, Ray, you're slower than my mother's dial-up."

Ray scanned a page. "Here it is. Here's the name again. Yep. Phillip Brody was the prosecutor for Hinkes's trial."

"What the h.e.l.l? Our Governor Brody?"

"Yeah, our governor started out in the Multnomah County district attorney's office before moving into politics. Ran for state representative, succeeded, and moved up from there. But before that, he was a lowly a.s.sistant district attorney."

"Wait a minute." Mason's brain was making leaps and bounds. And somersaults. "So, Phillip Brody knew Hinkes at some point. Also had to learn what a sc.u.mbag he was."

"There's no way he'd keep up an a.s.sociation with that kind of person."

"Christ, I'd hope not. I like to think our elected officials have better taste."

"Governor Brody also has the type of power and access to make someone's past disappear."

"s.h.i.+t." Mason didn't know if his brain could accept that step.

"Think the governor knows where to find Hinkes these days?"

"That'd be a big help. But wait a minute. Katy Darby."

"What about her?"

"She worked on Senator Brody's campaigns...maybe she also worked with Governor Brody? She seemed to be the type of person who would work with both men. Their politics are similar. I have to imagine that working on a campaign isn't a year-round job once the election is over. I wouldn't be surprised if she worked with both men. If one was happy with her work ethic, surely he'd recommend her to his brother. It'd make sense that she'd spend time during one man's off-season helping out the other one," said Mason.

"And she met up with Hinkes that way? That's implying Hinkes was still in a.s.sociation with the governor back then...or whatever position he held at that time."

"Why would the governor maintain a relations.h.i.+p with a sc.u.mbag he prosecuted? Especially a potentially murdering sc.u.mbag?" Mason was afraid to let his brain follow the possibilities presented by that train of thought.

Ray's brain zipped right up the path. "Because he needed someone to do some sort of dirty work."

"And he exchanged it for getting him off the murder charge," Mason finished. f.u.c.k. "This isn't a TV show. s.h.i.+t like that doesn't happen in real life."

"It shouldn't," agreed Ray. "But we have to look at this."

Mason glanced at his speedometer and saw he was over the speed limit by twenty-five miles per hour. He let up on the gas, his leg aching to push harder. "I don't like this theory."