Vanished (Private Justice Book #1): A Novel (3 page)

She exhaled. “I hope you’ll think mine falls into that category.”

“A great segue.” He smiled and uncapped his pen. “Why don’t you tell me what brought you here?”

A flicker of distress darted through her eyes, and she tightened her linked fingers. “I have to warn you, the whole thing is kind of weird. And I also have to be honest about my
financial resources. I may not be able to afford you. I didn’t budget for this.”

“We can get to the fee schedule later. Why don’t you tell me your story, and we’ll go from there?”

“Okay.” She swallowed and moistened her lips. “It all started Friday night when I went to Augusta to do an interview for a feature story. I work for the
Post
 too.”

Cal listened as she recounted the details of the night, jotting some notes on the tablet, asking a few questions, tuning in to visual cues, assessing the veracity of her tale, weighing probabilities. By the time she finished, he was intrigued—but cautious. And not overly optimistic Phoenix could turn up any more than the sheriff’s department had.

“I tried to get a copy of the police report yesterday, but they told me it hadn’t been filed yet. Otherwise, I would have brought it with me.” She finished her account and took a deep breath.

“We can get it. Probably faster than you can. Let me ask you a few other questions. Augusta is in the heart of the Missouri wine country. Did you have anything to drink with your dinner?”

The firm line of her mouth told him she didn’t like that question. Or perhaps it had been asked once too often already. “No. I don’t drink. I showed the deputy my dinner tab to prove that, and gave him the name of my waitress if he wanted to verify my claim.”

“How fast were you driving?”

“I’m not sure. Not that fast. The rain was bad. But I did speed up a little right before the accident. I was in a wooded area, and I wanted to get away from the trees because of the lightning.”

He checked his notes. “You said you were dazed but conscious when the so-called Good Samaritan appeared. Yet you lost consciousness after that. For an hour. That’s a long time to be unconscious from a slight concussion. What did the ER staff say about that?”

She wrinkled her brow. “I don’t know that we discussed it very much. At that point, my head was pounding, and my memory starts to get blurry.”

“All right. Let’s back up. You said you think the person you hit was a woman. Can you describe her?”

Regret pooled in her eyes. “I wish I could. It all happened so fast, and I only got a quick glimpse. Plus, she was wet. I do know she had short dark hair, and she was wearing a tan raincoat. I had the impression she was thin.” Moira closed her eyes, as if trying to extract more specifics from the image in her mind. “I think she was on the short side. And young. Under thirty.”

“Okay. What about the man?”

“His face was hidden by the hood. I couldn’t make out any distinguishing features. But he wore a Claddagh wedding ring.”

He tapped his pen on the table and studied her. His instincts told him she wasn’t a woman given to fancies—or to seeing things that weren’t there. She was a reporter, trained to be observant, to notice details. She had clear memories of the events of the evening before and after the accident, up until her arrival in the ER. If she said she’d seen a woman in her headlights, he was inclined to believe her.

Proving that, however, could be extremely difficult.

Besides, what was the point?

“Ms. Harrison, I’m confused about one thing.”

“Just one?”

At her wry inflection, his lips quirked up. The lady had a sense of humor. Nice.

“Why are you bothering to investigate this? Assuming there was a woman there, she’s (a) a stranger, and (b) long gone.”

She leaned forward, posture intent, no hesitation in her response. “Because it’s the right thing to do. I saw that woman’s eyes. She needed help. Maybe she still does. I can’t walk away from that. If I don’t try to get to the bottom of this, who will?”

A woman who believed in doing the right thing—despite the inconvenience to herself and unfavorable odds. Impressive.
And her ethics meshed with the principles on which Phoenix had been founded.

He tipped his head toward the simple gold cross that hung on a slender chain around her neck. “I take it that’s more than a piece of jewelry.”

“Yes.”

At the quiet conviction in her voice, Cal’s heart skipped a beat. Lindsey would have said the same thing—and in the exact same tone. The strength of his wife’s moral compass and her certitude and passion about the causes she believed in and supported had always blown him away.

Even after five years, the reality of his loss was like a punch in the gut.

Clearing his throat, he stood and crossed to his desk. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I take a look at the police report and have a chat with the responding deputy? Then we can talk again.” He opened a drawer, pulled out a client contact form. “In the meantime, it would be helpful if you filled this out for our file.” He returned to the table and set it in front of her, along with a pen. “We always do a topline background check on new clients to ensure our services aren’t being used for some illegal end.”

She examined the sheet. “I suppose that makes sense.” She flipped it over to the blank side, as if searching for something more. “What about the fee schedule? And don’t you want a retainer?”

“Usually. But we waive it in some cases. And it’s a bit premature to discuss fees. Talking to the deputy and reviewing the police report won’t take long, and that may be as far as we get.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled in distress. “I hope not. I can’t stop thinking about that woman. There have to be answers somewhere.”

“We’ll dig for them if we find even the slightest lead to investigate.”

“Do you charge by the hour?”

She was back to the money. Obviously, it was an issue.

“Yes.” He hesitated, then quoted her their standard rate.

Her eyes widened. “Wow.” She breathed, rather than spoke, the word. “I think I’m in the wrong business. My budget isn’t going to buy more than a few hours of your time.”

He retook his seat at the table. “Let’s not worry about that yet. You know those cold cases I mentioned earlier? We did those pro bono because we didn’t think justice had been served and we believed they deserved a second look. The side benefit was that they ended up bolstering our credibility and bringing in a lot of new business that more than made up for the fees we didn’t receive. This case could do the same.”

Her chin rose a fraction. “I’m not looking for charity. You deserve to be paid for your work.”

“And if the woman you saw was truly in trouble, she deserves justice. For now, let’s just say we’re both doing a good deed.”

She hesitated. Her gaze flicked down to the gold band on the third finger of his left hand, with its pattern of etched crosses. “I’m impressed.”

“Why don’t you reserve that comment until we see what I can find?”

“The fact that you’re willing to try despite the apparent lack of evidence says a lot.”

She picked up the pen and tackled the form, saving him from having to formulate a reply.

Just as well. Compliments—even implied ones—always made him uncomfortable.

After collecting his notebook and pen, he returned to his desk. He had plenty to do while she worked on the form. A report to complete for the child custody case he’d finished yesterday. Some addresses to track down for a defense attorney whose “justice first” philosophy meshed with Phoenix’s. A skip trace to run on a deadbeat dad.

But he couldn’t concentrate on any of them—thanks to the potential client sitting a few feet away.

He stole a glance at her. She was bent over the form, faint creases on her brow, lower lip caught between her teeth. An intriguing woman with an intriguing story—who also happened to be very appealing. He liked her principles. Her sincerity. Her subtle sense of humor.

And he liked how she looked.

A lot.

His pulse kicked up a notch, and he frowned. Not appropriate. Moira Harrison had come here to seek his professional services—and he didn’t mix business and pleasure. Ever. None of the Phoenix PIs did. It was a bad practice that could compromise objectivity.

So why did he have a feeling he might have difficulty maintaining a professional distance with this client?

And why did that make him feel guilty?

But he knew the answer to the second question.

Cal swiveled away from Moira, toward the framed photograph of a tropical seascape that had once graced the pages of a national travel magazine. Lindsey had had the ability to take ordinary scenes and imbue them with depth and magic and possibilities, her touch transforming them into more than they’d been before.

Just as she’d transformed him.

And in the five years she’d been gone, his love for her hadn’t diminished one iota. He doubted it ever would. She’d captured his heart with her vivacious smile that long-ago day he’d pulled her over for a traffic stop and she’d charmed him out of writing a ticket. It had been hers ever since.

End of story.

Compressing his lips into a firm line, Cal turned back to his computer and began typing his report. And he didn’t look up—didn’t let himself look up—until Moira spoke ten minutes later.

“I’m finished.” She rose, crossed to his desk, and handed him the form.

A quick scan told him she’d left some lines blank. Social
Security number. Date of birth. License number. Didn’t she realize he could get all that information in minutes?

As if reading his mind, she spoke. “I don’t like to give out a lot of personal data. But I suppose it won’t be hard for you to track it down.”

“No.” Why lie?

Despite his candor, she didn’t offer to provide the missing information. Maybe she hoped he wouldn’t bother checking it out.

Not a chance. The gaps on the sheet left him more intrigued than ever.

“Why don’t I contact the deputy, get the report, and give you a call in a day or two?” He double-checked the form to verify she’d included her address and cell phone number.

“That works.” She retrieved her purse, settled it on her shoulder, and held out her hand. “Thank you for your time today—and for treating my story more seriously than anyone did on Friday night. I’m not crazy, Mr. Burke. I know what I saw.”

He returned her steady clasp, fighting a disquieting urge to hold on longer than necessary. “I have no reason to doubt you, especially with your journalism background. What kind of writing do you do?”

“For now, I’m filling in wherever they need help until an investigative slot opens. That was my specialty in Springfield, before I moved here a few weeks ago.”

“Promotion?”

She flashed him a quick smile. “Yes.”

“Congratulations. From what I hear, journalism’s a tough business these days. You must be good.” She didn’t respond as he fished a card out of his pocket and handed it to her. “My cell number is on there too. Feel free to call at any time if you think of additional information that might be helpful.”

“I doubt I will. I’ve been over the events in my mind dozens of times already.” Nevertheless, she tucked the card into a pocket in her purse.

“Let me show you out.” He indicated the door.

She exited, and he followed her down the hall.

The reception area was deserted when they passed through and said their good-byes. No surprise there. Nikki hadn’t wasted any time getting back to her Pilates regime after she returned to work from her honeymoon yesterday. Fitness was high on her lunch-hour priority list. Far higher than the mess in Dev’s office.

But his partner’s pile of files would have to wait another day, anyway.

Because he had a research assignment for Nikki this afternoon that he hoped might help clear up a mess far greater than Dev’s.

O
kay. What’s the scoop on the babe?” Dev strolled into Cal’s office and plopped a white restaurant bag on his desk.

Cal swiveled away from his computer and reached for the food. “The
babe
is a potential client. Moira Harrison. Did you get some ketchup? And what took you so long, anyway? You’ve been gone two hours.”

“I’m glad you missed me.” Dev smirked at him. “Ketchup’s in the bottom. And I had an errand to run.” He dropped into the chair across from Cal’s desk, shoved his hands in the pockets of his khaki slacks, and stretched his legs out in front of him. “So what’s her problem?”

“Take a look.” Cal nodded toward the hot-off-the-fax police report on his desk and unwrapped the burger. He managed to get in three large bites while Dev gave the document a quick read.

His partner summed up his reaction with the same word Moira had used. “Weird.”

“Yeah, I know.” Cal fished around for any stray fries in the sack. “I also talked to the responding deputy. He didn’t have anything new to add, except to confirm she’d been treated for a concussion.”

“So what does she want us to do?”

“Find out what happened to the woman she saw.”

“The woman she
claims
she saw.” Dev set the report back on the desk, his expression skeptical. “What’s your take?”

Cal wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “My gut tells me she’s legit. I’m having Nikki run some background on her, but I don’t think she’ll find anything odd.”

“People who’ve been hit by a car don’t typically walk away. And what about the so-called Good Samaritan who also disappeared?”

“I have no idea.” He took another bite of the burger.

“The deputy noted on his report that she wasn’t wearing her glasses.”

“I saw that. It’s not a restriction on her license—I already checked. But I’m surprised she didn’t mention it when she was here. I’ve got it on a follow-up list of questions.”

“Does that mean you’re going to take this on?”

He swirled a fry in the ketchup. “I haven’t decided yet. Besides, I’ll need you and Connor to weigh in if I do. Our fees blew her away. This would have to be mostly pro bono.”

“You haven’t proposed a freebie for a couple of years. I doubt Connor will object.”

Cal didn’t think he would, either. But he intended to abide by the rule they’d agreed to: all voted yea, or the case was turned down. It was the only fair way to operate, since pro bono work put more pressure on the other two partners to make up the difference in revenue.

“If I decide this is worth taking on, I’ll call him.” He finished off his burger and snagged the final two fries.

A knock sounded at the open door, and Dev looked over his shoulder. “Nikki! My favorite person!”

She snorted and breezed past him toward Cal’s desk. “Don’t try to sweet-talk me. I’ll get to your mountain of files when I have less important things to do. Besides, would it have killed you to put a few away while I was gone?”

“And mess up your impeccable filing system?”

“Nice try, buddy.” She rolled her eyes at him and set a file
folder on Cal’s desk. “At least some people appreciate my more advanced skills.”

“Hey, I appreciate them.”

“Right.” She perused the remains of Cal’s high-carb lunch with a disapproving sniff but confined her comment to three words. “It’s your heart.” Then she slid the folder toward him. “Your new client is clean as a whistle, based on a preliminary background check, but I did find one thing of note.”

“Have a seat.” He gestured to the chair beside Dev and rubbed the incriminating salt and grease off his fingers with the napkin.

She sat and crossed her legs.

Dev gave her toenails a slow perusal. “Nice polish. Does it glow in the dark?”

“Ha-ha. And for your information, Steve likes it.”

“Speaking of the new groom—how is he adjusting to married life?”

She gave him a smug smile. “Ask him sometime.”

“I think I’ll wait until the honeymoon glow wears off.” He settled back in his chair.

She folded her arms. “You know . . . it’s a lucky thing I’m not the sensitive type.”

“You wouldn’t last a day around here if you were.” Cal grinned at her.

“Too true.” She shook her head. “You guys all need to find a good woman and settle down. That would mellow you out—and maybe teach you to keep your offices clean.” She shot a pointed look toward Dev, which he ignored.

But she was right, Cal conceded. A good woman could have a profound effect on a man’s life.

Tamping down that melancholy thought, he opened the file folder. “Let’s see what you found.” He examined the data Nikki had compiled. All the blanks on the background sheet had been filled in, including Moira Harrison’s age. Thirty-three. Two years younger than him. Nikki had also clipped several printouts to the back of it. “Nice work. Fast too.”

“I try. I printed out a few of her articles from the
Springfield
News-Leader
and attached them. She’s a real crusader. Take a look at the first sheet behind the questionnaire.”

Cal flipped over the form. It was an article dated a year ago, not by Moira but about her. His eyebrows rose at the headline.

NEWS-LEADER
REPORTER NOMINATED FOR
PULITZER PRIZE

He scanned the article. She’d been nominated in the Investigative Reporting category for a series that exposed two city council members for taking bribes, shaking down companies for political contributions, and creating ghost jobs for friends, family, and political cronies. Both had been indicted and were awaiting trial.

No wonder she’d gotten an offer from a bigger paper.

He turned the clipping around for Dev to see.

His partner gave a soft whistle. “The lady’s no slouch, that’s for sure. And that lends a bit more weight to her story.”

No kidding.

“This is very helpful, Nikki. Thanks.” Cal set the clipped papers on his desk.

“Well, back to the salt mines.” Dev stood and gestured for Nikki to precede him. “Will you work on my files if I say pretty please?”

“I might be able to squeeze it in later this afternoon.”

“I’ll throw in a latte from Starbucks tomorrow.”

“Sold. And make it soy, no whip.”

As the two of them disappeared down the hall, Cal leaned back in his chair, rested his elbows on the arms, and steepled his fingers.

A Pulitzer prize–nominated investigative reporter had serious credibility. If Moira Harrison said she’d seen a person—or two—on the road Friday night, he was more inclined than ever to believe her. Even if she hadn’t been wearing her glasses.

But believing her wasn’t enough to get to the bottom of
this mystery. And unless he came up with more than he had now, there wasn’t a whole lot he could do to help her.

Much as he wanted to.

“Sorry. I burned the pork chops and had to start over. Thank goodness I married a patient man.”

As Linda huffed out her apology, Moira shifted sideways on the bench to watch her friend approach. Some things never changed. Linda had been perennially late in J-school too. But she always showed five or ten minutes after the appointed time for their twice-a-week walk. Moira gave her watch a discreet glance as she rose. Today it was five.

“No problem. Who could complain about waiting in a place like this?” She gestured to the ducks on the lake and the bed of tulips in front of the pavilion. “Thanks for telling me about it.”

“Tilles Park is a gem.” Linda did a sweep of the picturesque setting. “And best of all, it’s almost in our backyards. So how did the meeting with the PI go?” She struck off toward the circular road that wound through the park.

“Okay, I guess.” Moira fell in beside her. “The firm seemed more reputable than I expected.”

“My guy at County gave it high marks. Cal Burke in particular. I got the impression they worked together on a few cases until Burke retired.”

Moira sent her a questioning look. “He’s too young to be retired.”

“Don’t be too sure. A lot of public servants can kiss off their jobs after twenty or twenty-five years.”

“Unless he’s very well preserved, Cal Burke hasn’t hit forty yet.”

“Really?” Linda swept her long black hair into a scrunchy band. “I just assumed he was older. Most law enforcement types who become PIs are retired. I’ll have to get the scoop from my contact about why he left. What’s he look like?”

“Tall. Dark-haired. Brown eyes. Solid.”

Linda wrinkled her nose. “Solid as in one too many doughnuts?”

“No. As in stalwart. Honorable. Someone you could count on.”

Linda turned her head without breaking stride. “I see he made quite an impression. Is he good-looking?”

“Yeah.” Very.

“Woohoo.” Her friend beamed at her. “This whole experience may have some side benefits you never dreamed of.”

“Forget it. He’s married.” She picked up her pace.

“How do you know?”

“He has a very distinctive wedding ring.”

“Too bad.” Linda’s face fell. “But one of these days you’ll meet a handsome, stalwart man who isn’t. And you need to be open to that. You can’t discount all men because of one bad experience. It’s time to write off Jack and move on.”

“Trust me. I’ve written him off.”

“Sorry. Not buying. You guys broke up a year ago. If you’d moved on, you’d be dating again.”

“I’ve had more important things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Work, for one.”

“You can’t work twenty-four hours a day.” Linda cocked her head. “Or maybe you can. Maybe that’s what it takes to be nominated for a Pulitzer prize. Which eliminates me from the running. I’m not that dedicated.”

“Not true. You work hard.”

“But Scott comes first.”

Moira couldn’t argue with that. Since Linda and Scott had married two years ago, her friend’s priorities had shifted. Her own might have too, if things had worked out with Jack. But hard as the breakup had been, what if she hadn’t discovered his true character until after she’d married him?

Now that was a scary thought.

Moira suppressed a shudder.

Her phone began to trill, and she pulled it out of her pocket to check caller ID, grateful for the distraction. “I need to take this. It’s the garage with the estimate for my car.”

“No problem. I’ll make a few circuits of the playground. That’ll keep the blood moving.” Linda gestured to a loop path that branched away from the main road and set off.

Pressing the talk button, Moira greeted the technician, who got down to business at once.

“We’ll, she’s fixable. That’s the good news. The bad news is it won’t be cheap.”

The man rattled off a list of things that needed to be replaced, including the back fender, bumper, trunk lid, and taillights on one side. Her head was spinning by the time he finished.

And when he gave her the total, the bottom fell out of her stomach.

Why, oh why, had she opted for a high deductible and lower premiums when she’d renewed her car insurance three months ago? Yes, she’d been accident-free. Yes, the odds had been in her favor that her record would continue. But what was that old saying about being penny wise, pound foolish?

“That about wraps it up, ma’am. You want us to go ahead and get started?”

What choice did she have?

“Yes, fix everything.” Visions of a menu featuring macaroni and cheese for the foreseeable future danced in her head.

“I’ll have her ready for you by the end of next week.”

“Perfect.” She started to say good-bye, then frowned. “Wait a second . . . what about the broken window?”

She heard the sound of rustling paper. “I don’t see any notation about that. I checked your car out myself before I turned her over to one of the boys, and I didn’t see any broken windows.”

“But the man at the accident scene said there was glass on the seat.”

“I’ll take another gander, but I don’t think we missed any
thing. The only broken glass we saw was the taillight. Did you have a ceramic mug or a hand mirror in the car?”

“No.”

“Hmph. Well, I’ll give it another going-over, but if you don’t hear back from me within the hour, assume I didn’t find anything.”

“All right. Thanks.”

Slowly Moira slid the phone back into her pocket.

She was beginning to feel like Alice in Wonderland, where nothing was as it seemed.

“What’s the bad news?” Linda strode over and lifted her arm to swipe her forehead on the sleeve of her T-shirt.

“Dollar-wise, or in terms of mental health?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The repair guy says there was no broken glass in the car.”

“That’s a bad thing?”

“More weird than bad. The guy who stopped to help me at the accident said there was glass on the seat. And I felt it. It was sharp. He had me move aside so he could brush it off.”

“That
is
strange.”

“So what else is new?” Moira blew out a breath. “First I imagine a woman. Next I imagine a man. Now I imagine glass. If I didn’t have a bruise on my temple and a mind-numbing repair bill staring me in the face, I’d start to think I imagined the whole thing.”

“Maybe the PI will find some evidence that supports your story.”