Читать книгу Trigger Effect - Maggie Price, Maggie Price - Страница 11

Shortly after seven the next morning, a bit sore and fuzzy-brained, Paige settled at the desk in the guest instructor’s office at the OCPD training center. The triple-shot latte she’d picked up at the coffee kiosk off the lobby of the Ambassador Arms had done little to make up for snagging barely three hours of sleep.

She would hit the hay early tonight, she promised herself.

In the meantime, the day stretched out before her like fifty miles of bad road. She had a workshop to teach and a trip to The Epicurean to find out who had ordered the fruit bowl the company delivered to the Waterford. She also needed to locate a pharmacy and fill the prescription the E.R. doctor had written her for another epi-pen. She was using her laptop case as a makeshift briefcase, so high on her list was to find a place to buy a new one. And while she muddled through the day, she would guard her own back in case Dr. Edwin Isaac—or whoever the hell mugged her and left the mug shot under her door—decided to pay her a return visit.

Paige rubbed at an ache in the center of her forehead. When she’d worn a badge, she had savored the feel of a hunt, the tracking, the adrenaline rush when she closed in on her quarry. Now, she was on the wrong side of a hunt. The prey. Instead of a rush she felt a dark edginess. And having to deal with grinding fatigue put her at a distinct disadvantage. The best she could do was close down on her nerves and rely on caffeine to get her through the day.

With regret, she downed the last of the latte and tossed the cup in the trash can. After rooting in her purse for her mechanical pencil, she unzipped her laptop case and pulled out the file folder with the anonymous what-I did-yesterday workshop assignments. She would have preferred to wait to analyze the remainder until she felt sharper mentally, but that wasn’t an option. Not with the workshop ending the following afternoon.

The first chalky light of the February morning seeped in the window at her back while she systematically analyzed assignments. While she worked, the training center came to life with the hum of distant conversation, footsteps and laughter. When Paige began work on the last assignment in the stack, its spidery handwriting made the reading difficult and slowed her methodical examination.

It wasn’t the poor penmanship, though, that heightened her senses and accelerated her pulse.

Feeling herself stiffen up, she rolled her shoulders, then arched her spine while keeping the statement clenched in one hand. Uneasy, she reread the page.

Woke up at 7:30. Decided I would attend the training class on Monday in hopes of learning some secret in interviewing that a person could use in the interrogation that will help him.

Left the house to have breakfast by myself. Drove ’til I found the perfect place. Had breakfast, left. After leaving decided to go for a drive. Went for a drive in the country just to take a look around.

Later I went to the house. Noticed the lights were on. Wife wanted to go eat so I agreed. Drove to Beef N Ail and had late lunch. After lunch drove back to Wal-Mart so wife could get some stuff she needed.

Wife and I then went back to the house and she had some things to do and I took a nap while watching evening news. Wife woke me up at 10:30 to go to bed. Turned out the lights and that was it.

Paige set her pencil aside. The author of the statement had written just four short paragraphs, but they were riddled with strong indicators of deception. Conflict. Gaps in time. Out-of-sequence events. Attempts to conceal information. And the distance he put between himself, his wife and their home life spoke volumes.

Swivelling her chair gave Paige a view of the center’s main parking lot where vehicles seemed to huddle together in the wintry morning. Thinking about the statement, she frowned. Her job was to teach cops and other security personnel how people used their own words to betray themselves. In this case, it seemed one of the men in her workshop had done that to himself.

“Ms. Carmichael?”

Paige jolted, then swivelled the chair. She’d been so immersed in thought that the training center’s secretary, a blonde in her mid-twenties, dressed in a skintight maroon dress, had walked in without her having heard a thing.

So much for watching her own back, Paige thought derisively.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s…” Paige hadn’t realized her throat had gone dry until she tried to respond. Yesterday’s events, along with the prospect of Isaac ghosting out of the woodwork, already had her jittery. Reading the bizarre assignment had stretched her ragged nerves tight.

She shook her head. “It’s okay, Kassandra.”

“I forgot to have you sign this form yesterday. It’s a purchase order to process payment to the Lassiter Group for your workshop.”

“Well, my boss would have my hide if we forgot that.” Paige took the form and the pen the woman offered, slashed her name on a dotted line. “Anything else?”

“That’s it,” Kassandra said. “If you want coffee, it’s ready in the break room. You’ve got just about enough time to grab a cup before your workshop starts.”

“Thanks.” Paige glanced at the wall clock. She’d been so engrossed in the assignments she hadn’t realized nearly an hour had passed since she arrived.

Rising, she smoothed a hand over the hip of her slim gray wool trousers, then shuffled the assignments back into the file folder and slid it into her case. Her purse went into one of the desk’s empty drawers. Paige locked the drawer, using the key Kassandra had given her. Since her classroom was in the opposite direction from the break room, she planned to swing back by and retrieve her belongings on the way to her workshop.

Vending machines and built-in cabinets lined the brightly lit room that was crowded with civilians and cops clad in uniforms and street clothes. Paige nodded to a group of men she recognized from her workshop. Kassandra had mentioned that several other meetings and departmental training sessions were also in progress, which had the building at full capacity.

While squeezing toward the coffee machine, Paige’s gaze landed on Steve Kidd. The Homicide sergeant was shaking his head, seemingly disagreeing with something a curvy blond uniformed cop was saying. When he replied, he emphasized his point by stabbing the air with a plastic toothpick. Kidd’s partner, Hugh Henderson, had positioned himself inside the blonde’s personal space. When the woman shifted her attention to him, Henderson gave her a wolf’s smile while one of his hands made a preening sweep down his gray tie. Apparently he was more interested in the blonde’s physical assets than in the topic of conversation.

Paige poured steaming coffee into a foam cup, her thoughts going to McCall’s comment about enlisting Kidd and Henderson to make sure she wasn’t followed when she left the training center for her new hotel. She pegged Kidd as the cop who’d be more serious about watching her back.

“Do you have time to answer a couple of questions?”

Taking care not to slosh her coffee, Paige turned. Tia Alvarado, the Vice detective who’d sat in the first row in yesterday’s workshop, was tall and slim with a dusky complexion. Her black hair was pulled back in a heavy braid. She wore a white cable-knit sweater and jeans that fit her slender legs like spandex.

Paige glanced at her watch. “We only have a few minutes before the workshop starts. Why don’t you walk back with me? I have to stop by the office first.”

“Okay.”

As the two women exited the break room, Tia said, “I can’t stop thinking about that demonstration you gave us yesterday.”

“Demonstration?”

“The way you nailed what Houdini and his female-of-the-moment did.” She wiggled her dark brows. “Or didn’t do.”

“Houdini?”

“Nate McCall.” Alvarado dipped her head. “I don’t have firsthand knowledge, but the rumor is that in bed, the man performs magical feats.”

“Oh.” Paige sipped her coffee. Well, hell, the instant she’d seen McCall’s grin-that-could-corrupt-a-saint she’d known he was the kind of guy mothers warned their little girls about. But magical feats? She tried not to speculate what exactly had earned him that moniker among the females of the OCPD.

She took another sip of coffee. “I was a little rough on Sergeant McCall yesterday.”

“Nate’ll get over it,” Alvarado said, flicking a wrist. “He’s a damn good cop, but when it comes to romancing a woman, he’s slicker than black ice. That’s another reason for the Houdini aka. He’s a pro at making a clean escape before a relationship turns serious. You have to figure a nick to his ego now and then is good for him.”

They rounded a corner; just as Paige reached the office door she caught a glimpse of a man in a dark gray suit at the far end of the hallway. A second later, he disappeared into a connecting corridor. Too tall to be Isaac, she automatically calculated before she stepped into the office.

“What precisely did you want to ask me, Sergeant Alvarado?” Paige asked as she set her coffee cup on the desk. Her hand froze as she reached for the drawer where she’d stashed her purse. It was open a few inches. She was positive she’d locked the drawer.

Jerking it open, she stuck her hand inside her purse and felt her heart stop. “Dammit!”

“What’s wrong?”

“My billfold is gone.”

Tia took a step forward. “Are you sure you had it in your purse this morning?”

“Positive, I bought a latte before leaving my hotel. This lock was either jimmied, or someone had a key.” Her eyes narrowed. “That man.”

“What man?”

“About six foot four, dark hair, gray suit. He disappeared around the corner just as we walked in here.”

Tia glanced toward the door. “I missed him.”

“I didn’t.” Too tall to be Isaac, but maybe his accomplice? Fueled by that possibility, Paige yanked her purse out of the drawer, slung its strap over her shoulder and skirted around the desk.

The hallway was crowded with cops and civilians headed to the various classrooms. Paige threaded through the milling bodies, sweeping her gaze right to left. Her chin came up when she spotted the man at the entrance to a classroom at the far end of the hallway.

“Excuse me?” The curtness of her words had several people turning her way. Including her quarry.

“Are you talking to me?” He was distinguished-looking, in his sixties, with a peppering of gray at the temples. Up close, she saw that his suit was silk and had the look of expensive tailoring. The man was a somebody. Definitely had that air of power rolling around him.

No matter who he was, that wasn’t going to stop her from questioning him. She did, however, soften her tone. “Did you just leave the guest instructor’s office?”

He raised a brow. “You would be?”

“Morning, Chief Quaid,” Tia said, easing in beside Paige.

His gaze shifted. “Sergeant Alvarado.”

“Sir, this is Paige Carmichael, she’s teaching a workshop. Someone stole her billfold out of her purse while it was in the guest instructor’s office.”

“You suspect I’m your thief?” he asked, watching Paige closely.

Great, she thought. She’d accosted the freaking chief of police. “I saw you in the hallway near the office. I’m simply following up on that.”

“I did pass by there, Ms. Carmichael,” he confirmed. “I had just left the main offices where I conferred with my training staff.”

“Did you spot anyone in or near the guest instructor’s office?”

“Not a soul.” He looked at a uniformed officer standing to his left. “Isom, inform your major about the theft. Tell him I want the building and grounds swept immediately for the suspect and billfold. If we at least recover the billfold we may get the suspect’s prints.”

“Yes, sir,” the cop said, then quick-footed it down the hallway.

Quaid looked back at Paige. “I regret this happening to you while at my training center.”

“You’re not the only one.” Paige’s hands balled into fists of frustration. She’d been on the receiving end of a mugging. She had doubts that last night’s allergic reaction was due to a sudden chemical response to a banana. Then there was the mug shot left under her door. Now, her billfold had been stolen. Was everything related? Was it Isaac’s way of playing cat and mouse, just to demonstrate how close he could get to her? She was standing in a building filled with cops, and still the sensation of Isaac’s presence closed like a hand on her throat.

“I take it your driver’s license, credit cards and cash were inside your billfold?” Quaid asked.

“Cash.” Putting a choke hold on her emotions, she dug into her purse, pulled out a small leather case. “I keep my license and credit cards separate.” She did a quick inventory. “They’re all here.”

“Sergeant Alvarado.”

“Sir?”

“Take Ms. Carmichael’s larceny report. If her billfold isn’t found during the sweep, call my secretary to get a requisition number for a cash voucher to replace her money.”

“Yes, sir.”

He looked back at Paige. “You’re instructing forensic statement analysis.” It wasn’t a question.

“That’s right.”

“I was at a conference about six months ago. Several other police chiefs there talked about the workshop you’d presented for their departments. They had such high praise I had my training staff arrange for you to come here. In fact, I have it on my schedule to stop by your workshop before I leave here today. I want to see for myself what all the praise is about.”

“We’ll be glad to have you, Chief Quaid.” She held out her hand. “No hard feelings, I hope?”

“None. I admire your style, Ms. Carmichael.” His handshake was firm and all business.

Paige waited until he stepped into the classroom to slide Tia a look. “Thanks for smoothing that over. I owe you.”

Tia grinned. “I’m a soft touch for female cops who aren’t afraid to shoot from the hip.” Her expression went serious. “Let’s go to the major’s office and get the report on your billfold written.”

“You probably should combine the larceny with an ongoing investigation under my name,” Paige said as they retraced their steps. “I don’t know if they’re connected, but they might be.”

“An ongoing investigation of what?”

“I was mugged in the parking lot here yesterday. The bastard got my briefcase. And last night I wound up in the E.R. after taking a bite of fruit that had been delivered to my hotel suite.”

“The fruit was tampered with?”

“That, or I’m suddenly allergic to bananas. The fruit’s at the lab now.”

“Sounds like you had an eventful evening.”

“There’s more. Remember the escaped killer I mentioned?”

“The shrink who killed five prostitutes. Who could forget?”

“Someone slid his mug shot with a typed note supposedly from him under my door. The photo had been in my briefcase.”

“Holy crap.”

“Exactly.”

“I need to call dispatch and get the case number assigned to the mugging. Do you remember the name of the cop who took the report?”

“Vawter. Then McCall did a supplemental report on the fruit and the mug shot. He submitted the fruit to the lab.”

Tia’s forehead furrowed. “McCall’s Homicide. How’d he get involved?”

“He ran into Vawter somewhere, and heard about the mugging. McCall called me because he didn’t like the fact I got roughed up on his turf. I was on the phone with him when I had the reaction to the banana. He got me help, then dropped by my hotel room after I got back from the E.R. I’d just found Isaac’s mug shot when McCall showed up.”

“Well, it sounds like Houdini’s not holding a grudge over your nailing him in the workshop yesterday.”

“No, he’s not.” Paige thought about McCall, a cop who’d cared enough to check on her after she’d wound up at the E.R. About the man who loved his three sisters. She wasn’t surprised to discover that the disdain she’d first felt for him had now turned to respect.

“The established norm is that the true victim of a violent crime will not use the pronoun ‘we’ when describing interaction with his or her assailant,” Paige told the workshop attendees late that afternoon. “Suppose you have two women who claim they’ve been raped. One says, ‘He forced me into the shed.’ The second tells you, ‘We went into the shed.’ The second victim’s use of ‘we’ denotes a sense of togetherness with the suspect. This is an automatic red flag. The investigator should question the victim further. Ask if she knew the assailant. Ascertain if they were together before the incident occurred. If, in fact, the alleged incident truly did occur.”

Slowly pacing the length of the classroom, Paige studied the twenty-four men and women seated at the tables before her. She could now see the glimmer of understanding…and beginnings of acceptance in most of the faces. She had made her case; the majority no longer viewed her craft as voodoo science. She had shown there was a legitimacy to using statement analysis that made sense to a cop’s logical, methodical thinking.

“For tomorrow, analyze the separate statement I assigned to each of you in the back of the training manual. Be prepared to tell me if its author is being truthful or deceptive.” She smiled. “Or both.”