Nic pointed to the folder he had
brought into the bar. Yaritza looked at it for the first time. “What do we have
here?” she asked.
“So far, three deaths. I’m clear on two of them, but fuzzy on the third,
which was apparently the first.”
“How are you clear on the others?”
“I investigated one, caused the other.”
“Indirectly or directly?”
“Well, I pointed my gun at him, shot him, he tried to get in a rebound
shot, and I fired again. I’d say it was my best position: direct.”
Yaritza still hadn’t looked in the folder. She seemed to prefer Nic’s
directness to paper. “Which death are
you fuzzy on?”
“Mark Robertson.”
Yaritza did a double-take. “Really! I didn’t know our business got as
far as Reno
“Apparently his murderer did.”
Yaritza froze, her eyes took on a chilly glaze that Nic could grow to
fear if he looked at it long enough. “Nikea!”
“Who?”
“Nikea Robertson. Mark Robertson’s murderer.”
Nic shook his head. “I don’t think so. Like Corday said, there’s nothing
solid.”
“Not yet. She disappeared, but we have other evidence that places her at
the crime scene….or at least her car.”
Nic nodded slowly. “I see. Let me tell you what I have, and believe me,
most of it is as flimsy as what you have.”
“All right.”
“A couple weeks ago, a body was found on a yacht on Lake
Tahoe . We ID’d him as Oscar DeBartolo. My partner did a little
digging and found out he was really Damien Tyler, a former mob guy who turned
freelance in assassinations. While investigating him, a hitman buddy of his named
Roman Wells contacted us. Big mistake, because we managed to link him to Tyler Tyler Tyler
Yaritza sat back and shook her head slowly. “Nothing makes sense here to
me. Can I look at the file?”
“That’s why I brought it.”
“Did you steal it from the RPD?”
“No, they’re copies that weren’t quite authorized.”
Yaritza make a small tsk sound, half-smiled, then dug into the file.
About ten minutes later, she closed the file and rubbed her eyes. “I think
you’re telling the truth, and I think this guy Wells was being honest, also.
But…”
“But?”
“But Nikea Robertson’s sudden departure makes her a suspect.” Her voice
had gone cold again.
Nic looked long and hard at Yaritza. Every time she mentioned Nikea, an
icy shield formed over her, he could almost see it. “You speak of this Nikea
lady like she’s the devil herself.”
“She is, Nic.”
Nic wanted to ask why, but he saw her eyes, they were close to coming
apart. Judging from what he had picked up so far, however little, he could see
that Nikea was a personal issue, not just a professional one. He didn’t need to
ask, he knew. “Yaritza, how long ago was the Robertson investigation?”
“Almost a month ago,” she whispered. Her voice couldn’t go any higher
without breaking.
He nodded. “You started
investigating, and part of it was informing the widow.”
“Ex-wife, actually.”
“And she began to fuck with you.”
Yaritza said nothing, but nodded.
“Yaritza, are you a good cop?”
“Check my record, its damn good.”
“I believe you. You’re a good cop, and I assume you don’t stop until you
catch the bastard that did it, no matter what it is, right?” Nic smiled.
Yaritza looked at him and managed a small smile back. “Yeah.”
“So you’re put on this case. Your name has made papers in the past, I’m
sure.”
“Yes.”
“And Nikea probably had seen it as well. For whatever reason, either
she’s guilty or protecting someone, she finds something to put you out of
commission mentally.”
Once again, Yaritza was silent.
Nic continued. “Look, if you’re gay, fine. If not, fine. I really don’t
think it should matter. The way I see it, Nikea Robertson is a predator, and I
really hate those types. She busted one of your wings then ran off, knowing
full well that she waylaid you long enough for her and whomever else to escape
your radar.”
Yaritza nodded again, this time more rapidly. There was some renewed
life in the eyes as she looked at Nic. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“It did at the time.”
She nodded some more, thinking
about that, then cocked her head in wonder. “Can I get back on track?”
Nic shrugged. “Why not?”
“Will you help me?”
“Professionally?”
“Of course.”
“If I can, I will. I was actually here to ask for your help.”
“Nic, I want you to help me track down Nikea.”
“I’ll do what I can. Remember, I’m not a cop.”
“What are you?”
“A bounty hunter.”
“Licensed?”
“Owning and operating.”
Yaritza smiled. It was like she had found a new best friend. Maybe she
had. “How can I help you?”
“Did you look at the whole file?”
“Yeah.”
“The word stalk come up in there?”
“Yes, but it didn’t make much sense.”
“I want help in making it make sense.”
“How?”
“You play authority figure and I play tracker.”
“I need to see the therapist a few times before Corday agrees to give me
my badge back.”
“Fine. While you do that, we can get things set up.”
Yaritza shrugged. “Where do we start?”
“Well, I have a key to a box that I need to find the location of. I can
dig into that myself. There’s an element that didn’t fit into the report,
though.”
Yaritza finished her drink. “What’s that?” she asked eagerly.
“A guy named Ted Clayton.”
“It sounds familiar, but I don’t know why.”
“He apparently works for a law firm here in town.”
Yaritza looked puzzled at first, then looked to the side as if
remembering something. Her eyes closed as if remembering a painful experience.
“Jefferson-Brown.”
“That’s it!”
“How is he involved?”
“He borrowed the yacht from a business associate, then in turn lent the
key to Roman Wells. Wells set up the yacht excursion, then made an excuse not
to go. Later, he lent some bullets to Tyler
Yaritza shrugged. “It’s thin.”
“So far it is. But to me it looks like this: a member of a prominent law
firm is involved with hitmen. Is it prominent?”
“It is, and they’re supposed to be a family firm.”
“Supposed to be. I always knew family values were going down the tubes,
but a law firm helping that downfall is just bad taste. Also, I have other
information about Clayton, from an anonymous source.”
“Anonymous?”
“I know who he is, but I chose to protect him.”
“Damaging information?”
“Right now it’s hearsay, and I suspect it will remain so, but at least
the info puts Clayton in a very bad light. Would you say it might be useful
later, proof or no proof?”
“It might.”
“So what do you say? I scratch your back you scratch mine?”
“My itch is elsewhere.”
“Mine, too. But, I’ll settle for back.”
“Deal.”
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