Heartless: a Derek Cole Mystery Suspense Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thriller Book 1) (10 page)

“If they know what happened, they are smart enough to take precautions. The police will certainly want to investigate their involvement. But I’ve already told Stanley to deny absolutely everything. Michelle is involved only because she worked for that asshole Straus.
Leave them alone!
If the police find out that you were looking for them, they’d figure out that Stanley was involved from the beginning.”

Knowing that arguing with Mark would serve no purpose, Derek agreed not to contact Stanley or his wife, Michelle. He knew that the police would discover what happened and would find out the names of every player in this drama. Derek knew that anyone whose name was on that list would have to pay. He was determined to protect his clients first, and then do whatever he could to make sure that the people on that list paid their obligations to the law and not to Alexander Black.

As he left Mark’s home, Derek again suggested that Mark at least think of getting out of town. When his suggestion was returned only with a slamming door, he headed back to his car. Once in his car, he called the US Airways reservation number and booked the next flight out of Chicago to Albany, New York. He then tried to contact Henry Zudak, but his calls, three of them, went straight to voicemail.

“I hope you are somewhere safe, Doctor Zudak,” Derek said.

The earliest flight Derek could book was scheduled to depart Chicago’s O’Hare airport at 9:58 p.m. that same day. As he glanced at the digital clock in his Buick Lacrosse, Derek realized he had time to kill. Time to think. To plan out his next steps. To figure out what he would do if he came face to face with Alexander Black and what story he would give to the police if and when they asked him for details.

In the three years that Derek had been a “freelance detective,” he had made several friends on police forces across the country. While none of these friends would ever invite Derek in on one of their investigations, he knew that if he ever got into a situation, they would have his back.

He also knew that he had made plenty of enemies during his three years of freelance work. To many, what Derek did was “real police work” and, as such, should be left to the professionals. He was seen as a danger, an outsider, a nuisance to many police departments. Though Derek never intentionally broke any laws, his freelance status allowed him to cut corners that police detectives couldn’t.

“We have protocols to follow, Cole!” he was often told. “You go running into situations, doing whatever you think you should do and next thing we know, our whole case is blown because you didn’t follow protocol.”

While Derek had made some mistakes when he first started freelancing, those mistakes were never repeated as he gained more experience. He learned better how to do his job while assisting and not interfering with the “real police detectives’ work.”

Over the last few years, Derek had helped police departments that were often understaffed and overworked to solve crimes that would have otherwise gone unsolved. Though he had only been involved in less than thirty cases since going freelance, his skills were sharp and his reputation was, for the most part, stellar.

Still, the average detective in an average police department wanted nothing to do with any “freelancer.”
 

At least not publicly.
 

Many of the cases that Derek was hired to solve or resolve were also cases that a local police or sheriff’s department was involved in. Though few would ever welcome Derek’s involvement in front of others, many would quickly learn to appreciate what Derek could do and how he could help their cases.

“I don’t need any credit once we solve this case,” he would tell anyone on any police force that would listen. “My credit comes from my client paying me. I can be as invisible as you need or want me to be.”

Derek’s ability to avoid complying with protocol and “police procedures” gave him a unique, and often times, envied advantage over a police department’s officers. When a house couldn’t have access gained without a search warrant in hand first, Derek was able to get in without having to wait for some judge to “weigh the rights of the person against the expected and possible evidence that may or may not be found.” When a suspect needed to be spoken to and who was “less than agreeable,” Derek didn’t have to honor a request for a lawyer to be present and didn’t have to worry about what was being seen on the other side of a two-way mirror.

He was no vigilante, and he tried very hard to follow what police procedures that were needed to be followed. But when push came to shove, as it often does in the world of “good guys versus bad guys,” Derek took care of business.

It was his clients, after all, to whom Derek was responsible. If they needed something resolved, and the desired resolution was legal, Derek would get it done. One way or another, Derek always delivered the desired resolution.

As he drove to the airport, Derek made a few more calls. The first was to the Hertz reservation line, where he rented a mid-sized car to be picked up at the Albany airport.

“And how long will you be needing this vehicle, Mr. Cole?”

“Can we leave that open for now?”

“I’m sorry, sir. We do need a time frame.”

“Four days, and if I need to extend or shorten the rental?
   

“Just call us back, and we’ll take care of you, Mr. Cole.”

The next call he made was to Verizon’s 411.

“Name and listing for a Doctor Stanley Mix. I believe they live near or in Rochester New York,” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” the computerized voice responded, “that number is unlisted.”

“Damn,” he said.

He dialed the next number and waited for his call to be answered.

“Hello?”

“Thomas, it’s Derek.”

“How did your meeting with Rinaldo go? Did he deny everything?”

“He confirmed everything. Listen, you did some research, and I need a little help from you.”

“What do you need?”

“Do you have the phone number for Stanley Mix?”

“Yes, but why do you want to call him?”

“His name is on that list you told me about, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I didn’t hire you to protect anyone but me and my parents.”

“Understood, but if I can make a call and let him know that he should take precautions, I don’t think that would take any time away from my primary responsibility.”

Derek hated when his clients went “freelance” themselves or grew impatient with whatever time it was taking Derek to provide a resolution. This client had already done too much research. Derek knew that people who do research end up acting on whatever information their research produces.

“Understood. You just find my brother and keep me and my parents safe.”

Derek loved flying. Something about being so distant from the ground. Unreachable with an assumed and accepted reason for being so. He loved passing through the clouds and the feeling of being invisible, if only for a moment. He loved the way the other passengers would tense during takeoffs then feel their stress dissipate as the plane blasted through the clouds.

It was the clouds he enjoyed the most. He wished that planes stayed in the clouds longer. Not just for a brief visit but for the entire flight.

As he sat in his preferred seat (exit row, window), Derek let his thoughts drift as the plane ascended into the clouds. As he looked through the window and saw the clouds both distant and near, he imagined her face. Hoping to see some formation that would let him know that she was still with him. Watching over him. He remembered as a child, his mother, lying next to him in their backyard, telling him to look up into the clouds and tell her what he could see.

“Do you see that horse over there?” his mother would say, pointing straight up to a cloud formation. “Give it time, and use your imagination. You’ll see it.”

“I can see it! And I see a bird” Derek would exclaim. “And other there is see a whale.”

“I see it, too. Can you see any people up there?”

“I don’t see any people. Do you?” he asked.

“I see Gramma and Grandpa sitting on a long bench, way over there,” his mother said pointing off to the west. “And other here, I see your Aunt Stella.”

But Derek, try as he might, could never convince himself to see any people in the clouds. No matter how strong his imagination may have been, he couldn’t put heads on top of shoulders and legs beneath a torso.

Derek’s parents were as middle-class as one could imagine. His father worked on the Ohio State Campus in the print shop for over thirty years, and his mother worked part-time at the college bookstore. Derek always felt that his parents would always be there for him. Supporting his decision when he told them he was going to join the army, his decision to re-enlist after his four-year hitch, his falling in love with and marriage to Lucy, and his decision to join the Columbus City Police Department.
 

His parents were with him each step he took, during each phase of his life. When Lucy was killed, it was his parents who tried to console him, to comfort him and to make sure that he didn’t allow his grief to drive him so far away from them that they couldn’t reach him.

When Derek told his parents that he had quit the police force, his parents only offered support.

“I didn’t like you doing that work anyways,” his mom said.

“I don’t blame you at all, son,” he father offered. “There are plenty of opportunities for a young man like yourself that don’t involve risking your life every time you go to work. Plenty of opportunities.”

But Derek wasn’t interested in spending his days in a safe, practical job. He wanted to do what he could to make sure that someone else’s wife wasn’t murdered because a police force had to follow protocols.
 

“I’m going to start my own detective agency,” he told his parents.
 

“Like a private investigator?” his mother asked.

“Sort of. But more like a private detective.”

“Oh Derek, I’m not sure about that. There are too many bad people out there. Too many for even the police to handle.”

He thought of Lucy and the “bad person” who the police couldn’t handle. He thought of her face, her pleading eyes, staring at him through the bank’s front window.

“That’s exactly why I want to do this,” he said.

It was the way he said it that told his parents that his decision was already committed to and nothing they could say would convince him to take a more practical and safe job.

Starting a “freelance detective” agency wasn’t easy at first. Derek had no idea of how to get his name out in the public. He started with Google Ad Words, a dedicated Facebook page and a website that he had custom designed.

Nothing.

For the first six months, the only public interest shown to Derek’s agency was expressed by police agencies and private investigators.

“It’s vigilantes like you who make it even harder for the ‘real’ police to do their jobs.”

“Don’t try to be cute with your title, Mr. Cole. A catchy title won’t make up for the fact that you have very little actual police experience.”

Derek also received a few emails from prospective clients. All of those turned out to be people looking for some “less than legal” work to be done.

It wasn’t until his seventh month in business - when his savings were all but dried up - when he signed his first paying client. Derek was hired to locate an accountant who absconded with over $500,000 from the firm where he was a partner. Following the leads his client gave him and his uncanny ability to read people, Derek located the accountant six days after his services were retained.

“That was some impressive work,” his client told him. “The police had no chance of finding him. Their trail went cold two days after the money was stolen.”

Derek received fifteen percent of the recovered money. More importantly, he earned a very satisfied client who promised to “spread the word.”

Clients then began streaming to Derek. One after another, Derek accepted cases that, for whatever reason, the local, state, or federal authorities couldn’t solve. His reputation was building, and Derek was sure that his parents would now be proud of their son and his bold decision to start his own detective agency.

But now he was sitting in a plane, desperately trying to see something in the clouds that he had never been able to see before. He wondered why so many people - other people - told stories of being visited or of receiving a sign. And why he, as hard as he tried to see and to hear, never received any sign that she was still with him.