Memory Lapse: A Slater Vance Novel (18 page)

Going to the corner of
his office closest to the bay of windows, Slater knelt down and pulled a
section of carpet aside. Eureka! They’d not discovered his floor safe.
Kneeling, he twirled the old-school dial and popped open the safe’s door.
Nestled inside was his customer contact list; a copy of his business license; a
copy of his PI license; and his
Ruger
Sig Pro
semi-automatic pistol – which he tucked in the small of his back.

Seeing his office phone
smashed into pieces, he decided his next stop would be to get a cellular phone.
When he got home, he’d call Skye and have all his data files sent to his home
computer… once he got it hooked up. He guessed he needed to give Tiger a call
sooner than he expected. The man was a techno-genius. He’d have everything set
up in no time.

With one last look
around, Slater walked back through the debris, and ducking his head with a
heavy heart into the small compact break-room, he was delighted to find his
five-hundred dollar coffeemaker intact. Leaning forward, he placed a smacking
kiss against its cool metal service. The coffeemaker was a small ray of
sunshine in an otherwise gloomy day. Slater set the alarm and re-locked the
door before heading towards the stairs. He hoped the fifteen flights of stairs
would help burn off some of his frustrations.

◊◊◊

Slater turned his small, compact rental car (thankfully not as small as his
brother’s Prius) around and headed back down the tree-lined street once more.
He carefully followed the ascending house numbers looking for 2936. He’d
already
cruised
the street twice and somehow missed
Janet’s address twice.
One more time,
he thought to himself.
2930…2932… 2934… and then nothing…
nothing but a vacant lot.
Slowing, he pulled the car over in front of a
house across the street from the address he supposedly was looking for.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the blown-up photocopy of Janet’s
driver’s license to double-check the address.
Yep, 2936.
Well, hell. Stepping out of his car, he walked to the small clapboard house he
was parked in front of and knocked on the door. A harried woman still dressed
in her pajamas, even though it was afternoon, answered the door.

“Yes?”

“Uh, excuse me. Can you
tell me how long the house that was in that lot across the street has been
gone?” he asked in his most engaging smile.

Slater watched a confused
expression cross her face.
“House?
There’s never been
a house there as long as I’ve been here,” she said.

“How long have you lived
here?” he asked.

“Let’s see, we moved here
right after Raff was born, so I guess about eight years,” the woman said,
gathering the lapels of her robe together in a firmer grip.

“Okay… thanks,” Slater
said, slowly trying to decide what this meant.

Slater climbed back into
his car and thought about Janet Jackson giving a vacant lot as her address to
the DMV, as well as the strange conversation he’d had with her this morning.
Was she running?
From what or who?
Pulling out his
brand new cell phone, he dialed the only number he knew by heart – Tucker’s.

“Hey, Slate. See you got
yourself a new phone.”

“Yep, unfortunately they
couldn’t transfer the contact information without having the old phone. I’m
having a little problem tracking down Janet’s address and need some information
from
Bridge,
can you give me his number?”

“Absolutely, hold on a
minute.” Slater heard Tucker flipping through his rolodex. “Here you go.”
Tucker read him the number and asked, “Is there anything else I can do?”

“Not at this point. I’ll
let you know. Did Janet get her casts off okay?”

Tucker smiled to himself
at Slater’s question. “Yes, everything was fine. She’ll just need to take it
easy for a little while. She’s… well, she’s a little apprehensive about where
to go now that her casts are off. She doesn’t feel there’s a need for her to
stay at your place any longer.”

Slater scratched his
head, not really understanding the problem. “There’s no need for her to leave.
She can stay at the house until her situation is resolved. I don’t understand
what the problem is.”

Tucker grinned, secretly
pleased with himself.
No problem
whatsoever
…

Once Slater rang off with
Tucker, he dialed Bridge’s number.

“Hey,
Pretty-Boy.”

“Hey, Bridge. I need your
help with something,” Slater asked without preamble.

“Okay, what’s up?”

“I went by the address on
Janet’s driver’s license and it turns out to be a vacant lot. And I was
thinking
,
why would a person do that…?”

“Do you think she was on
the run?”

With a surprised laugh,
Slater said, “That’s exactly what I think. Can you do
me
a favor and run the standard checks on Janet Jackson?”

Slater heard the rustle
of paper, which he assumed meant Bridge was making notes.

“Let’s see, you’ll want
credit, power, water, phone, and W2s. Anything else?”

“Uh, no, I think that’ll
do it.”

“It might take me a day
or two, but I’ll put a rush on it for you, Pretty-boy. Listen, how’s your other
situation shaking out?”

“The bastards busted up
my office pretty good. I’m at a loss at what they’re after. I’ve got a couple
open cases, but nothing that would warrant these types of actions.”

“You don’t think it has
anything to do with the Afghans, do you?” Bridge asked uneasily.

“No, I can’t imagine it’s
them after all this time. What would I have they’d want? I could understand it
maybe if they were just trying to eliminate me, but whoever it is, is searching
for something. And let’s face it; they could have taken me out at any time.
Hey, while I’m thinking about it, did you ever get a hit on the blood I found
the first time they broke in?”

“No,
nothing yet.
I
kinda
had to run it a little covert. I wanted to see what
or who shook out before I pursued it through official channels. But I’ll keep
you posted. Well, Pretty-Boy, if you need me, you know I’m here for you,
brother.”

“I know… and thanks,
Bridge, I appreciate it. Hey, one last thing, I need to get Tiger’s number one
more time.”

Tiger readily agreed to
meet Slater at his house within the hour.

Slater was surprised to
find the house empty when he arrived home. And as promised, Tiger pulled in not
too long after him. Tiger made short work of setting up Slater’s new computer,
laptop, and printer.

As Tiger worked, Slater
called Skye Data Systems, and after going through their standard security
measures, they agreed to direct his requested last two years of data to his
home computer.

Slater had been home
about two hours when surprisingly, Bridge called him.

“Hey,
Pretty-Boy.
You
won’t believe this, but I got your information already.
Me
and Nasty
Rasty
were able to get through to all the
right people. The gods must be smiling on you, Pretty-Boy.”

Travis
Rasty
, a Florida native, had been Bridge’s partner for the
past two years. He was close to thirty, worked out every day – had the
washboard abs to prove it – and seemed to have a permanent tan burned into his
skin. It didn’t seem to matter how long he lived away from the beach, he still
had the same look he’d had when he lived in Daytona Beach with his
sun-bleached, white-blond hair and crystal blue eyes. In appearance, Travis and
Bridge were polar opposites, but together, they were a fully functioning team.

“Wow, I don’t even know
what to say about that. You guys are on fire.
What’cha
find
?”

“Well, surprise,
surprise, none of her information goes back any further than five years,”
Bridge said with a smirk.

“So the
standard fake ID portfolio?”
Slater asked.

“Yep, and not even a very
good one. We’re running a check right now to compare her ID to any other ID
portfolios to see if we can match it to the person who made them. I can give
you her last address from her last rental agreement if that would help.”

Slater, sitting at his
desk, saw an icon blinking, letting him know he’d received the information from
Skye. He really didn’t have time to work on Janet’s stuff. It was so
frustrating.
When it rains, it pours
,
he thought.

No matter his thoughts,
he said, “Yeah, sure, I appreciate it.”

Slater wrote down the
information, thanked Bridge again, and rang off.

Slater ran a hand over
his face and through his brown hair, which was getting longer every day. He
glanced down at the thin gold watch on his wrist – the watch Anne had given him
on their wedding day; the watch he’d worn since his Rolex had been stolen. If
he left now, he’d probably have time to check out the new address he’d gotten
for Janet.

The Ridgeline Apartment
Complex was a series of two-level apartment buildings that formed a square with
a pool in the center. According to Bridge and
Rasty’s
information, Janet lived in Apartment 4, which was a bottom floor apartment on
the end. Slater parked in front of the apartment and peeked into the windows,
but the apartment was empty. That was odd. She’d been in the automobile accident
less than a month before. Surely, they couldn’t have evicted her that soon.

He followed the signs
which directed him to the manager’s apartment. He rang the doorbell and waited.
After a few minutes, the door was opened by an older man, an obvious ex-Navy
man, with the same haircut as him and a tattoo of an anchor on his forearm. He
had the look of a man who exercised regularly and kept himself busy.

“Hey,
you
lookin
’
for a place? We’ve got a couple open,”
the man said before Slater said anything.

Sticking his hand out to
the man, Slater said, “Slater Vance.”

The man grabbed Slater’s
hand in a firm handshake. “Warren McIntosh.”

“Mr. McIntosh, I’m a
private investigator from Charleston. I have a client whose last known address
is here. I’m wondering if you could help
me?
”

The man scratched his
snow-white head. “Well now, I don’t know. Who’s the client?”

“Janet Jackson.”

“Was she in apartment 4?”

“Yeah, that’s her,”
Slater said.

“Man, she’s been gone
awhile, probably a month or two now at least.”

“Did she happen to leave
a forwarding address?”

“Not that I remember, let
me check.”

Warren McIntosh turned
and left Slater standing on his stoop. Within minutes, he returned with a
folder with
Janet Jackson
typed on
the tab. He flipped through its meager contents.

“Nope,
no forwarding.
She lost her security deposit as she didn’t give proper notice of her
departure. What’s this about?”

Without answering his
question, Slater asked, “Did she have a child with her?”

The man stood in
contemplation before finally answering, “Not that I know of. But I don’t get
involved with the tenants too much. Not unless they need some maintenance or
something. And she was here only for about four months, so I really couldn’t
say. The only thing I can tell you for sure is she had a two-bedroom
apartment.”

Slater shook Warren
McIntosh’s hand and thanked him for his help before heading out. Janet
Jackson’s case was almost as frustrating
as his own
.
Every lead led to a dead end. Tomorrow, he’d swing by the Charleston PD and get
the full report from Bridge and
Rasty
. Maybe he could
find something through it.

Chapter 12

Slater had a severe
headache and his ribs hurt. He’d forgotten to wrap them when he’d left this
morning. He’d found as he got older, it was getting harder and harder to spring
back from this type of abuse. He was surprised to see a strange compact car
parked in front of his garage. He might have been more apprehensive had the car
not been a bright cherry-red. No potential assassin would drive around in such
a flamboyant and/or conspicuous car. But just to be safe, he leaned forward to
remove his SIG from the glove box. He groaned at the catch in his ribs from the
movement.

Stepping out of the car,
he held the gun down by his leg and moved unhurriedly towards the house. Stealthily,
he pushed open the front door and slipped in as quiet as he could. Although, he
knew from past experience, if there were someone in his house – especially a
pro, they’d known he was here from the minute his car pulled into the drive. He
stopped and listened to the sounds of the house, slowly replacing the weapon
back in the waistband in the back of his pants. He
untucked
his shirt to cover its existence when he heard his brother and Janet in the
kitchen talking and laughing. Tucker hated guns. But Tucker had that luxury –
he didn’t live in the world Slater inhabited; and Slater intended to keep it
that way.