The Thrill of the Chase (Mystery & Adventure) (30 page)

Jill stopped because her throat had seized up. For a moment, she sat in silence, then inhaled deeply to steady herself and continued.

"I was surprised that my father answered – even more surprised by the helpless tone in his voice. He told my mother that he had… had
killed
my brother. They had gotten into a disagreement on the way home. Vehement words quickly evolved into blows, and my father…"

She drew her lower lip into her mouth, making no effort to stem the tears flooding down her cheeks, leaving faint trails of melted cosmetics. "My father
strangled
Phillip that night," she gasped. "Blinded by rage over their… petty disagreement."

I made a sudden motion with my hand – about to reach out for her hand, but then decided against it. Instead, I settled for a comforting pat on the knee. "Jilly, you don't have to go on. I know this is painful for you."

She grabbed my hand before I could retract it and held it tightly, shaking her head violently. "No, no – I need to get it out. You're the very first person I've ever told this all to."

After a long pause, she picked up the story where she had left off. The words seemed to come easier now – now that the most horrifying aspect of the story was past. "I think that the event actually brought my mother and father closer together. He stopped drinking and going out every night and spent more time with her. Maybe he got religion, I don't know. But I was even more afraid of him then than I'd ever been before, so I tended to keep my distance. He also kept away from me too. I guess he was afraid to get to close – afraid that maybe he would kill
me
in a fit of rage too. I don't know. I don't know how he didn't go jail either – I don't remember. I think the jury just didn't find him guilty. I didn't care, though. Losing Phillip mattered more to me than him getting his dues.

"For the rest of my years at home, we never really spoke, if you know what I mean. Small talk, awkward jokes, whatever. But there was always an animosity between us that never went away. After I went off to college, my mother kept in touch, but my father practically ignored my existence. No phone calls, only cards for the holidays and my birthday, and I think my mom signed his name on those."

She stared hard at a spot just beyond my left shoulder. "I don't think… I don't think I ever
once
kissed him, Chance – my entire life, I don't even know if I told him I loved him. But… now he's dead, and I never got a chance to make amends with him. I never got a chance to, to ever get to
know
him."

Jill lapsed into silence, dropping her gaze to our hands, which were still tied together on her knee.

I licked my lips, choosing my words carefully. "Listen, Jill. I sorta kinda know what you went through – certainly not to the same extent you did, but I have a similar history with my father."

Sighing heavily, I drew back and folded my arms on the back of the chair. "Well, comparing our situations might sound callous because you obviously had a harder time of things, but… Well, my father was the self–piteous type, which is why I'm that way, I guess. To make up for his personal problems, he neglected me, mocked me, generally considered me a failure –
his
failure. He didn't particularly treat my mother any better, although he did have a healthy fear of her temper. I'm not sure how neglecting us made him feel better, but…"

I shook my head. "My mother loved me, though. She would always tell me that my father didn't mean what he was saying. I knew better – Pappy didn't want anything to do with me. When he died, I felt loss, but mine was more selfishness. I was sad that he'd never paid attention to me, never cared about me. He'd never even
liked
me. I guess I should have made more attempts to get to know him, but I was always afraid of him."

"I'm sorry, I never knew," Jill said softly, fixing me with a tearful gaze. "I'm sorry I never asked."

"I never asked
you
either," I pointed out in an offhand manner. I hoped it hadn't sounded insensitive; I hadn't meant it to be. "If I had, this conversation would be going a completely different route right now."

Jill gave a sad smile. "I guess we're both alone now, huh?"

"In a manner of speaking. But we both have our mothers, and we both have each other." I frowned, searching her eyes. "That's something, isn't it?"

She dropped my gaze, busying her hands with the hem of her skirt. "But Chance, I feel so… so
cold
… I don't feel remorse or even regret. I mean, I'm mad at myself for never making an attempt to really love my father, but…"

She looked up at me, looked me straight in the eye, and finally spilled the question that had been plaguing her ever since learning the news: "Does that make me a heartless person?"

After a moment of hesitation, I took her hands gently in mine once more. "Of course not," I chided warmly. "If – heaven forbid – your mother died right now, would you miss her?"

She frowned, not following my reasoning just yet. "Of course I would. I love my mother dearly."

I smiled triumphantly. "There you have it, dear heart. The fact that you have love for your mother
proves
that you're not a callous person – you're just going through a rough time now. But you're sorry for your mother'sloss – after all, you said she had remained close to your father –
and
you're admitting your problem, so you're absolutely not being callous. You're right, of course – it
is
a shame that you and your father never got a chance to make amends, but I think that he probably understood how you felt before he went."

She drew her lower lip into her mouth because it was trembling again. "Do you really think so?"

I patted the back of her hand. "Certainly. One hundred percent. He had quite a few years to think about it, right? If I know anything about the human heart – which I probably don't – I'd say he was thinking about you as he was passing – thinking some of the same things you are now."

Jill smiled at me, several last tears falling from her eyes. But they were no longer tears of self–remorse. "Thanks, Chance. I'm sorry to throw all that on you."

"Think nothing of it." I let go of her hands for a second time – almost reluctantly – and stood. "I'm glad that I can help
you
out for once."

She laughed weakly, then stood up too. For a long moment, she looked around the room as though she had never seen it before, and then sighed heavily. When she spoke, her voice was cracked and tired. "Do you want some coffee? I can make you some before it's time to go home."

"Nah. You're right – I drink too much of that stuff." I folded the chair and leaned it back against the wall. "I'm going to make a phone call or two, then how 'bout we head out?"

"Okay." She smiled and held my gaze for a moment, then turned and left the room.

I watched her go, feeling elated and deflated at the same time. Success and exhaustion seemed like odd bedfellows, although I suppose it just goes hand–in–hand with a good day's labor.

I guess that "D" I got in psychology wasn't definitive.

Blowing out a breath, I wiped my hands on my pants, trying to remember what it was that I had been about to do. My memory returned presently, so I crossed to my desk and sat down behind it. After consulting the phone book, I grabbed the old receiver and dialed Rick Miles' phone number.

He picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

I chuckled, curling the phone cord around my fingers. "No strange name for me today?"

"Is this Detective Stikup?" he asked, almost suspiciously.

"The one and only. Listen, I was just calling to let you know that I have some good news: we might have made a tremendous breakthrough in the case."

I could hear the surprise in Miles' voice. His words tripped over one another as each tried to be the first out of his mouth. "R–really? You're that close? Do you have any idea who did this to us?"

"Well, according to regulations, I can't divulge information yet. I just want you to know that it will only be a matter of time before I
do
make an arrest. Once that's taken care of, we'll make the necessary bank transfers to get you your money back, and we'll recover your personal documents." I coughed into my hand. "I don't actually
have
your money… apparently the thieves passed it on to a higher power, but… Well, let me put it to you this way: the moment I get the green light, I'll be leaping into action."

Miles was still stammering with excitement. "This… This is amazing! So – so shortly after the theft, too!"

Seven days
did
have to be a record or something. Momentarily I wondered if Scarlotti had ever managed it and made a mental note to ask Slyder.

As for Miles, I took satisfaction in his obvious gratitude. "You're very welcome," I said presumptuously. "I'll give you a call the moment I've pulled out the handcuffs."

"Thank you, Detective!" Miles said, and then hung up without another word.

I replaced the phone on the receiver and sank back in my seat, steepling my fingers and feeling truly self–satisfied, perhaps for the first time in my life. Now I just had to wait until SPD found out whose fingerprints were on the note. Once that was done, I could wrap up Miles' case and from there move on to closing Mendoza's.

You are one smart cookie, Chance Stikup,
I told myself, putting my hands behind my head.

The amusing thing was that I had no idea whom I was about to arrest. Once the fingerprints were identified, everything would be clear of course, but for the time being I was still in the dark. Actually, I was still in the dark physically too, so – taking advantage of the gloom – I closed my eyes and put my feet up on the desk. The fire was warm and romantic, but I wasn't interested in dozing off just yet.

To refresh my memory, I began laying out the facts in my mind.

Okay
, I thought, eyes still closed.
I've nabbed the first group of thieves – the ones that hit Miles. The other group that hit Mendoza I still don't know squat about, but I will as soon as we've brought their boss into custody, and we already know that his fingerprints are all over the paper.

Perhaps it had been a little premature to call Miles, especially when I wasn't entirely sure of all the facts myself. But what the hell? It would give the poor guy something to smile about for a change.

All things considered, the case had been fairly simple, all local and with few twists in the plot. It'd really just been a lot of police work with relatively little sleuthing on the side. I guess it's true what they say about all those cop shows: real crimes are committed by idiots, but on TV, the criminals are all masterminds.

I didn't realize how long I had been musing until Jill came in, already wearing her coat. She came to stand before the desk. "Was that you talking to yourself?" she asked with a smile. She looked better now, although her eyes were still bloodshot.

"Oh, I always talk to myself. If no one's around, I hold whole conversations." I checked my watch, found it to be 5:00 on the dot, so I sat up, replacing my feet on the floor. "I think we both need a good night's rest. I think we both
deserve
a good night's rest."

"Sounds good to me." Jill smoothed the front of her skirt with her hands. "I already closed up my office."

I slapped my hands on the desk top and stood. "Let me just extinguish the fire so we'll still have a building tomorrow."

It took about ten minutes to turn off the lights, put out the fire, clear away some of the major cases of clutter, and lock all the doors. Jill waited for me, patient despite my OCD, and we walked out to our cars together. The absence of any new snowfall within the last few days had left the walkway unusually clear, and we didn't have to fight through layers of snow and ice to get to our vehicles. The sun was just setting, and the oncoming dusk promised to be chilly.

Jill opened the door to her Toyota, but instead of getting in, turned to face me. "Thanks for listening, Chance. It really means a lot to me."

"Think nothing of it." I shrugged modestly, casting my gaze uncomfortably to the snow. "I'm just happy to be able to help
you
out occasionally."

"Thanks," she repeated, catching my eye with that beautiful smile.

I returned it sloppily, thrusting my hands into my coat pockets. "See you tomorrow, Jilly."

She smiled at the pet name and climbed into the driver's seat before slamming the door shut behind her. I doffed a wave, then got into the Anglia and started the engine. While I waited for the car to warm up, I sat back and smiled, thinking absolutely nothing.

And what's more, it felt so
good
.

I shifted the Anglia into gear and was ready to pull out when someone tapped on the driver's window. For a moment, I sat there stupidly, then – recovering myself – quickly rolled down the window and looked up at my secretary.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

She shivered in the cold, drawing the collar of her coat tighter around her neck. "My car won't start. I don't think there was enough antifreeze left in there – I never had it winterized."

I shifted the Anglia back into park – left it running so as to keep it warm – then climbed out and went over to Jill's car. "Handyman Stikup to the rescue. I'm not gonna lie, I don't know much about cars, Jill."