Simmons’ stories, she remembered, reported the street value of that cocaine was almost $3 million.
The article Sam found in Robin’s desk had the same story line, but a different day and a different drug bust with a different street value. She folded the article and put it in her jacket pocket. Then she ran her hand along the inside of the drawer and hit a blunt object. She grasped it and pulled it into the light.
It was a pager. She shook her head and smiled. For a moment she did not realize the implications of the pager, then she was seized with a sudden burst of fear so bleak and powerful that she was unprepared for her own reaction. She rested her hands flat on the desk to steady herself. Was Robin murdered over a drug deal gone wrong? Was she blackmailing someone? Did she know something she shouldn’t have?
Sam felt her fear beginning to get out of control so she forced her attention back to the pager. She pressed the display button. The pager responded with only one number.
555-1618
She did not recognize the number. She picked up the phone and dialed, but quickly disconnected the call. She would call later, from home.
She searched the rest of Robin’s desk but found nothing. She clipped the pager to her sweatpants, slipped quietly from the office and hurried toward the fire exit, where she knew she could leave the building without being seen.
The cold night air took her breath away. The chill filled her with a sense of relief to be out of the building. She hurried to her Mustang, and when she was safely inside, she removed the crumbled pieces of paper from her jacket pocket. Something in one of the paragraphs had set off an alarm within her earlier. She scanned the paragraphs until she reached the words she wanted. Then she held her breath and read and reread them.
“The National Bank of Grandview.”
Ten
“What are you doing here?” Jonathan asked looking from his desk to see Sam standing at his office door.
“I knocked, but you didn’t hear me.”
“Sorry,” Jonathan said and spread his hands over the paperwork on his desk as if to say, ‘I’m busy.’
She entered the office without waiting for an invitation and walked to a set of identical chairs facing his desk and sat down. The office was small and bland, but a large window behind the desk allowed a generous portion of natural light to filter into the office. A generic painting of two couples walking arm-in-arm along a waterway filled with sailboats was to the left of the window. But Sam found the picture unappealing. She thought it was odd that the artist had painted the water green.
To the left of the painting was Jonathan’s college diploma. Next were two certificates of merit and a special commendation award for work with the Grandview Drug Task Force Unit. A smaller photograph showed Jonathan and the governor shaking hands as he received the certificates.
A pair of in-and-out baskets stood like bookends on his desk. Even with evidence of the day’s work spread out before him, the desk was neat and orderly. There was a 5-x-7 photograph on the desk that faced Jonathan. Sam knew it was a picture of April.
“Do you always greet people that way when they come to your office?” she asked.
He sat back against his chair and eyed her curiously. “Sam,” he said matter-of-factly, “you’re never in my office.”
“Don’t say never. I’ve been in here many times … just not recently,” Sam said and took a brief moment to study him. He wore a starched white shirt and an olive-colored tie with small stripes of black and white, which neatly agreed with his olive-colored slacks. She noticed that his beard was gone, making him look younger than his forty-one years.
“Are you doing something different with your hair?” he asked, appraising her carefully over the rims of his wire-frame glasses.
She absentmindedly raised a hand to her hair and pushed her bangs from her eyes.
“I had it highlighted,” she said faintly,
The article Sam found in Robin’s desk had the same story line, but a different day and a different drug bust with a different street value. She folded the article and put it in her jacket pocket. Then she ran her hand along the inside of the drawer and hit a blunt object. She grasped it and pulled it into the light.
It was a pager. She shook her head and smiled. For a moment she did not realize the implications of the pager, then she was seized with a sudden burst of fear so bleak and powerful that she was unprepared for her own reaction. She rested her hands flat on the desk to steady herself. Was Robin murdered over a drug deal gone wrong? Was she blackmailing someone? Did she know something she shouldn’t have?
Sam felt her fear beginning to get out of control so she forced her attention back to the pager. She pressed the display button. The pager responded with only one number.
555-1618
She did not recognize the number. She picked up the phone and dialed, but quickly disconnected the call. She would call later, from home.
She searched the rest of Robin’s desk but found nothing. She clipped the pager to her sweatpants, slipped quietly from the office and hurried toward the fire exit, where she knew she could leave the building without being seen.
The cold night air took her breath away. The chill filled her with a sense of relief to be out of the building. She hurried to her Mustang, and when she was safely inside, she removed the crumbled pieces of paper from her jacket pocket. Something in one of the paragraphs had set off an alarm within her earlier. She scanned the paragraphs until she reached the words she wanted. Then she held her breath and read and reread them.
“The National Bank of Grandview.”
Ten
“What are you doing here?” Jonathan asked looking from his desk to see Sam standing at his office door.
“I knocked, but you didn’t hear me.”
“Sorry,” Jonathan said and spread his hands over the paperwork on his desk as if to say, ‘I’m busy.’
She entered the office without waiting for an invitation and walked to a set of identical chairs facing his desk and sat down. The office was small and bland, but a large window behind the desk allowed a generous portion of natural light to filter into the office. A generic painting of two couples walking arm-in-arm along a waterway filled with sailboats was to the left of the window. But Sam found the picture unappealing. She thought it was odd that the artist had painted the water green.
To the left of the painting was Jonathan’s college diploma. Next were two certificates of merit and a special commendation award for work with the Grandview Drug Task Force Unit. A smaller photograph showed Jonathan and the governor shaking hands as he received the certificates.
A pair of in-and-out baskets stood like bookends on his desk. Even with evidence of the day’s work spread out before him, the desk was neat and orderly. There was a 5-x-7 photograph on the desk that faced Jonathan. Sam knew it was a picture of April.
“Do you always greet people that way when they come to your office?” she asked.
He sat back against his chair and eyed her curiously. “Sam,” he said matter-of-factly, “you’re never in my office.”
“Don’t say never. I’ve been in here many times … just not recently,” Sam said and took a brief moment to study him. He wore a starched white shirt and an olive-colored tie with small stripes of black and white, which neatly agreed with his olive-colored slacks. She noticed that his beard was gone, making him look younger than his forty-one years.
“Are you doing something different with your hair?” he asked, appraising her carefully over the rims of his wire-frame glasses.
She absentmindedly raised a hand to her hair and pushed her bangs from her eyes.
“I had it highlighted,” she said faintly,
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