Tessa Leoni: Crash And Burn Part 18

Wyatt frowned. That was a long time for a woman who was supposedly in a hurry. Twenty minutes, combined with the long drive out here . . . A woman dressed for trouble and going out of her way to find it.

"Did she talk to anyone?" he asked. "Another customer, store employee?"

The sales clerk shrugged. "Can't really say. It was a busy night. Lot going on. Not like I spent all my time watching her."

Wyatt nodded, wishing once again the state store's security cameras hadn't messed up the recordings for Wednesday night. And yet, these things happened. Unfortunately, more often than a good detective liked. He fished out a card, handed it over to Marlene, who was now tucking the mop bucket in a corner. "Thank you very much. Sorry again for the mess, and if there's anything else you remember, please give me a buzz."

"Sure. She gonna be okay?" Marlene asked. "Poor girl looked pretty sick."

"She's resting; that'll help."

"What'd she do, anyway?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're a detective. You and that other guy escorted her into the store; now you're asking all these questions. So what did she do?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out."

"She lose someone?"

Wyatt paused. "Why do you ask?"

"Because she looks so sad. And I know sad. That girl, she's got one h.e.l.luva case of the blues."

WYATT WAS STILL churning things over in his head when he exited the store to find Kevin waiting for him.

"Got word from the cell company on the call Nicole received Wednesday night."

"And?"

He followed Kevin to their white SUV, where Nicky remained curled up in the fetal position in the back. She didn't look up when Wyatt approached. To judge by how tightly her eyes were squeezed shut, Wyatt didn't think the woman was asleep, as much as she was purposefully shutting them out.

"Caller ID doesn't belong to a person," Kevin provided, "but to a company."

"Which is?"

"An investigative firm out of Boston." Kevin paused, regarded him intently. "Northledge Investigations," he stated.

Wyatt closed his eyes. "Ah, s.h.i.t."

WYATT LEFT KEVIN to babysit their charge while he walked across the parking lot, zipping up his coat against the evening chill. Weather service had already recorded a couple of nights in single digits. And it was still only November, meaning at this rate, it was going to be a tough winter. People cooped up by the snow, half-crazed from the cold. Yeah, another excellent season to be a cop.

He dialed Tessa with his back to Kevin. Pick up, pick up, he thought, preconditioned to liking the sound of her voice, even if he worried about what she might say to him next.

Third ring, he got his wish: "Hey." She sounded breathless. As if he caught her in the middle of something. For a moment, he let himself smile. G.o.d, he loved this woman. Which was good, because she was probably gonna ream him a new one.

"Hey yourself," he said. "Busy with something?"

"Just leaving a restaurant. None of us felt like cooking. Headed to Shalimar instead."

Indian restaurant. One of Sophie's favorites. It always surprised him, because when Wyatt had been nine, he'd been strictly a burger or dog man. Kids these days.

"How'd your lunch with Detective Warren go?" he asked. They'd never ended up catching up last night. Nor this morning, for that matter. Which, now that he thought about it, his bad. Usually they touched based at least once, if not twice a day. But given this case, he'd been preoccupied . . .

Tessa was a grown-up, he reminded himself. Had been on the job, too. She understood these things.

Except when she answered his question, her voice sounded remote, not at all like her. "Oh, fine. I explained investigative services to D.D. She explained why she preferred being a cop. Now we'll both wait for the state of her injury to render the verdict."

"Sophie okay?" Wyatt asked, still trying to get a bead on Tessa's mood. "Have a good week at school?"

"Yeah."

"And your day?"

"Fine."

The sound of car doors slamming shut. Then Tessa's voice, more m.u.f.fled as she addressed Sophie, probably Mrs. Ennis as well. "It's Wyatt. I need a moment; then we'll be on our way."

They must still be in the parking lot of the restaurant, Wyatt deduced, just now returning to the car. A former state trooper, Tessa hated people who drove while talking on their phones. Ergo, she'd make her family wait for her to finish the call before hitting the road. Which would explain her distraction. She was talking to him but still dealing with her family. Of course.

He decided there was no good way of doing it. In for a penny, in for a pound.

"I got a question for you," he announced.

"Okay."

"Remember my single-car accident? Possible aggravated DWI?"

"Yes."

"Turns out, driver got a call on her cell shortly before she took off that night. Her name is Nicole Frank."

Pause, while he waited to see if Tessa would respond to that name. Of course, she was a seasoned professional, so when she didn't, he continued, evenly enough: "Number was registered to a company: Northledge Investigations."

More silence now. But Wyatt knew Tessa well enough to imagine the small but significant changes in her body language. Sitting up straighter in the driver's seat. Grip tightening on the phone. Expression smoothing out.

He also understood that right about now, Sophie, sitting in the backseat, would be noticing these changes as well, and also going on high alert.

If Tessa hadn't been irritated with him before, then this oughta do it.

"Why did you call, Wyatt?" she asked quietly.

"Gotta start somewhere."

"So you thought your best move would be to ask your girlfriend to violate the confidentiality of her clients?"

"No. Not what I'm asking."

He was rewarded with more silence. Then Sophie's voice from the back: "Mom, what's going on?"

"Nothing." An automatic reply spoken to the child. Followed by a more direct tone, delivered straight to him: "Wyatt. It's late. It's been a long week. I know you're only doing your job, but I can't help you. You know that."

"She doesn't remember."

"Who?"

"Nicole Frank. The driver. Our perpetrator. Or our victim. h.e.l.l, I don't even know. She's suffered three concussions, remember? It's messed her up, deleted some items from the hard drive. Which is starting to scare her. The husband, remember? The one even you worried might be the cause of three accidents? I gather things are a little tense on the home front, and Nicky has decided she needs answers. She's out with us tonight, trying to retrace her final drive. Except she can't remember the details. She knows she received a call. She remembers she had to get out of the house. The rest remains a mystery to her."

"What do you want from me?"

"I know you can't answer my question directly-that would betray confidentiality. But what if I got her on the line? Or had Nicky call in to Northledge? Maybe you could arrange for the right person"-because it was a large firm, with many investigators other than Tessa-"to be there to receive her call. Answer her questions."

"That might be possible," Tessa finally conceded, but he noticed that her voice remained cool. "a.s.suming she's a client. Could be she was contacted as part of another investigation."

"True." Wyatt hadn't actually thought about that. "You're right. But she received the call late on Wednesday. And afterward, she felt she had to leave immediately. Sounds to me more like someone who received information-important information-and had to respond to it."

"Where did she go?"

"A liquor store."

"News that drove her to drink?"

"Or maybe news that drove her to meet. I'm still working on that one."

"She's with you," Tessa asked abruptly.

"In the back of the SUV as we speak. But she's not in any condition to talk at the moment. Headache, nausea, that sort of thing."

"So you want me to talk to her, but she can't talk?"

"I have to start somewhere, Tessa."

"Wyatt, I can't deliver potentially confidential information to you. That's not who I am and not who you want me to be."

"Okay." Wyatt didn't press the point. He wasn't surprised by Tessa's refusal. She did take confidentiality seriously, as well she should. And yet, he did have to start somewhere, and it wasn't unheard of for an investigator to help out another investigator, let alone two investigators with a personal relationship . . .

He was disappointed. But mostly, he was still trying to understand his girlfriend's distant tone. Right from the beginning of the conversation. Even before he'd waded into forbidden waters.

"You okay?" he spoke up at last.

"Boundaries, Wyatt. Given our jobs, both of us have boundaries. I can respect yours, but if this is going to work, I need you to respect mine as well."

"I understand."

"Do you?"

"Of course. Tessa-"

"It's late. I need to go. We can catch up in the morning. Maybe I can work out something for you then. Good night, Wyatt."

"Okay. Um, thanks. I'll touch base tomorrow."

Wyatt ended the call. But he remained uncomfortable. Boundaries, his girlfriend of six months was telling him. Except suddenly, he was worried she wasn't speaking about professional issues at all.

WHEN HE RETURNED to the SUV, Kevin was standing near the driver's door, making notes on his little spiral-bound pad.

"You're still alive," he observed, having no illusions about the dangers of p.i.s.sing off Tessa Leoni.

"That much faith in my charms? Tessa would be totally delighted to help us out."

Kevin gave him a look.

"Fine. She argued confidentiality, with a sidebar on respecting her professional integrity. But she might be willing to talk to Nicky directly in the morning, a.s.suming Nicky's recovered by then."

Kevin shrugged philosophically. In other words, Northledge was currently a dead end.

"How she's doing?" Wyatt asked, gesturing to the backseat of the vehicle.

"Hasn't moved a muscle."

"Have you checked on her? I'm pretty sure it's bad for taxpayers to die while in our care."

"Checked. Frankly, she's pretty out of it. Probably time to take her home."

Wyatt didn't argue. On the other hand, he had a feeling once they returned Nicky to her husband, they'd never get her out again.

"Why do you think she came here?" Wyatt asked Kevin. "Gets a call. Has such a sense of urgency she grabs her closest pair of shoes, sneakers, even though they're a lousy choice for a rainy night, while forgoing a coat. Then proceeds to drive nearly an hour to a liquor store well beyond her closest shopping center. Then, according to the sales clerk, Nicky spends another fifteen, twenty minutes wandering the store, before finally grabbing a bottle of scotch."

"Didn't know what she felt like drinking?"

Wyatt's turn to give his partner a look. Then again: "Why an eighteen-year-old bottle of Glenlivet? Pretty specific, not to mention expensive, choice, if you're just looking to get drunk."

"Good memories?"

"She doesn't have any. Except . . ." Wyatt paused, collected his thoughts. "What if she was meeting someone? That's what the phone call was about. The liquor store is the designated spot, so first she looks for the person in the store. Then when she can't find them . . ."

"Buys the person's favorite bottle of scotch?"

"Or something significant to both of them."

"And heads out into the parking lot."