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.It took Roger and an agent from Cedar Rapids nearly six weeks to track down the two men and arrest them as they were about to cross the Mexican border.But once the men had been processed and the investigative part of the case closed, he had time to think about the newspaper article he’d received from the Crossroads Sentinel.He spent the day before Christmas tracking down the right Crossroads.He struck out in both Maine and Pennsylvania but hit pay dirt in the Memphis field office, where an agent put him in touch with the Crossroads police chief, Abe Marfield.“Oh, sure,” Marfield told him.“We got the Sentinel here.What’s the FBI’s interest?”Roger dodged the question.“Who can I talk to about the paper?”“Well, Shelby Townsend’s the owner.She got herself mixed up in something?”“No, no, just a few questions.Background stuff.”The officer paused.Roger could almost hear the frown forming on his face.“Nothing big coming my way? I’d appreciate any heads-up if you know of something.Drugs, gangs, anything like that.”“Nothing like that,” Roger assured him.“But I’d appreciate any contact information you can give me for this Shelby Townsend.”Marfield put him on hold, then came back with a phone number.Roger thanked him and disconnected.He ran a computer search for the newspaper owner’s name.Most of the hits revolved around her retirement two years ago.The accompanying pictures showed a box of a woman with a bulldog face.When he called, her voice barked at him through the phone.“Crossroads Sentinel, Shelby Townsend.”Roger introduced himself.“A month or so ago, you wrote an article about the rescue of a young girl by a Mitch Turner.”“So the FBI is interested in Mitch, too.”“What do you mean ‘too’? Has someone else asked about him?”She told him about an anonymous tip she’d received shortly after the story ran.“After that, I had a friend up in Detroit do a search, but Turner came up clean.Almost too clean.But you can’t write a story unless one exists, so I didn’t pursue it.”“What’s he done since he got to Crossroads?”“He’s a short-order cook at one of the restaurants in town.Takes care of his daughter.Keeps a low, law-abiding profile.”“What about the daughter?” Roger scanned the article.“Julia? That her name? How old is she? What’s she look like?”“Oh, I’d say she’s maybe eleven or twelve.In the fifth grade, I think.”His interest quickened.“Anything unusual about her? Anything stand out?”“She’s eleven.Not been around long enough to do anything unusual.Unless you’re talking about physical appearance.She does have very striking blue eyes.”Roger stilled.His hand tightened on the phone.“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what this is all about?” Shelby Townsend asked.“What’s the FBI’s interest in a short-order cook and his daughter?”“Appreciate your help, Ms.Townsend.Merry Christmas.”He disconnected.Stared at the opposite wall, where memos and bulletins were pinned to a corkboard.Was Mitch Turner the end of Roger’s free fall? Or just wishful thinking? Should he check it out? Or should he follow procedure and alert New York? Faces wanted by the Omaha division stared back at Roger.Physical description, criminal caution, whether or not they were armed and dangerous.Mitch Turner wasn’t up there.But it was still Roger’s case.The case that had sent him tumbling into oblivion.If anyone was going to sweep up the pieces, shouldn’t it be him?He filled out a 302, requesting resources for a case, and picked up the phone to call Marbrue, the SAC in Omaha.But Marbrue wasn’t as eager to pursue as Roger.“First off, all you’ve got is a couple of maybes and a hunch.I’m not going to release Bureau resources on a wild-goose chase.And even if I was, it’s New York’s case.Let them pay for it.”Roger twirled a pencil maniacally.He hadn’t expected to have to fight for this.“No one knows the case better than I do.”“Even after ten, eleven years?”“Yes, sir.”“Is this why you’ve requested transfer back to New York twelve times in the last ten years?”Roger frowned; his personnel file must be in front of Marbrue.“That and the corn, sir.I’m allergic.”“We’re all allergic to the corn.”“Yes, sir.”“If you’ve got time on your hands, I just got a call from the Muscatine Police Department.They’ve got two skinhead yahoos in custody for beating up some black men at the Canterbury Pub in the Econo Lodge.Victims are calling it a hate crime.So head over to Muscatine, which is in your district, and see what you can find out.”Roger bit down on what he really wanted to say, murmuring only, “Yes, sir.”He hung up, crumpled the 302 on his desk, and threw it against the wall.Then he threw the entire contents of his pencil jar against the wall.Then he yanked out another 302, barked at the office manager to give him a new case number, and filled out the form.Ten minutes later, he was in his Bucar, heading southwest to Muscatine.13Mitch intended for Julia to spend the long Christmas break at Crick’s, helping Loritta, reading, and doing whatever else he could think of to keep her entertained.There’d definitely been a cooling off between them.She didn’t say she hated him and flounce off to her room anymore, but he could tell she was holding a grudge.In other circumstances, he might even have resented it.But he could hardly blame her, considering what he’d asked her to give up.Not just a trip to Disney World, but also things she didn’t even know she should have.And it was Christmas.He hadn’t mentioned it yet, and she probably thought he’d forgotten, but the promised deadline was upon them.Their stay in Crossroads was almost over, and Julia was not going to like moving on.He wanted to give her one lovely memory to take with her and hopefully ease her over the hump of leaving.So on the day before Christmas, he snuck out of the restaurant while Julia was helping with the salt shakers and the customers hadn’t come yet.But Neesy burst through the swinging doors just as he was stepping through the back one.“Going somewhere?” she said.He took in a deep breath, braced himself not to feel anything, then answered her.“I’ll be gone fifteen minutes.Got to set up a surprise for Julia.”Her brows rose.“What kind of surprise?”He told her, and her whole face softened.“Well, the phone’s for you.Want me to take a message?”“Who is it? I’ve only got a few minutes to do this.”“Shelby Townsend.Said it was important.”Important? What the hell could she want? He hesitated, needing to get to the house but not wanting to leave without knowing what Shelby was after.“If you want”—Neesy picked up a spatula and tapped it nervously on the counter—“I can run over to the house while you take the call.We got time, and Loritta is here in case anyone comes early.”“Thanks, but—”“Look, if it’s about… about what happened.I mean, about the—”“It’s not.” God, he didn’t want to talk about that kiss.“You don’t have to worry.I mean, it won’t happen again.” She gave him a little self-deprecating laugh.“I can keep my grubby hands off you.”“Your hands aren’t grubby and I don’t want—” them off me.He almost said it.Instead, he clamped his mouth shut.She looked down at her hands.“I… I haven’t gotten either of you anything for Christmas.”“It’s fine.We haven’t gotten you anything, either.”“Well, I’d be honored to help with this.Call it my Christmas gift.”Loritta stuck her head in.“You going to take that call or not? Can’t keep the line tied up.”“Be right there.” He turned back to Neesy.“You’re sure?”“Sure I’m sure.It would be my… my pleasure [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]