about six weeks.”
Joe regarded him across the wide desk between them. “Need a little more time off, eh? Well, that’s not a bad idea, Tuck. You had a rough go of it. Went through it myself once.”
“Yeah, I know.” Tuck leaned forward. “Joe, how long was it before you got over it?”
Joe sucked in a long, thoughtful breath. “Not sure I ever did. But it does get easier, Tuck.”
Tuck hoped so. He wasn’t sleeping well, or eating much. Those were a couple of facts he’d neglected to mention to Dr. Keaton.
There was a lengthy silence. Tuck lit a cigarette. “Is it okay, then, to use my vacation and sick time?”
“Sure, no problem. By the way, if all you want to do is get out of town for a while, there’s a real cushy job available.”
“What is it?”
“Protecting the witness who can place Nick Lowicki at the exact site of the Buckley murders.”
Tuck’s eyes narrowed. “There’s a witness?”
“A reliable one. An upstanding citizen, Tuck, clean as a whistle.”
“Does Lowicki know?”
“We’re not sure. He didn’t do it alone, Tuck. We think the other man the witness saw was Gil Spencer. Anyway, the witness’s car was parked on the street in plain sight, and Spencer and Lowicki might be lowlifes, but they’re not completely stupid.”
Tuck turned his head and laughed sardonically. “Thought you mentioned a cushy job. Better get my hearing checked.”
Joe leaned forward. “Tuck, it will be cushy. We’re moving the witness to…well, I’ll tell you that if you get involved, but I guarantee you’d like the place. Look, all you’d have to do is keep the witness company. We’re really keeping the lid tight on this one. Only a few of our top people even know there is a witness, even fewer know what we’re planning to do. What do you say? It would be like a vacation with pay, and you wouldn’t use up your accumulated days. Afterward, if you still need more time away from the job, you can take it.”
“Why me?”
Joe cleared his throat while sitting back. “Because you’ve got a perfect excuse to disappear for an extended leave.” Joe hesitated before adding, “And you’re unencumbered, Tuck. There’s no one at home to ask questions.”
It wasn’t at all what he’d thought he might do with his free time. Actually, he didn’t know what he might do, but he sure hadn’t thought of anything like this.
“Can I think about it, Joe?”
Joe shook his head. “There’s no time. The witness will be ready to leave tonight.”
Tuck butted his cigarette, got up and went to a window. He stared out and absently watched traffic. “Can you tell me anything about it?”
“Not unless you agree. No one’s going to know anything unless they’re involved up to their eyeballs. We’re going to nail Lowicki this time, Tuck, but we don’t have a positive ID on the other guy. We need time to box him in, to prove that he was with Lowicki at 1:00 a.m. that night. The prosecutor’s office wants an airtight case before we haul them in. That’s what we’ll work on while you—or someone like you—takes care of the witness.”
Tuck mulled it over. Nick Lowicki was a snake. A drug dealer, a pimp, the sort of man the law enforcement community referred to as street scum. He’d made a bad mistake and there was a witness who could positively finger him. If the D.A. could build a case and put Gil Spencer away at the same time, the streets would be just a little bit cleaner.
“Well, guess I don’t have anything better to do,” Tuck said quietly.
“Then you’ll do it?”
Tuck turned. “I’ll do it. Now, can you fill me in?”
“Tonight, Tuck. Just before you leave. Meet me back here at nine this evening. Have your things with you. I’ll give you a car and some money. You’ll pick up the witness and be out of town before ten.”
Captain Joe Crawford didn’t just hand over a car and some cash that night, he had a whole new ID prepared for Tuck, a driver’s license, a social security card, and a couple of credit cards. “The credit cards are strictly for show, Tuck. Don’t want you using them and leaving any kind of trail. There’s enough cash here to last you for several weeks, and there’ll be more available if you need it.”
Tuck studied the handful of cards. “So, my name’s going to be Tom King.”
“Nice simple name, Tuck. That’s how we’re going to introduce you to the witness, as Tom King. No need for her to know your real name. She’s no pro at this sort of thing and might make a slip at the wrong time.”
Tuck regarded his captain. “The witness is a woman? How old is she?”
Joe Crawford cleared his throat. “I don’t know, maybe thirty, thirty-one.”
“She’s not married?”
“No. Now, Tuck, don’t get that bullheaded look on your face. What difference does it make? You’d be doing the same job if the witness was a sixty-year-old man.”
“It never occurred to me we were talking about a woman, a young woman.” Tuck shook his head disgustedly. “Tell me she’s buck-toothed, stringy-haired and ugly.”
Joe laughed. “Can’t do that. She’s a pretty woman.”
“Aw, hell,” Tuck muttered.
An hour later, briefed on his destination in great detail and as ready to go as he’d ever be, Tuck and John Harper got into the assigned car, with John at the wheel. Tuck hadn’t asked the woman’s real name. Joe had told him that her assumed name was Cheryl King, and then quickly added, “The two of you can decide what kind of arrangement you’d be most comfortable with. You could be sister and brother, if that makes you happy. Personally, I like the idea of a couple, a husband and wife.”
“Dammit, Joe, you set me up!”
Joe had smiled blandly. “You’ll enjoy yourself in Idaho, Tuck. Coeur d’Alene’s a beautiful little city.”
While John Harper drove to the woman’s home, Tuck glared out the side window. If Joe Crawford had even hinted at the witness’s sex and age, Tuck would have refused the job with gusto. He didn’t want to spend the next month, or whatever it took, with a woman.
John pulled into a driveway. “Well, here we are, Tuck.”
Tuck didn’t immediately jump out. “I don’t like this, Harper. I don’t like it one damn bit!”
John shrugged, as if to say, Tough, Tuck! You took the job, you live with it. But then the older man relented and smiled. “She’s a nice woman, Tuck. You’ll like her.”
“Like hell I will,” he muttered as he got out of the car.
Inside, Nicole was back to pacing. Scott Paulsen answered the back door, and Nicole stayed in the living room. She was dressed for a long ride, wearing old jeans, faded and soft from a hundred washings, a plain, blue T-shirt and sneakers. She was pale and biting the thumbnail on her left hand, a habit she abhorred and thought she’d cured herself of more than a dozen years ago.
Scott, John, and a third man walked in. Nicole’s anxious blue eyes went instantly to the stranger. John made the introductions. “Cheryl, this is Tom.”
“Hello,” Nicole mumbled. Tom was stiff and unsmiling. Tall, well-built, wearing jeans that rivaled her own for age and comfort. Inscrutable gray eyes.
“Hello,” Tuck said tonelessly, refusing to acknowledge Cheryl’s pretty face and long legs. Two large and two small suitcases sat near the sofa. “I’ll