talk. You know, if I have any deeply personal problems that just can’t wait until Friday?”
He laughed. “Alice, it’s only two days away,” he said.
“I could be traumatized by a snake or something.”
He sighed. “Okay. But only then. It’s hard to pull a cell phone out of its holder when you’re knee-deep in mud trying to extract mired cattle.”
She beamed. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She tucked the number in the pocket of her slacks. “I enjoyed lunch.”
“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “Me, too.”
She watched him walk away with covetous eyes. He really did have a sensuous body, very masculine. She stood sighing over him until she realized that several pair of eyes were still watching her from inside the café. With a self-conscious grin in their direction, she went quickly to her van.
The pattern in the tennis shoes was so common that Alice had serious doubts that they’d ever locate the seller, much less the owner. The car was going to be a much better lead. She went up to the crime lab while they were processing it. There was some trace evidence that was promising. She also had Sergeant Rick Marquez, who worked out of San Antonio P.D., get as much information as he could about the woman the murdered man had stolen the car from.
The next morning in Jacobsville, on his way to work in San Antonio, Rick stopped by Alice’s motel room to give her the information he’d managed to obtain. “She’s been an employee of Senator Fowler for about two years,” Rick said, perching on the edge of the dresser in front of the bed while she paced. “She’s deeply religious. She goes to church on Sundays and Wednesdays. She’s involved in an outreach program for the homeless, and she gives away a good deal of her salary to people she considers more needy.” He shook his head. “You read about these people, but you rarely encounter them in real life. She hasn’t got a black mark on her record anywhere, unless you consider a detention in high school for being late three days in a row when her mother was in the hospital.”
“Wow,” Alice exclaimed softly.
“There’s more. She almost lost the job by lecturing the senator for hiring illegal workers and threatening them with deportation if they asked for higher wages.”
“What a sweetheart,” Alice muttered.
“From what we hear, the senator is the very devil to work for. They say his wife is almost as hard-nosed. She was a state supreme court judge before she went into the import/export business. She made millions at it. Finances a good part of the senator’s reelection campaigns.”
“Is he honest?”
“Is any politician?” Marquez asked cynically. “He sits on several powerful committees in Congress, and was once accused of taking kickbacks from a Mexican official.”
“For what?”
“He was asked to oppose any shoring up of border security. Word is that the senator and his contact have their fingers in some illegal pies, most notably drug trafficking. But there’s no proof. The last detective who tried to investigate the senator is now working traffic detail.”
“A vengeful man.”
“Very.”
“I don’t suppose that detective would talk to me?” she wondered aloud.
“She might,” he replied surprisingly. “She and I were trying to get the Kilraven family murder case reopened, if you recall, when pressure was put on us to stop. She turned her attention to the senator and got kicked out of the detective squad.” He grimaced. “She’s a good woman. Got an invalid kid to look after and an ex-husband who’s a pain in the butt, to put it nicely.”
“We heard about the cold case being closed. You think the senator might have been responsible for it?” she wondered aloud.
“We don’t know. He has a protégé who’s just been elected junior senator from Texas, and the protégé has some odd ties to people who aren’t exactly the crème of society. But we don’t dare mention that in public.” He smiled. “I don’t fancy being put on a motorcycle at my age and launched into traffic duty.”
“Your friend isn’t having to do that, surely?” she asked.
“No, she’s working two-car patrols on the night shift, but she’s a sergeant, so she gets a good bit of desk work.” He studied her. “What’s this I hear about you trying to marry Harley?”
She grinned. “It’s early days. He’s shy, but I’m going to drown him in flowers and chocolate until he says yes.”
“Good luck,” he said with a chuckle.
“I won’t even need it. We’re going to a movie together Friday.”
“Are you? What are you going to see?”
“The remake of that fifties movie. We’re going to dinner first.”
“You are a fast worker, Alice,” he said with respect. He checked his watch. “I’ve got to get back to the precinct.”
She glanced at his watch curiously. “You don’t have a blade or a wire in that thing, do you?”
“Not likely,” he assured her. “Those watches cost more than I make, and they’re used almost exclusively by mercs.”
“Mercs?” She frowned.
“Soldiers of fortune. They work for the highest bidder, although our local crowd had more honor than that.”
Mercs. Now she understood Harley’s odd phrasing about “trade secrets.”
“Where did you see a watch like that?” he asked.
She looked innocent. “I heard about one from Harley. I just wondered what they were used for.”
“Oh. Well, I guess if you were in a tight spot, it might save your life to have one of those,” he agreed, distracted.
“Before you go, can you give me the name and address of that detective in San Antonio?” she asked.
He hesitated. “Better let me funnel the questions to her, Alice,” he said with a smile. “She doesn’t want anything to slip out about her follow-ups on that case. She’s still working it, without permission.”
She raised an eyebrow. “So are you, unless I miss my guess. Does Kilraven know?”
He shook his head. Then he hesitated. “Well, I don’t think he does. He and Jon Blackhawk still don’t want us nosing around. They’re afraid the media will pick up the story and it will become the nightly news for a year or so.” He shook his head. “Pitiful, how the networks don’t go out and get any real news anymore. They just create it by harping on private families mixed up in tragedies, like living soap operas.”
“That’s how corporate media works,” she told him. “If you want real news, buy a local weekly newspaper.”
He laughed. “You’re absolutely right. Take care, Alice.”
“You, too. Thanks for the help.”
“Anytime.” He paused at the door and grinned at her. “If Harley doesn’t work out, you could always pursue me,” he invited. “I’m young and dashing and I even have long hair.” He indicated his ponytail. “I played semiprofessional soccer when I was in college, and I have a lovely singing voice.”
She chuckled. “I’ve heard about your singing voice, Marquez. Weren’t you asked, very politely, to stay out of the church choir?”
“I wanted to meet women,” he said. “The choir was full of unattached ones. But I can sing,” he added belligerently. “Some people don’t appreciate real talent.”
She wasn’t touching that line with a pole. “I’ll keep you in