In Plain Sight

Slouching on a hard wooden chair at a table as far away from the microphone as he could get, Simon glanced around the half-filled room. Not a bad Tuesday-night turnout—mostly middle-aged folks in jeans, a family in one corner, a couple dressed in matching country-and-western attire doing fancy steps on the dance floor to off-key music. And a lone woman at the bar, holding her glass as if it were her only friend. She’d had a face-lift—the line behind her jaw told him that. And she dyed her own hair; she’d missed a spot on the back of her head with the platinum solution. He’d bet his computer there was no wedding ring on her finger, but that if he looked, he’d find an oversize turquoise there.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

Amanda, according to the name tag of the young woman standing at the edge of his table. Sometimes a man just got lucky.

“What’s on tap?” He gave her the slow, covertly appreciative grin that had closed more than one investigation.

With her tray balanced on a hip, Amanda listed both foreign and domestic beers. Her perfectly painted red lips moved easily, as she told him about the night’s specials. “So what’ll you have?” she ended, with a smile that would’ve locked many men’s knees—including his, nine or ten years ago.

Domestic. Simon named his brand, or rather the brand he used to prefer on tap, back when he used to go out. And watched Amanda’s butt in the tight, faded blue denim, as she made her way toward the friendly-looking blond woman behind the bar.

Nice ass.

Nice girl. He hoped. Ex-boyfriend with possible terrorist connections notwithstanding.

Pushing his glasses up, Simon pretended to look around with interest, while keeping Amanda in sight at all times. Not a hard job, as things went. Though at twenty-five she was a bit young for his taste, the woman’s slim figure and rounded breasts were visually pleasing. She was a good waitress, too—quick. She walked up to tables with a full tray and delivered everything without pausing to question who got what; friendly, but not really flirty.

“So, what’s the most famous thing about this place?” he asked, when she brought his beer.

“Hmm.” She paused as if she had all night, frowned and peered around. “I’d say the fireplace.” The silver butterfly clip that secured her long amber-streaked hair, glinted as she turned back to him. “Some of those stones were dug up hundreds of years ago. And there’s lava formations and petrified wood there, too.”

More than he’d ever wanted to know. “No kidding.” Simon gave the structure a good, long look. “You been here long?”

“Four years,” she told him. “Since I was an undergrad at NAU.”

“You dropped out?”

She shook her head. “I graduated. With a degree in English. I’m working on a master’s now.”

Bright girl. And determined enough to work while she studied.

“Got a boyfriend?”

He’d asked Jan the same question earlier that evening, when he’d insisted they look through her home while the cop was there—although he’d asked her for entirely different reasons. With Jan, even though he’d agreed with the beat cop’s assessment of a neighborhood gang-related dare, he’d been hoping to find out that she had some extra protection. She didn’t.

“Yeah, I got one,” Amanda said. And Simon took a sip of beer, batting zero for zero.

“Been together long?”

“Three years.” She grinned as she said it, letting him know that she was flattered by his interest—but not interested. Scott needed a better information source. This wasn’t a disgruntled ex.

“Too bad,” he told her with a warm glance. So much for getting her to spill her guts after work.

“Enjoy your beer,” she said, swinging around toward the bar.

“You know anywhere a guy can get some good physical training around here?” he called after her.

Simon always had plans B, C and D, as backup.

She stopped. “What kind of training?”

“I’m getting ready for level-three alpine certification from the Professional Ski Instructors of America.” He could have been. If he’d had any desire to spend his days in the cold and snow doing something he used to enjoy. Which he didn’t.

He patted his belly beneath the loosely hanging wrinkled shirt, making it clear that his garment was not hiding surplus flesh. “I’ve got great abs,” he said sheepishly, “and I can bench press twice my weight. I work out at the gym every morning.” If you could call the equipment in his spare bedroom a gym. “But I need more. Something that’ll put me above the rest.”

An asshole at a table by the dance floor whistled, and Amanda looked over her shoulder. “I might know of someone who could help,” she said, as she walked away. “Give me a couple of days.”

With that, she was gone. And so was Simon. He’d gotten what he’d come for.

4

The Zeidel file did not turn up. That could be an omen. Perhaps Jan should have done what Andrew advised and cut her losses. Not only her reputation, but the state’s and the county attorney’s hung in the balance. It was an election year. The county attorney couldn’t afford bad press or big losses. Better to let Jacob Hall go quietly on his way. After all, to her boss he was a small fish—perhaps a member of the Ivory Nation, but certainly not the leader. She’d yet to tie him directly to Bobby Donahue.

“Danny, thanks for meeting with me.” She stood, shaking the off-duty detective’s hand as he joined her at the table for two along one wall of Macy’s Coffee-house early the following Saturday morning.

“My favorite Ethiopian coffee and a beautiful woman. How could I pass that up?” he asked, settling his slightly overweight middle-aged body on the chair across from her. She was used to seeing him in uniform, and the jeans and flannel shirt were hard to get used to.

It didn’t surprise her that when it came to coffee Danny Ruple went for the strong, rough, dry kind. She bought the coffee for him at the counter, along with one of Macy’s famous muffins. And ordered a light-roast Brazilian for herself. She was picking Hailey up for breakfast as soon as she finished with the detective and she hoped that one small dose of caffeine was all she’d need until then.

“I heard about your brick encounter a few days ago,” he said, taking a sip from his steaming cup.

She wasn’t shocked by that. With only about sixty officers on the Flagstaff police force, the men and women resembled a big family; if one of them was called to the home of a county prosecutor, they’d all know about it.

“Officer Ramsey thinks it was gang related.” Much to her relief.

Danny nodded. “There’ve been three or four similar incidents south of the railroad tracks since May.”

“Any suspects?”

“We’re pretty sure we know the kids doing it,” Danny said. “But so far there’s been nothing more than minimal damage, no injuries—no real proof. We’ve brought a couple of them in for questioning, at least to let them know we’re onto them, to scare them a little. Lord knows, if we make an arrest without a full confession, fingerprints and VHS recordings, some defense attorney will start spouting rights of the accused and get him off.”

“Attorneys are not all misguided, Detective,” she said with a grin. “We’re just bound by laws that strangle us occasionally.”

“And you call on us to cut the rope and then tie yourselves up again.”

It was an ongoing debate between the two of them—in jest, but there was truth, as well. “You’re a fine cop, Danny Ruple.”

“Uh-oh, this isn’t going to be good.” He stared into his coffee, so she couldn’t read the look in his eyes. Which was probably for the best. “What happened— Hall walk again?”

“Nope.”

He studied her. “You’re actually going to make it stick this time? ’Cause I gotta tell you, Jan, I’m pretty damn sick of risking my butt so he gets a few days bed and board on the state and then returns to the street with a vendetta against the cop who booked him. I got a wife and two teenage boys who prefer it when I come home alive.”

“I know.” She nodded. Took comfort from the warmth of the ceramic mug resting in her cupped hands. “And I’m going to get him. But I need your help.”

“Of course, you do. Why else would you be buying me expensive coffee? What’ve you got?”

He thought she had a lead that needed checking. It wouldn’t be the first time Danny had spent unpaid hours off duty, assisting on a case.