Free Saboteur: A Novel by J. Travis Phelps Page B

Also mine. There is a stack of playboys and
penthouse in the drawer, though watch out cause Rodriguez keeps them in a particular order. If they get moved she gets
furious.”
    “Oh,” he said, “she lik--”
    “She likes the articles. Don’t
mention you’re staying here, ok? Tierney has forgotten this place even exists.
You’ll be safe. Look, tell me if anything unusual comes up on this case, ok?
Tell me who you speak to, just so I can watch your back and keep an eye on
you.”
    “Ok, Dad.” he said saluting
awkwardly.
    Tackett raised his head squinting
at him. “Man you are sure one goofy bastard for a supposed genius. Then again
maybe you’re just a country genius. You better get some sleep.” Tackett said
opening the door. “The train comes by here at about 7 am, so don’t worry about
setting an alarm. Drink a bunch of water before you pass out. See you bright
and early sunshine.”
      He was all alone
at last on the couch. It wasn’t bad actually. There were candles placed
randomly around the room. It smelled of a woman’s touch, even if it looked like
a complete flop-house. He opened the refrigerator. It was full of beer, and
good beer at that. There was a piece of moldy cheese wrapped in plastic in the
corner, which smelled mightily bad. On top, a pack of Ritz crackers, only
slightly stale, which he opened and proceeded to eat with reckless abandon. He
finished all but two, trying to remember where Tackett had said the playboys
were, before passing out on the couch covered in crumbs.

 
    ***

 
    The blast of the train’s horn caused him to think he was in
Richmond and for a few strange seconds he thought he could smell the fall
leaves. He heard a football game band playing to cheers off in the distance,
but then the sound all seemed to roll together into the breaking of waves, and
he realized where he actually was. California. He had slept at least. His head
felt tender though, and if he moved too fast he knew he might cause a real
headache. Suddenly the coffee maker kicked on with a beep, but there was no
water, so it only hissed. He was too tired to bother. He sat up running his
hands through his hair. He wasn’t a Richmond cop anymore; he had to remember
that. San Diego had certainly been eventful so far. It technically wasn’t
illegal for Tierney to lie to him, but it sure was a helluva way to start a
job. He walked to the window and peered out across the street. It was empty. A
child rode by on a bicycle and waived across at someone he could not see. He
looked on the table and saw the folder for case 1032. He sat down and opened
it. It was not much to go on. He had already called and left messages with
anyone even remotely connected to the case. It was a short list of names. It
was a long way from the crime. Probably no one remembered anything accurately
after so much time. He stared at the pictures of the scene of the break in and
of course the apparent struggle, blood literally splashed all over. Whose blood
was it? No body was ever found and it hadn’t matched anyone in the database.
During the follow up investigation by Detective Jensen they hadn’t even
considered there was any connection between the two events---the disappearance
of Fleming and the apparent murder without a body. Why would they? Sullivan
wanted a look at the scene, even if it had changed completely. Maybe there was
something about where the crime took
place that was important. Maybe the homeowner could remember something
valuable. Sullivan remembered that his car was still at impound. Shit. He was going to be late for sure.
Just then the front door flew open.
    “Rise and shine, Valentine!” It was
Rodriguez. “Time to get your hung ass up, homey,” she said handing him a coffee
and donut.
    He realized he wasn’t wearing
pants, only his shamrock covered underwear. Rodriguez looked down.
    “Those are cute, but the chief
hates the Irish, so put on some pants.” He looked down and laughed.
    “Not that you care.”