Free Leader of the Pack (Andy Carpenter) by David Rosenfelt Page B

missiles.”
    “Did they know where it was going?” I ask.
    “Montana. And probably elsewhere.”
    “Militia?”
    “Land of the free, home of the brave. Montana State Police could be your source on the other end. If you call my office in the morning, I’ll give you a contact name there.”
    Laurie seems to be about to doze off, inducing a wave of panic in me. But I need to finish talking to Cindy.
    “Can I use this?”
    “Make an application through Freedom of Information. You’ll get it. In the meantime, you can use it.”
    “This is great, Cindy. Thanks. Gotta go.”
    “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let me talk to Laurie.”
    “ LAURIE ?” I scream it into the phone, hoping it will wake Laurie up from the beginnings of sleep. “Laurie took Tara for a walk.”
    “Andy,” Cindy says, “you’ve got mental problems.”
    It didn’t work; Laurie is asleep. “Mental problems are the least of it,” I say, before hanging up.
    Now my dilemma is how to wake Laurie up without making it look like I’m intentionally doing so. It’s got to be handled with some subtlety.
    I pretend to stub my toe on the foot of the bed, and I scream in pain. Torture victims have screamed less loudly than I do, and when that doesn’t work, I do it again. She doesn’t wake up, but neighbors up and down the street are probably calling 911.
    I scream again, figuring if she hasn’t woken up yet, then as far as she knows, it’s the initial scream. Her eyes finally open, and she looks at me. “Why are you pretending to be in pain?” she asks.
    “So you’ll wake up.”
    “A gentle, loving nudge would have done the trick.”
    I nod. “I’ll try that next time. I’m going to Montana.”
    “Tonight?”
    “No.”
    “Then get into bed,” she says, raising one side of the covers so I can do so.
    “If you insist,” I say.

 
    I decide to call Edna in to work. I break the news to her over the phone.
    “You’ve got a client?” she asks, the surprise evident in her voice.
    “We’ve got a client” is how I correct her.
    “Who?”
    “Joey Desimone.”
    “Again?”
    She agrees to come in this morning, not a major concession since she has to pick up her check anyway. But I’m going to need Edna to woman the phones and coordinate communication among the team members while I’m in Montana.
    I’ve called a meeting of the team, such as it is, this morning. It includes Sam, Edna, Laurie, Hike, Willie Miller, and myself. As teams go, it’s not exactly the ’27 Yankees, but we get the job done.
    Willie, my former client and partner in the Tara Foundation, our dog rescue operation, is almost as rich as I am, since we won a big civil case after he was wrongly imprisoned for seven years. So he and his wife, Sondra, work at the foundation full-time, while I just show up when I can. I feel guilty about it, but not as a result of anything they say or do. For them it’s a labor of love. I feel the same way, except for the labor part.
    Willie likes to be involved in our investigations whenever he can, I think primarily because he feels protective of me. As protectors go, he’s pretty good at it, holding a black belt in karate and a fearlessness that’s a perfect complement to my fearfulness.
    Before the meeting starts, Sam comes over to me and tells me that the name of the person Alex Solarno called after I left his home was Richard Atkins. It was his cell phone.
    “But he’s a fake also, Andy. The name and address he gave the phone company aren’t real. But I’m still working on it.”
    Rather than being upset by the information, I’m heartened. It confirms my belief that Solarno was worried about me, and that he has something to hide. It also reinforces my general belief that we’re on the right track.
    I start updating everyone on where we stand with the case when the door opens and Marcus Clark comes in. Rooms always become instantly quiet when Marcus enters; everything stops, including breathing.
    Marcus is a talented investigator I