Guilty Minds

“He’s got to have a PO box somewhere.”

“Probably, but I can’t find it.”

“I have his phone number. On his business card.”

“Then you have more than me.”

I handed her the metal card. She looked at it, then typed some more. After a few seconds, she said, “Nothing.”

I looked for a phone number on my phone, then touched the number and the phone started dialing.

“Garvin.”

“Art, Nick Heller again. I’m looking for Thomas Vogel’s address.”

“The man himself?”

“We’re not turning up anything on the Internet.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. He keeps a very low profile.”

“Why?”

“The story he puts out is that the narcos he busted have friends who want to track him down and give him his own personal retirement package. So he keeps himself unfindable.”

“The department must have a good address for him somewhere.”

“Don’t count on it.”

“Can you look?”

“I’ll look. No promises.”

“Thanks.”

I ended the call, gave Dorothy a glance, shook my head. “That was my retired detective friend, Art Garvin. Doesn’t look good.”

“I’m not giving up.”

I hit the speed dial number on my phone for Mandy Seeger.

“Nick,” she answered. “You back at the hotel?”

“But you’re not here.”

“I had work to do. Where my work stuff is. My little home office.”

“I need you to transport your work stuff over here. Just until we’re done.”

“How do you define done?”

“Until we get an arrest in Kayla’s murder.” I thought, if Kombucha was on the right track, that could be soon. But I didn’t want to tell her yet. Not until I talked to Kombucha.

“I think you and I are working on different things. I want to know who was behind this Claflin hoax that snared me. Who hired the Centurions.”

“We may never know that.”

“Speak for yourself.”

I smiled with admiration. “Listen. I don’t think it’s safe for you to be out there investigating.”

“Safe? Who’s talking about safe? I didn’t go into this line of work to be safe.”

I heaved a long sigh. I thought: soft target. That was the phrase Vogel had used. Guys like us, we take care of the sheep. We protect them and make sure they live quiet, safe lives.

“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying,” I said. “Vogel’s people have already killed one person, and I honestly don’t think they’ll hesitate to kill another one if they decide they need to.”

She was silent for a few seconds. “And you think they’re following me?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. I’ll bet they’ve set up tripwires out there. Certain people, if you go and visit them, talk to them, a wire gets tripped, a bell goes off somewhere, and the Centurions go into action.”

“It doesn’t sound like you to admit defeat.”

“I’m not. I’m not giving up.” I hesitated, and then said it: “I’m talking about you. I can take care of myself.”

“About me.”

“Right.”

“Is this-Heller, is this because of last night?”

“Of course not. It’s because you’ve been at the center of this thing since the beginning, which makes it dangerous for you if you stick your head up.” But was it, at least in part, about last night? I couldn’t ignore what I felt for her. That had to factor in. Would I be as protective of her if we hadn’t been intimate? I didn’t know. Maybe not.

But I knew what I knew, and I knew that Vogel’s people were dangerous and probably knew no limits, and that she was a soft target.

“Nick, I’ve been threatened before. But in the end, you don’t go after a journalist. You don’t kill a reporter. That just doesn’t happen.”

I happened to know for a fact that she was wrong. I knew of several journalists who were killed investigating big financial scandals. I hesitated, considered whether to say anything, and finally said, “It does happen, Mandy. It has happened, and it could happen. Don’t be foolish.”

“Jesus, Heller. Now you’re trying to scare me off?”

I was afraid she’d take it this way. Telling her about a genuine threat to her life was making her even more defiant.

“Let me pick you up. You can do whatever work you want to do here.”

“No.”

“All right, look. If you really insist on interviewing people, at least let me go with you.”

“Are you serious? Like I need a bodyguard?”

“Would my presence be that odious to you?”

She laughed.

I said, “Think of it as teaming up.”

“No, you know how I think of it? You want to chaperone me everywhere like I’m some Saudi woman, that’s what it is. It’s ridiculous. And I don’t want any part of that.”

“At the very least will you agree to work over here?”

“Yes. I’ll do that for you.”

“Great, let me pick you up.”

“No need. I’ll be over there soon. When I’m ready.”

“Okay,” I said, because I knew it wouldn’t do any good to push it further. No sense in being overbearing. “I’ll see you over here.”

Looking back on that day, it pains me to admit that I should have been more insistent, more overbearing, refused to take no for an answer.

Unfortunately, I didn’t.

69

Art Garvin called me back about an hour later.

“All the MPD has on Tom Vogel is a PO box.”

“Where?”

“Thurmont, Maryland.”