“What do you think?” Lane stood beside her and watched her reaction from the edge of his peripheral vision.
Keely shrugged. “I wonder why we just get threats and never any follow-through.”
“Why warn the prey when you’re planning an attack?” Lane asked.
“Exactly.”
“You kept the letter?”
“Of course.”
“Would you bring it in? I have someone who might be willing to take a close look at it.”
“Okay.” Keely stepped onto the street. They walked in silence back to the office. Lori was at her desk.
“Got something for you,” Lori said as Lane set the mochaccino down in front of her. “Last year there was a guy from The Hague here for a convention. Gave a talk about prosecuting war criminals. Left his card. I phoned him and just caught him before he left his office. He works for the International Criminal Court. He’s going to fax us copies of any documents he can find relating to either Borislav Goran or Andelko Branimir.”
At six-thirty, Keely stood up from behind her desk and stretched. “No luck so far on a last name for Mladen.”
“Maybe we should try checking out some street venues? The guy needs to make a living.” Lane looked at his screen and the list of upcoming events. “Or we could hang out at Kensington and wait for Leo to turn up.”
“Leo ever been arrested?” Keely asked.
“Don’t know.” Lane pointed at his screen. “There’s something happening at Marda Loop on Friday night.”
“Be nice to get out of here. The atmosphere is a bit chilly.” Keely sat down and looked out over her computer.
Lane looked at Keely. She was still wearing her jacket. He looked sideways at her.
“I’m not talking temperature.” Keely frowned at him.
“Oh. You mean the leper thing?” Lane asked.
“Leper?”
“You and I made Smoke look bad. Some of the guys around here are Smoke’s boys. And I’m under investigation.”
“For what?” Keely asked.
“I went out one night with a Glock and came back without it. Smoke disregarded the circumstances and ordered an investigation.”
While listening to the grandfather clock ticking and Arthur snoring on the couch, Lane rubbed Roz behind the ears and thought about taking her for a walk.
Matt was at a movie and Christine was out with friends. Just enjoy the quiet while it lasts, Lane thought.
Arthur’s snoring stopped and he sat up. “You think it’ll be okay?”
“I do. I don’t know why, I just know it will be all right. They caught the cancer early. We have a good doctor.” Lane looked at Arthur.
The phone rang. Lane picked it up. “It’s Keely.”
Lane waited when he heard the tremor in her voice.
“There’s a message painted on my garage door.”
“Are you safe?” Lane asked.
“I think so. I don’t want to call my parents. They’re already upset enough. I’m sorry. I just didn’t know who else to call.”
“Give me your address,” Lane said.
Twenty-five minutes later, he was there.
Keely lived in a condo on the western edge of the city. All the homes were two stories and had either one- or two-car garages. Fresh sod lay out front of 423. RAT was scrawled in red on the garage door. Lane parked across the street.
“I’m sorry.” Keely had the door open before Lane could press the doorbell. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Her red hair was down around her shoulders.
“Don’t be sorry.” Lane looked to his left at the garage door. “Any other messages?”
Keely shook her head. “It’s an escalation. It was letters and phone calls before.”
Lane walked to the garage door to take a closer look. The T on RAT had a tail that curled down to the right hand corner of the door. “Not very original.”
Keely had her arms crossed under her breasts. “That’s what I thought.”
“Did you give the restaurant owner your address or phone number when you worked there?”
“No. Both were bogus.” Keely went back to the front door. “Want a coffee?”
“Okay.” Lane followed her inside, took off his shoes, and walked down the hallway to the kitchen and living room. The floors were the same maple as the cabinets. The blinds were open, and the window looked out to trees and blue sky. “Nice view.” He looked at the law books on the coffee table and the picture of Keely with a blond-haired young man.
“We like it.” She turned to Lane after pouring water into the coffee machine. “His name is Dylan. He’s finishing his last year of law school.” Keely closed the top of the coffee maker and switched it on. She sat on the loveseat across from Lane and put her feet on the coffee table. “Dylan’s on his way. He was getting some stuff set up at the university.”
“Have you got the letters?” Lane asked.
“In an envelope on the kitchen table.” Keely looked over Lane’s shoulder and into the kitchen.
“I’d like to get forensics to look at your garage door and the letters you’ve received thus far.” Lane smelled coffee brewing and closed his eyes.
“Thus far?” Keely sat up.
“Do you think he’ll quit?” Lane asked.
Keely shook her head, got up, and went to pour two cups of coffee. “Cream and sugar, right?”
“Please.” Lane watched as she set the cup down in front of him. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Keely sat down. “I didn’t want to tell my dad. Things are pretty strained between us.”
Lane waited.
“Ever since I moved in with Dylan, it’s like my dad’s disappointed in me. Nothing’s ever said. I guess that’s the problem; we don’t talk. We used to be really close, but now he avoids me.”
“Families are complicated.” Lane looked at his coffee.
“I hear you’ve got kids.”
“A niece and a nephew. Both came with baggage.” Keely’s easy to talk to.
“What kind of baggage?” Keely cradled her cup and sat back.
“Christine is my niece. She was rejected by her mother and escaped a polygamist community. My nephew Matt lost his mom to cancer. His dad started a new family. Matt was excess baggage as far as his dad was concerned. Now Matt’s having to be the rock in the family while the rest of us spin out of control.”
“Lori told me about Arthur. When is the operation?”
“We visit the surgeon. Then we find out.”
Keely shrugged. “What about you? How come you’re spinning out of control?”
Change the subject. “You didn’t give your address or phone to the manager of the restaurant when you were undercover. But the person who painted your garage door also knows where your parents live. And I’m assuming all of your addresses are unlisted?”
Keely nodded.
“Then there’s another avenue to consider.” Lane set his coffee down.
“What’s that?”
“The person responsible is probably a police officer with access to your personal information.”
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 22
chapter 8
“Dr. Weaver?” Lane was on the phone at his desk at six o’clock the next morning. He had been prepared for an answering machine, but wasn’t surprised when Fibre answered.
“Yes.”
“My new partner is being threatened. This time the threat was painted on her garage door. She’s received a series of threatening letters. Will you look into it?” Lane thought, This isn’t exactly part of Fibre’s job description, but it’s worth a try.
“Of course. What’s her address?”
Lane gave Fibre the address and hung up. Why does he sound grateful? Ever since he dropped the N-bomb on Christine, he’s been trying to make it up to me.
He walked down the hallway to the fax machine. He fingered through the waiting documents and found twenty-six pages waiting for him. As he walked back to his desk, he saw that the name Borislav Goran figured prominently on each page.