“Not to change the subject, but how was your date last night?”
“We both survived it,” Slade said.
The door of the station opened. Kirk Willis, Slade’s one and only officer, entered. He used both hands to remove his sunglasses in a practiced, deliberate gesture.
Myrna smiled but said nothing.
“Heard the dead guy was a stalker,” Kirk said.
Kirk was in his early twenties, a tall, still-gangly young man who didn’t look a day over nineteen. He had been with the department for less than a year when Slade had arrived to take over as head of the department. Kirk had made no secret that he was not enthralled with his job. He had entered the police academy only after he had been forced to accept that his dream of working as a ghost hunter down in the catacombs was not going to happen. Kirk could pull a little ghost light but not enough to make him a Guild man.
Police work was a fallback profession as far as Kirk was concerned. Winding up in a small department in a town that was nothing more than a dot on the map on an island that wasn’t even on a lot of maps had been a soul-crushing experience for him.
Kirk’s attitude had improved briefly after they had taken down the drug runners who had ducked into the harbor earlier that week, but Slade didn’t expect the newfound professional pride to last long. He empathized with the younger man. After all, he was planning to get the hell off the island, himself, as soon as possible. But being a short-timer was no excuse for an unprofessional attitude. He was going to have to have a chat with Kirk. There was a job to be done, and as long as Kirk was getting a paycheck from the town of Shadow Bay he was going to do that job right.
“The stalker theory makes sense,” Myrna said. “I heard that Gaines was a former client of Charlotte’s back in Frequency. Evidently he tried to date her and she declined.”
“Explains what he was doing on the island,” Kirk said. “Right, Chief?”
“It does,” Slade said. “And for the moment, that is the official theory of the death.”
Kirk and Myrna stared at him, eyes widening.
“Official theory?” Kirk repeated cautiously. “Are you saying it might not be the correct theory?”
“We are going to conduct an investigation to rule out homicide,” Slade said. “But this will be a very low- profile project. Neither one of you will say a word about it outside this office. Not to anyone. Is that understood?”
“You got it, Chief.” Kirk’s dark eyes brightened with enthusiasm. “You really think someone murdered Gaines?”
“Yes, and before you ask, it wasn’t Charlotte.”
Myrna cleared her throat. “And we know this, how?”
Slade raised his brows. “I used to work for the FBPI, remember? I’ve done a lot of crime-scene investigation. The psychic evidence at the scene of Gaines’s murder tells me that Charlotte was not the killer.”
Myrna nodded. “You’re the expert on paranormal forensics. But you’re sure this is murder, not a heart attack?”
“I’m positive,” Slade said.
“Poison, maybe?” Kirk offered. “They say some poisons don’t show up in autopsies.”
“That’s true,” Slade said. “But there’s another possibility. A severe shock from a power source can stop the heart. We’ll know more when we have the three basics.”
“Means, motive, and opportunity,” Kirk said. He was practically vibrating with enthusiasm now.
“Right.” Slade looked at him. “You’re good with a computer. I want you to do a background check on Gaines. There’s reason to believe that he was involved in black-market antiquities. He may have made some enemies.”
“I’ll start on it right away.”
Slade looked at Myrna. “Any luck locating Gaines’s relatives?”
“No, oddly enough. It’s as if he doesn’t have any family.”
“More likely he was living under a fake ID. Look deeper.”
“Will do,” Myrna said. Excitement lit up her face. She straightened her shoulders and swiveled her chair to face her computer.
“Remember,” Slade said. “No one in this office talks to anyone about the investigation. Clear?”
“Clear,” Kirk said.
“Clear,” Myrna said. “Nothing like this has happened around here since those two hikers got lost in the Preserve five years ago.”
The door opened. Devin charged into the office. In his excitement, he forgot to remove his sunglasses.
“What’s a stalker, Grandma?” he demanded.
They all looked at Myrna.
“A stalker is a very bad person,” Myrna said. She glanced at Slade. “Right, Chief?”
“Right,” Slade said. “Very bad.”
Devin frowned. “Do you think the dead guy came here to hurt Miss Enright?”
“It’s a possibility,” Slade said.
“In that case, I’m glad he croaked,” Devin said fiercely. He whirled and ran back toward the door. “I gotta go tell Nate.”
The door closed behind him.
Myrna sighed. “Some things seem so much simpler when you’re that age.”
“Yes,” Slade said. “They do. I’ll be in my office if you find anything.”
He went down the hall. Rex was napping on his back on top of the row of file cabinets that lined the wall. All six paws were in the air. The stolen purse was nearby.
“I hope you’re enjoying the hell out of that purse because you’re the one who’s going to have to deal with Charlotte when she discovers you ripped it off,” Slade warned. “Don’t expect me to pay for it.”
Rex’s blue eyes snapped open. He rolled to his hind legs, picked up the purse, and hopped down onto Slade’s desk.
Slade reached for the crystal-studded bag. “Let me see that thing.”
Rex chortled and graciously released the antique purse. When Slade took it he got a little jolt of energy. It was like inhaling a woman’s tantalizing perfume. Pleasant and ever-so-slightly exhilarating.
“You’re getting a rush out of the energy infused in this thing, aren’t you?” he said to Rex. “Must be a psychic version of dust bunny catnip.”
Rex chortled happily. He retrieved the purse and scampered up onto the wide windowsill. He started to bat the cord that controlled the slatted shades.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to try to take it away from you,” Slade said. “That purse is your problem. I’ve got enough of my own.”
He lowered himself into the ancient chair behind the big, battered desk. Both pieces of furniture looked as if they had served several generations of his predecessors. He was pretty sure that the desk, along with the vintage wooden chairs, slatted window blinds, and file cabinets filled with yellowed paperwork, qualified as antiques. Like the town, the police station looked as if it had been caught in a time warp.
The desk chair groaned when he turned to face the computer. He had thought about picking up a can of oil down at Herb’s Marine Supply but decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. He wouldn’t be hanging around long enough to bother with repairs and maintenance issues.
The one piece of equipment in the office that qualified as state-of-the-art was the computer. It was not department issue. It was his personal computer. He fired it up and settled in to do some serious research on Jeremy Gaines. Kirk could handle the routine background check. He would be able to access police department and business records but he did not have access to the FBPI files. If Gaines had been involved in the dangerous world of the para-weapons business, the information was more likely to be buried in the Office files.
Half an hour later he sat back and thought about what he had discovered. He contemplated possibilities for a while and then he picked up the phone and made a call.
When he finished the phone call, he got up and started for the door.
Rex grabbed the purse and leaped down to the floor to follow. Slade picked him up and plopped him on his shoulder.
“If I were you, I’d hide the purse,” he said.
