Four o’clock was shift change, from day to swing. Dave walked into the locker room and caught up with Phil and Eric arguing about the Kings game from the night before.
“It’s over,” Dave said. “There’s another game tomorrow.”
“Want to get a beer?” Eric asked.
“I told my dad I’d stop by,” Dave said. “He’s having problems with his air conditioner again.”
“He needs to hire a real repairman,” Phil said.
“How’s Claire?” Eric asked. “She left early last night.”
Dave didn’t want to talk about what he thought was going on with Claire. He had talked about it with his dad this morning, and Bill was concerned as well, but said Claire had called earlier and asked to come over that afternoon. Maybe it was a good sign. Claire had always been able to talk to Bill about what was troubling her. Bill was a great father, and Dave was glad he could share him with someone who needed a great father figure.
Tom O’Brien’s crimes had hurt everyone who knew him. Dave had respected the older, wiser cop. Tom had trained him, and Dave thought he’d known him. But he hadn’t. Dave had never thought Tom was capable of murder.
And worse, Dave hated that Claire paid the price, and was still in turmoil.
“Claire’s fine,” Dave said. “She had a date.”
“She should have brought him over for us to meet,” Eric said, then winked at Phil. “We’d have made sure he was good enough.”
“Why didn’t she bring him?” Phil asked Dave. “That’s unlike her. Especially someone she’s been seeing for a while.”
Dave tried to dismiss it with a wave. “She’s tired of the third degree on her boyfriends.”
“She’s never cared before,” Eric said.
“Maybe this guy’s different,” Dave said, feeling uncomfortable with this conversation. “Look, Claire is practically my sister. I can give her a hard time, but I think we should leave this alone until she’s ready to share.”
“Aren’t you curious?” Eric asked.
“Yeah,” Dave admitted.
“We can check up on him,” Phil suggested. “Just a quick look. Make sure he doesn’t have a record or anything.”
“Last time we did that we learned what’s-his-name had two DUIs.”
“She was pissed,” Eric said.
“She thanked us later,” Phil reminded them. “She was madder at the jerk than she was with us.”
Claire’s best friend in high school had been killed by a drunk driver. She had zero tolerance for it, and Dave had known that when he told her about the boyfriend. His dad had jumped down his throat when he found out, telling Dave to stay out of Claire’s personal life or she wouldn’t forgive him.
But Dave was overprotective of Claire, he couldn’t help it. He remembered when she first came to live with them-she never slept through the night, waking to terrifying nightmares that had him and Bill running to make sure she was okay. She’d been a scared teenager who needed them. Just because she was a grown woman who carried a gun and Taser didn’t mean she didn’t still need them.
“Just a quick look,” Dave said. “Make sure he’s clean, and we don’t say anything, okay?”
“Unless he’s a wanted mass murderer,” Eric teased.
Dave hit him on the arm as they walked to Dave’s desk in the bull pen.
“Mitch Bianchi isn’t a common name,” Dave said as he sat down at the computer. “We should have something-or nothing-pretty quick.”
He brought up the DMV database and typed in the name. Nothing. He typed in “Mitchell” for the first name. Nothing.
“Odd,” Dave said. “Maybe Mitch is a middle name or something.”
“Or he never got a driver’s license,” Eric said.
“In California? Rare,” Phil said.
“Maybe he’s not from California,” Dave said. “Claire said he was house-sitting in her neighborhood. He’s a writer.”
He put a search into the criminal database. Nothing popped up. “He’s clean,” Dave said.
“Except he doesn’t have a California driver’s license,” Eric said.
“Okay, what about a broader search,” Phil suggested. “Noncriminal.”
Dave was curious as well. He went into the full files.
Nothing.
“Shit,” Dave said. “Who is this guy? There’s nothing on him.”
He played around a bit more with the database. He could find nothing. He broadened the search nationally. Nothing. Then he decided to Google Mitch Bianchi and opened an Internet browser.
Fewer than two dozen webpages had the name. Most were genealogy related.
One article popped up.
It was a newspaper article from the
* * *
“He’s an FBI agent?” Phil asked, shocked.
“Claire’s going to flip,” Eric said. “Why did he tell her he’s a writer? Is he undercover?”
“He’s using Claire to get to Tom.” Dave wanted to strangle him. How
“Shit,” Eric muttered.
“Bastard,” Phil said. “Do you think Claire knows where Tom is?”
“No,” Dave said, though after his conversation with her last night he wasn’t so sure. “I have to tell her.” His heart sank. The last person he wanted to hurt was Claire.
“Of course you do,” Phil said.
“Damn straight,” Eric concurred. “Do you want us to go with you?”
“No,” Dave said. “I have to do it myself.”
TWENTY
Claire rushed to Bill’s house, opening the front door as the big grandfather clock in the entry struck once to mark half past the hour. The warm aroma of fresh-baked sugar cookies filled the house. Bill had taken to baking after his wife died, when Dave was barely a teenager.
Bill walked down the hall from the kitchen and greeted her with a warm bear hug. “I thought I heard that Jeep of yours in the drive.”
“Sorry I’m late.”
“We didn’t have a set time. Come into the kitchen. I have cookies in the oven.”
She loved Bill, more like a grandfather than a father. He was in his early sixties, had retired eight years ago. Gained a bit of weight around the middle, but otherwise looked the same as he had when she came to live with him after her father’s arrest.
“Missed you last night,” she said as she followed Bill.
“Waste of a night. Lost in overtime by three points.” He shook his head. “They’d better have their game on
