companies. The things that made such places useful to DeGroot made them unattractive to most people, and therefore cheap.
He stepped out onto the house’s tiny back porch and lit a cigarette. He looked at the neatly wrapped plastic bundle lying by the steps. He sighed. It had been achore wrestling Lundgren’s body out the door, and getting him into the trunk of the car wasn’t going to be any easier, especially considering the things that were already packed there. He had decided to abandon this safe house, but he had a lot of gear stored here; weapons, explosives, and the other tools of his trade. He didn’t want to leave them behind where someone could stumble across them, and they very well might come in handy on his quest. But now, with a body to dispose of, he’d most likely have to move some of the bulkier items around. He decided to take a break beforehand. He sat down on the steps and took a drag off his cigarette. It was clouding over, with the faint smell of rain on the wind. DeGroot savored the moment.
He had to admit, he liked it here. The area where he had grown up had been hot and dry. The scant rainfall and lack of major rivers had made drought a constant and lurking specter. But the land here was rich, webbed with creeks and small rivers. He turned them over in his mind, considering their suitability for what he had to do next. While he thought, he picked up a pair of pants from the neatly folded pile on the steps. He pulled Lundgren’s wallet from the back pocket and flipped it open. He removed the small amount of cash from it. He flipped idly through the plasticine folders one last time. Military ID, PX card, driver’s license. The wallet had produced nothing particularly useful before, and he didn’t expect anything different now.
He was, he admitted to himself, just stalling. He pulled the cards out, one by one. He’d scatter them randomly at various places away from the body. As he pulled the cards out, a small card fell from between them. DeGroot picked it up. It was a business card, a fancy one. The raised lettering read “Black, Diamond, and Healy,Attorneys and Counselors at Law.” In smaller letters beneath were printed a name and phone number.
“Tamara Healy,” he said out loud. “Now who might this be?” When he flipped the card over, he got his answer. Scrawled on the back of the card in blue ink was a note: “Talk to my lawyer. C.”
“Hmmm,” said DeGroot out loud. “I might just have to do that.” He stood up. “Okay, tjommie,” he said to the body. “Time to get back to work.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Marie sat in the waiting room of Black, Diamond, and Healy, leafing through a magazine without actually looking at it. She wondered if Tamara Healy would make an issue out of paying her for the time already expended. She wondered how long her rapidly dwindling savings would hold out. She wondered what it was that Keller had done to piss the client off.
“Damn it, Jack,” she whispered under her breath. She had already halfway decided that she was going to drop the case after what she had found out about Carly Fedder. But when she found out that Keller had gotten them fired, the cold feeling of financial panic she had experienced made her wonder if she had ever intended to go more than halfway. Part of her didn’t like the feeling that she would continue working the case, even against her better judgment. Another part of her, fiercer and more primitive, defiantly told her that she would do anything to keep a roof over her and her son’s head.
Marie sighed. Being a cop had had its share of ambiguities and gray areas. But it had been nothing like this. As a police officer, she had been part of a community. There were people she could turn to, who could give her some feedback as to right and wrong. But she had been severed from that community forever. She knew now the way her fellow cops had turned away from her demonstrated their ethical guidance may have been suspect, to
He stepped out onto the house’s tiny back porch and lit a cigarette. He looked at the neatly wrapped plastic bundle lying by the steps. He sighed. It had been achore wrestling Lundgren’s body out the door, and getting him into the trunk of the car wasn’t going to be any easier, especially considering the things that were already packed there. He had decided to abandon this safe house, but he had a lot of gear stored here; weapons, explosives, and the other tools of his trade. He didn’t want to leave them behind where someone could stumble across them, and they very well might come in handy on his quest. But now, with a body to dispose of, he’d most likely have to move some of the bulkier items around. He decided to take a break beforehand. He sat down on the steps and took a drag off his cigarette. It was clouding over, with the faint smell of rain on the wind. DeGroot savored the moment.
He had to admit, he liked it here. The area where he had grown up had been hot and dry. The scant rainfall and lack of major rivers had made drought a constant and lurking specter. But the land here was rich, webbed with creeks and small rivers. He turned them over in his mind, considering their suitability for what he had to do next. While he thought, he picked up a pair of pants from the neatly folded pile on the steps. He pulled Lundgren’s wallet from the back pocket and flipped it open. He removed the small amount of cash from it. He flipped idly through the plasticine folders one last time. Military ID, PX card, driver’s license. The wallet had produced nothing particularly useful before, and he didn’t expect anything different now.
He was, he admitted to himself, just stalling. He pulled the cards out, one by one. He’d scatter them randomly at various places away from the body. As he pulled the cards out, a small card fell from between them. DeGroot picked it up. It was a business card, a fancy one. The raised lettering read “Black, Diamond, and Healy,Attorneys and Counselors at Law.” In smaller letters beneath were printed a name and phone number.
“Tamara Healy,” he said out loud. “Now who might this be?” When he flipped the card over, he got his answer. Scrawled on the back of the card in blue ink was a note: “Talk to my lawyer. C.”
“Hmmm,” said DeGroot out loud. “I might just have to do that.” He stood up. “Okay, tjommie,” he said to the body. “Time to get back to work.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Marie sat in the waiting room of Black, Diamond, and Healy, leafing through a magazine without actually looking at it. She wondered if Tamara Healy would make an issue out of paying her for the time already expended. She wondered how long her rapidly dwindling savings would hold out. She wondered what it was that Keller had done to piss the client off.
“Damn it, Jack,” she whispered under her breath. She had already halfway decided that she was going to drop the case after what she had found out about Carly Fedder. But when she found out that Keller had gotten them fired, the cold feeling of financial panic she had experienced made her wonder if she had ever intended to go more than halfway. Part of her didn’t like the feeling that she would continue working the case, even against her better judgment. Another part of her, fiercer and more primitive, defiantly told her that she would do anything to keep a roof over her and her son’s head.
Marie sighed. Being a cop had had its share of ambiguities and gray areas. But it had been nothing like this. As a police officer, she had been part of a community. There were people she could turn to, who could give her some feedback as to right and wrong. But she had been severed from that community forever. She knew now the way her fellow cops had turned away from her demonstrated their ethical guidance may have been suspect, to
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