Aftershocks

CHAPTER NINE

PATRICK WAS ACTING exactly as her uncle had predicted, Briana realized as she reached home, battling frustrated lust. Her boss was charming her-not seducing her exactly, but making it very clear he wanted to. Sure, the whole “I’ve been celibate three years since my wife died” could be a line that hooked women like so many gullible trout, but she couldn’t believe that.

Oh, she knew she was in trouble. It wasn’t just that Patrick had all but declared his love, which was plenty scary, though also wildly exhilarating. No, it was the way she’d caught herself imagining how nice his kitchen counters would look in granite, and that with a little rearranging, the furniture in the den would work so much better.

She crawled into bed, and Patrick’s words came back to echo in her head. You and I have a date with a king-size bed, he’d told her, with that fiery glint in his eyes that set her skin sizzling. In an elevator, in the dark, he’d been terrific. And if what he told her was true, he’d also been out of practice.

She smiled a cat-in-cream smile as she stretched among the heap of pillows she’d sewed herself. Patrick in a king-size bed, and back in practice, was something to look forward to.

Of course, her bed wasn’t a king, but she had a feeling he’d do just fine in a queen-size bed.

Her body warmed at the thought of what the two of them could get up to between these covers, and she recalled that it would be happening in one short month if she took him up on his challenge. Sooner, if she got the evidence she needed to clear Patrick of wrongdoing.

How exactly was she going to do that, she thought as she yawned, wishing Patrick were beside her and that they were free to work out thorny problems like this together. She was tempted to start by talking to the reporter who’d broken the story in the Sentinel and trying to get a good look at the photograph they’d run. But of course it was impossible. Asking a nosy reporter a lot of questions was going to rouse his suspicions. There had to be another way.

It was the last thought she had before falling asleep.

When she woke up the next morning, a few minutes before the alarm was due to shrill, the answer was right there.

She’d been doing this since college, going to sleep pondering a problem and waking with the answer.

Yawning, she stretched and popped out of bed, anxious to get on with her plan. Patrick, as mayor, had access to computer files that were denied her. He had his access code written down in the Rolodex on his desk, cleverly hidden under his dentist’s phone number. She’d seen him flip to the number one day when he was checking the municipal budget. Since he hadn’t gone to the dentist, she was pretty sure that’s what the peculiar number and letter sequence was.

She was certain he didn’t think she’d clued in, or if he had, he believed he could trust her. She bit her lip at the thought of his trust and how she was betraying him. When she’d first seen the code, she’d thought nothing of it since she’d had no interest in snooping for information that was denied her at her level of clearance.

Now, as soon as her boss was out of the office for a time, she’d log in using his password and search the police files. She had no idea how much information she could access, but she was going to give it a shot.

“Morning,” she said cheerfully when Patrick rolled in a few minutes after her. Her computer was already humming, her e-mail box almost full. Patrick’s was probably overflowing. There were six messages piled up at her elbow, and a sheaf of faxes sat neatly stacked on the edge of her desk. She picked up both piles of paper and held them out to him.

“There are seventy-six messages here,” she told him. “One hundred percent of these citizens support you in making council vote to access the city’s bond.”

His face relaxed into a smile. “It’s going to be a good day.”

“And a busy one,” she agreed as both lines began to shrill.

“Mayor’s office, can you hold please?” she said to one caller, and picked up the next. “Mayor’s office.”

“I want to talk to Mayor O’Shea.”

“Certainly. Who’s calling, please?”

“It’s Bonita Alvarez. I voted for the mayor and I want to vote for him again to get the money he needs to do his job.”

“Certainly, Ms. Alvarez. I’ll put you through.”

She reached for the second line, and then noticed that Patrick was still standing by her desk. She’d expected him to go through to his own office. She raised her brows in a silent question.

“Dylan sent you this.” He handed her a white piece of paper, the kind used in home computers, rolled into a scroll and fastened with an elastic band, before heading in to his office.

Briana put the second caller on hold until Patrick could deal with Ms. Alvarez, then she pulled the elastic band off the scroll.

Dylan had drawn a picture of a dragon soaring over a castle where some kind of battle was taking place. She guessed Dylan was a kid who’d probably seen Lord of the Rings a few times and now lived part-time in a Tolkien universe. Under the picture was a note.

Thanks for the dinner. It was delicious. I hope you can come to our house again sometime.

It was signed simply, Dylan. Then, in smaller letters, obviously by the same hand, an addition had been made. And Fiona.

Briana loved her picture, and was certain it added a certain something to her decor when she pinned it to her bulletin board. She’d love to take Dylan up on his offer to visit, more than he could possibly imagine. But she had to figure out what his father had been up to first.

She put the second caller through and checked Patrick’s schedule. There was a luncheon speech at the CB Business Association, and then at three o’clock he had a meeting with Max Zirinsky. Okay, so she had two opportunities today. She rather thought lunchtime might be her best chance. Whenever she was out at the same time as the mayor, she locked the outer office.

Once that door was locked, it was unlikely anyone would clue in that she was still inside. Snooping on her employer.

The pang of guilt that hit her was almost painful, especially with Dylan’s picture hanging on the wall behind her, a constant reminder that if she hurt Patrick, she also hurt his children.

But whoever had hurt Uncle Cecil hadn’t worried about his family, she reminded herself.

No. As much as she hated to do it, she was going to have to sneak into files she had no business seeing.

There was no time for more soul-searching as the phone rang again. In a sort of counterpoint, the fax machine whirred with astonishing regularity, and the e-mails continued to pour in.

A small percentage of people thought that Patrick was a hothead and a troublemaker. But more than ninety percent of those who responded to his television appeal were offering their support.

Around ten-thirty there was a lull in the phone calls and Patrick came out of his office, stretching his arms.

“Briana,” he said, “I think we’re going to get the money we need to start serving this community properly.”

She smiled dutifully. In truth, she was delighted that the emergency forces were getting the funding they needed, but she also knew this was another blow politically and professionally to her uncle.

If there was anything she could do to help Uncle Cecil save face, she’d do it. He’d been so hurt when she’d tried to talk to him the other night, and still so angry.

“Do you think it would be worth calling Councilman Thomson and the other two who sided with them? Perhaps they’d be more willing to listen to your appeal now they know you have so much public support.”

“Oh, they’ll listen, all right,” he said with relish. “But I’m done crawling to them. Those three can come to me with their hats in their hand.”

So much for the olive branch.

They had no time to discuss the matter further because the phone started ringing again. With a comical expression of dismay, Patrick retreated back to his desk.

Briana worked steadily through the rest of the morning. By eleven forty-five, things were quieting down again and she was able to stand up for a stretch herself. Her neck was tight, her shoulders knotted. She’d like to think it was from a morning on the phone, but really, she suspected a lot of her tension was from the knowledge that she was about to spy on her boss.

Well, she comforted herself, he need never know anything about it.

Picking up his speech, she walked into his office. Patrick was already shrugging into his jacket.

“Have you got my speaking notes for this thing?” he asked her.

“Yes. Right here. Archie sent them up earlier.”

“Good.”

“You’ll probably have some questions thrown at you about the funding crisis.”

He nodded. Obviously, he’d thought of that, too.

“And I got a call from the Sentinel, checking on the time you’d be speaking. I imagine they’ll want an update on the results of your call-in show.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if all the media were there.”

She handed him another sheet. “I prepared these, just in case you need them.” As he glanced down at it, she explained, “I’ve totaled the numbers of calls, e-mails and faxes, and tallied the numbers of those who expressed support and those who were against you. The numbers and percentages are at the bottom. It’s not a hundred percent accurate, of course, but it’s pretty close. Do you want me to run off a couple of extra copies for any media reps that show up?”

He grinned. “Briana, you are one in a million.”

She tried to keep her expression pleasantly neutral, but she had to admit, the compliment thrilled her more than she liked to admit.

But this was the kind of work she loved. Sure, she was overqualified for photocopying and transcribing notes, but she was also helping Patrick with political strategy, which she thrived on. Her salary might be at a clerical level, but the actual work she was doing was challenging.

What could be more rewarding than helping to save a city she’d grown to love?

AFTER MAKING SURE the hallway outside her office was empty, Briana stepped back inside and locked her door. She felt like an intruder. If Patrick returned for something, or the building superintendent needed to get in…well, she’d have a heck of a time explaining what she was doing at her boss’s desk, and with the outer door locked.

No help for it. If she was going to be a snoop, she was going to have to get used to the guilt.

She crossed to Patrick’s office and took a seat at his desk. Janie smiled at her from the framed photo. There were smaller pictures of Dylan and Fiona, taken at school, Briana imagined. Their innocent faces grinned at her, with that mouthwatering O’Shea grin. Their innocence made her feel small and sneaky and she had to resist the impulse to turn the photos facedown so they wouldn’t watch her do her dirty work.

Honestly, she’d never make it in a life of crime.

Flipping through Patrick’s Rolodex, she found the card for his dentist. And there was the code, scribbled under the dentist’s phone number.

Please, don’t let Patrick have changed his access code, she thought as she pulled up the police department’s internal Web site. She typed in Patrick’s name and his user code, which she’d used often enough. So far, so good.

It took her a few false starts, but she finally got to an area of old arrest files.

Obviously, these weren’t used often, so they’d been archived. When she clicked on the file, it asked for her password, and she began to type in the access code on the dentist’s file.

Briana got four of the ten digits entered when the phone rang. She was so tense that she jumped a mile and almost screamed. The phone would automatically be routed to the main reception desk at city hall, so she ignored the ringing and took a shaky breath.

Her fingers had hit a wrong key when she’d jumped, so she deleted what she’d typed and reentered the password. She swallowed. There was a risk that this transaction was being monitored somewhere, and that it could come back to Patrick as part of a report, though she’d never seen it happen yet. Still, if the password was outdated and someone noticed…

Well, Patrick had talked often enough about firing her. This would give him cause. She pushed the Enter key.

The file opened.

Since she had both her uncle’s name and that of the woman, it didn’t take more than five minutes for the particulars of the case to come up. The arresting officer was Joseph Z. Carlton.

Briana felt queasy at the thought of what her aunt and uncle had been subjected to over this. The incident had occurred more than twenty years ago. According to the scant details, which included a file number that probably corresponded to a moth-eaten manila folder filed in an old archive box somewhere, the charges were later dropped.

Or had there ever been any charges in the first place?

Did Joseph Z. Carlton even exist?

Briana knew how close Patrick and Max were. The police chief had been one of Patrick’s major supporters. But would either of them have stooped to anything so low as falsifying a police record in order to win a municipal election?

It seemed inconceivable to Briana, but obviously her uncle believed the two men had conspired against him.

She noted all the details, then logged out and carefully returned Patrick’s Rolodex to its original position. Grabbing her purse, she left the office, this time for real.

As bad luck would have it, she bumped into Lorna Sinke in the hallway.

“Oh, Briana,” the older woman said, looking puzzled. “I thought you’d gone for lunch.”

“I forgot something and had to come back,” she said, striving for a calm tone. “Is there something you need?”

“No. That’s fine. It’ll keep.”

Briana left the building, knowing she had the first piece of the puzzle-the name of the arresting officer and the police file number. She wanted to know what was in that arrest file and needed to see the original photo.

Once she was in her car, she headed for a mall and found a public pay phone. After calling the police administration office, she asked to speak to Officer Carlton.”

“Officer Carson? Susan Carson?”

“No. Carlton. Officer Joseph Z. Carlton.”

“There’s no officer with that name here, ma’am. What’s it regarding?”

She’d had a few minutes on her drive over to come up with a plausible explanation to that very question.

“I’m doing some research on policing methods in the nineteen-eighties,” she replied, hoping her voice sounded young. “I’m taking criminology in college, and this is my research project. I went through some old newspaper archives and found Officer Carlton’s name in several articles.”

“Oh, well, if it was in the eighties, he might have moved on or retired. We’ve got some officers here who’ve been on the beat a good long time, though. Want me to put you through to one of them?”

“Okay. Thank you.” She decided to wing it and hoped to hell that whoever answered had never spoken to the mayor’s administrative assistant.

A click sounded and a few minutes passed. She was starting to lose her nerve and considered hanging up when a gruff voice said, “Brady.”

“Officer Brady? I’m a university student…”

She asked Officer Brady a few perfectly useless questions about policing in the eighties, then inquired about the police archives. Although the archives weren’t open to the public, she would be able to obtain the name, description and occupation of the persons arrested.

“What if the information has previously been released?” Briana asked. “Like a mug shot.” She thought of the celebrity mug shots she saw far too often in the papers and on TV.

“Once it’s been released, then that information would be considered in the public domain,” the policeman told her.

Briana took a deep breath. “I’m interested in a story that was covered in the Sentinel about Councilor Cecil Thomson. A photo taken during the arrest was printed in the paper. I’d like access to that photo.”

“Sure,” Officer Brady said. “I remember that being in the paper. It caused a scandal at the time. I have to get permission before you can see the picture. Give me your number.”

“I’m on the road and don’t have a cell phone,” she said. “Could I call you back later?”

“Sure. Call around four o’clock. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you. Um, the arresting officer was Joseph Z. Carlton.”

“Joe Carlton. Sure. I remember him. He’s been off the force a couple years. He retired to Acadia Springs.”

“Thank you very much for your time, Officer Brady.”

“Anytime. I’ll talk to you later.”

Her stomach felt a little jumpy, so she picked up a deli sandwich, which she didn’t really want, and forced herself to eat it before returning to the office.

At two forty-five, Briana received a phone call from Patrick telling her that he was on his way to Max’s. At the sound of his voice, her heart picked up speed.

“Did the media show?” she asked.

“Yep. I gave them your numbers, and a few sound bites Archie dreamed up. Is the phone still ringing?”

“More phone calls, more faxes, more e-mails. About the same ratio of pro and con.”

“Fantastic. No sign of Thomson waving the white flag?”

“Not yet.”

“All right. I’ll be a while with Max.” He paused. “Sure you don’t want me to put in a good word for you?”

She smiled wistfully. “You gave me a month,” she reminded him.

“Yeah? I don’t know who’s the bigger idiot. Me or you.”

She didn’t know either, but she sure hoped it was her.

“I’m not sure if I’ll make it back before the end of the day. I’ll call you.”

“Okay.”

At four o’clock, Briana left the building and found a pay phone. If the photo was public property, then she was going to find a way to see it. If it wasn’t, she’d have to go to plan B and talk to Officer Carlton himself.

She had no trouble getting through to Officer Brady and he was as helpful as before. “There’s no photograph in the arrest file,” he told her.

“But…but that’s impossible. It was printed in the paper.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“But…” Her head was whirling. “Could the paper have forgotten to return it?”

“I don’t think the picture in the paper came from here.”

“But where…?”

“Sorry, honey. I shouldn’t tell you this much. Why don’t you ask the reporter who printed the story?”

“But he could have made the whole thing up!”

“No. Here’s what I can tell you.” And he furnished her with the details she’d already found in the police database. Officer Brady offered one extra piece of information, which she’d already read in the paper. Cecil Thomson was arrested for lewd conduct in a public place.

Something was wrong here. Very wrong.

She walked back to her office with a heavy heart, but it was considerably lightened when she received another call from an O’Shea male.

“Briana?” a young voice asked when she answered the phone.

“Yes.”

“It’s Dylan O’Shea.”

“Hello, Dylan.” She smiled and glanced at the flying dragon. “Thank you for the picture and your nice note. I have it hanging on my wall so I can see it whenever I turn around.”

“Oh. Good. I’m glad you like it.”

“I do. Are you looking for your father? He’s in a meeting right now with the police chief.”

“Oh. No. I was kind of calling to talk to you.”

Panic immediately filled her. She was half out of her chair as she said, “Are you alone again? Did something happen?”

“No. We’re fine. Mrs. Simpson’s still sick, and Grandma couldn’t come today, so Dad got this other lady just for today.” Dylan dropped his voice. “We don’t like her so much. She’s kind of grumpy.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. But you know it’s only for today.”

“Yeah. I guess.” He didn’t sound thrilled.

“How’s Fiona?”

“She’s fine. She’s watching cartoons.”

“Oh. What’s the baby-sitter doing?”

“She’s watching cartoons, too. They’re baby cartoons.”

She smiled into the phone, picturing him in his room, bored. “Oh, dear. And you don’t have anything to do.”

“Yeah. I guess. I can’t have a friend over, because this sitter’s new. I can’t watch a video because of the cartoons. I can’t make a noise, even.”

“Well, why don’t you draw another picture? Your pictures are beautiful.”

“What should I draw?” He sounded bored and lonely and she felt for him with all her heart.

“Why don’t you draw a get-well picture for Mrs. Simpson? I bet she’d love to have it while she’s at home recovering. She’d be happy to know you miss her.”

“I don’t really miss her that much. But I guess I could draw her a picture. Dad says he’s sending her some flowers. He can take the picture over.”

“I’m sure she’d like that.”

“Yeah. I guess. Well, it was nice talking to you.”

Such manners. She had a feeling there was going to be another politician in the family. “It was nice talking to you, too, Dylan.”

“Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

When she got home that night, she went straight to her own computer and pulled up an Internet mapping site. Acadia Springs was disappointingly far away. A three-hour drive, according to her Internet map. It would be a pretty drive-a couple of hours north up the coast and then an hour inland. She confirmed through online white pages that a Joseph Z. Carlton lived there, but decided not to call ahead first. She wanted to surprise the man with a personal visit-judge his reaction to her questions.

She’d drive up there this weekend.

Almost the minute she’d made the decision, the phone rang again. “Mayor’s office,” she answered, forgetting she was at home. “Hello?”

“It’s your uncle Cecil.” But it didn’t sound like her uncle. There was anger, frustration and a coldness in his voice that he’d never used with her before.

Briana fought down a pang of guilt. It wasn’t her fault that Patrick had gone to the people. Although she supported his stand, she hadn’t encouraged him to take it. In fact, she hadn’t known what he was planning until the day of the broadcast. But still, because she did support Patrick’s position, she felt guilty. Her uncle clearly held her in some way culpable.

“What can I do for you, Uncle Cecil?” she said in a conciliatory tone.

“Come on out to our place for lunch on Saturday,” he said.

“Saturday?” She’d intended to go up to Acadia Springs on Saturday, but she’d decided not to tell Uncle Cecil about her plans until she’d interviewed Officer Carlton and had all the facts. Now she’d have to go Sunday.

“Yes. Come for lunch. O’Shea’s playing hardball. It’s time for our team to start playing to win also. I want a full report on how you’re doing, young lady. I want him publicly humiliated-he’s got to drop this nonsense.”

Briana felt herself bristle on Patrick’s behalf and her own. She was over thirty, surely beyond being termed a young lady. However, she knew her uncle was clearly upset, so she didn’t call him on it. The best thing she could do was go over on the weekend and try and convince him that the wisest course of action would be to acquiesce to the wishes of the people with what grace he could muster.

“Are you getting calls from constituents?” she asked.

“The phone’s ringing off the damn hook,” he said, and then added some very unflattering things about her boss before hanging up.

The battle lines had obviously been drawn, and neither man was willing to make a conciliatory move.

PATRICK WAS obviously confused and disappointed the following morning that the three councilmen who’d opposed him wouldn’t change their positions. He began to talk about putting together a plebiscite.

“The trouble is that a plebiscite takes time to set up and will cost money-money we desperately need to go to our emergency services,” he said, pacing her office in frustration.

“Do you want me to set up another emergency council meeting?”

He shook his head. “No point. If those three were planning to change their minds and vote to free up that money, they’d have contacted me by now. No,” he said heavily. “I think we’re on our own.”

“I thought they’d have called by now,” she admitted. “They must be receiving almost as many calls as we are.”

“Damn that Cecil Thomson. How can he not see that this isn’t about petty politics anymore? People are dying unnecessarily because we can’t get to them in time. We need more police, more firefighters on call. More manpower, more resources.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “More money.”

Briana had listened to Uncle Cecil’s advice many times during her career. Maybe it was time he listened to some of hers.

“Patrick, don’t start the plebiscite quite yet.” She hesitated, searching for a plausible reason not to. “Let’s wait one more council meeting. I bet you the gallery will be packed with people demanding answers. Council will be shamed into backing you.”

One thing she could say for Patrick was that he did listen to her. He didn’t always follow her recommendations, but he did listen and she knew he respected her opinions. This time, he nodded. “You’re right as always, Ms. Bliss. Let’s give the three holdouts one last chance. But under the terms of the bond, if we can’t get council to agree unanimously, a plebiscite can be called. One way or another, we are going to get that money.”