Playing Dead

THIRTY-ONE

Claire didn’t know exactly what she was looking for, but figured she’d know it when she saw it.

Tip Barney was a tidy bachelor. Rather minimalist with one old, clean sofa; a recliner; a tiny table and two chairs in the kitchenette; and a small desk with an old IBM computer. So old that the monitor was black and white. The only expensive item was a wide-screen television centered to face the worn leather recliner. His small bathroom smelled like Old Spice and the bedroom barely fit a double bed and dresser. His tastes in art were simple as well: scenic rural photographs.

Even his paperwork was filed away neatly in the desk drawers.

She searched the desk and quickly learned that it was all business. No personal papers. Insurance documents, but all business-related. The bedroom had less interesting items in the solitary dresser-socks, boxers, T-shirts. The guy hung up his pants and a couple dress shirts. Tip certainly lived modestly enough. The insurance settlement must not have been that great, or he’d spent it all in L.A.

She felt uneasy, and hot, and a bit sick to her stomach. Served her right drinking half a beer without eating.

What did she want here? What did she expect? A connection to Oliver Maddox? Did she honestly think that Tip Barney had anything to do with Maddox’s murder? He didn’t seem the killer type, but then again there wasn’t really a type.

She walked the small apartment twice, found nothing, and turned to leave. Her head hurt and she just wanted to get home. Lack of food, lack of sleep, too much caffeine was catching up to her. Her hand was on the knob when she saw a picture of Tip and an older man. They looked a lot alike. Must be Tip’s dad. But something seemed. . off.

She took the picture off the wall. There was no writing on the back. She used her key to slip off the cardboard backing.

On the back of the photograph was written:

Dad and me, March ’06.

Stamped in the lower right corner was: STILLMAN PHOTOGRAPHY, MANHATTAN BEACH, CA.

She put the picture back on the wall and quickly texted Jayne to find out about Stillman Photography and anything about Tip Barney living or working in Manhattan Beach.

Maybe Tip’s dad could be gotten to. If Tip had been living near him while in L.A., maybe he said something. It was worth a shot. Hell, Claire was willing to try anything at this point.

She glanced at her watch. Quarter to six. Her dad was surrendering in fifteen minutes. She wouldn’t make it to FBI headquarters, but she could make it to the hospital by the time he got there.

She quietly left the apartment and walked down the back stairs in time to see Mitch Bianchi and Steve Donovan enter the bar.

Mitch approached the bar and flashed his badge, even though they’d been here earlier in the day. He and Steve had discussed how to approach Frank Lowe, and they decided to just bring him in. He’d faked his own death. That wasn’t a felony unless he profited from it, but since there had been an outstanding charge against him at the time, he was a fugitive: unlawful flight to avoid prosecution.

Steve walked up to the bar. Frank approached him. “Back so soon?”

Steve clicked a cuff on Frank’s wrist before he realized what had happened. He put the other side around his own wrist. “Frank Lowe, you’re under arrest. You have-”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. My name is Tip Barney. Real name’s George, but no one calls me that.”

“We were just at your mother’s house. Betty has a whole photo album of you and your dad.”

Frank paled. “You’re making a mistake. You’re going to get me killed. Please don’t do this!”

“If you talk now, there’ll be no reason why anyone would kill you. Spill the beans and you’ll be safe.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Mitch said, “What was the plea agreement between you and Chase Taverton?”

“I’m not talking.”

“Fine.” Steve yanked Frank’s arm to force him to follow around the end of the bar.

Mitch announced, “Okay, folks, go home.”

Lora Lane, the woman they’d spoken to earlier, frowned. “I don’t understand. Did you catch him doing something?”

“Ma’am, this isn’t your concern,” Steve told her.

“But you can’t arrest him.”

“Ma’am, please leave.”

The patrons were leaving, murmuring among themselves. “Lock up, Frank,” Steve said.

The door opened, and Mitch was about to tell the customer the bar was closed when he saw Claire standing there.

She was pale, much too pale. She glared at him, hurt and anger in her expression. But Mitch was so relieved to see her-to know that she was okay.

“Did you follow me here?” she asked, one hand on her hip.

“No, we’re following up on Oliver Maddox’s murder. I had no idea you were here.”

She grinned without humor. “You had someone sit on me.”

“Didn’t last long.”

“I’m too smart for you.”

“How did you end up here?”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

“Claire, we need to talk. About your father and what you’ve learned about Maddox.”

Frank Lowe said, “I didn’t kill anyone!”

“No one said you did, Mr. Lowe.”

Claire blinked and rubbed her temples. “Lowe?” She turned to him. “You’re Frank Lowe?”

“No,” he said while both Mitch and Steve said, “Yes.”

Claire stared at Lowe. “You can clear my father. You bastard, why did you lie to me?”

“You’re going to get me killed! Don’t you understand, this is way above you. I’m going to die.”

“If you don’t talk, my father is going to die!”

Mitch watched the exchange, wondering if Frank was going to crack. He was clearly between a rock and a hard place.

“I can’t clear your father,” said Frank. “I swear, I don’t know what happened that day.”

“But you know why Chase Taverton was killed.”

“I’m not saying a word.”

“You’re still under arrest,” Steve said.

Mitch walked over to Claire. “I will find out the truth. I promise.”

She stared at him, arms crossed.

He continued, “Your father called me a few days after the earthquake and tipped me off to where Blackie Goethe’s gang was. We took down the gang and your father risked his life to save mine. He told me he was innocent. I didn’t believe him, but I owed him. Out of curiosity I looked into his case. Saw some things that made me question whether he was even guilty. I befriended you because I wanted to bring him in safely and knew he’d be in danger if he went into state custody.”

He stepped toward her, reaching out and touching her cheek. Claire flinched. Her mouth trembled.

“I never expected to fall in love with you, Claire.”

She whispered, “I don’t believe anything you say.”

“I’m not sorry I met you, but I’m sorry I had to lie. I did it for the right reasons.”

“And what right reason did you sleep with me for?”

“I’d do anything to prove to you that I care.”

She turned and left.

“Ready?” Steve asked quietly.

“Let’s get Lowe to headquarters,” said Mitch.

Mitch stared at the door. Claire didn’t look herself. More than because he’d hurt her. He wondered if she was sick. She’d rubbed her head like it hurt.

Or maybe it was all because of him.