"Thanks for coming by, Trent." Texas Ranger Cordell Walker greeted his former pupil warmly. "We're hoping you can help us figure out this new hit."
"Ranger Walker, I must protest!" a man in a tailored suit said gravely. "This man is a civilian and should not be granted access to the crime scene."
Walker looked like he was going to argue Trent's credentials with the man, but instead lead his protégé into the building. "The Reformists hit this bank today, but for the first time in the history of their existence-"
"And they've been around since the 1950s," Trivette added.
"They've left a clue," Walker finished.
Trent stared at the open bank vault and the scorch marks fanning out around the door. No less than a dozen officers were combing the area, swabbing and photographing incessantly. What caught and held Trent's attention, though, was a message painted on the wall.
"T Give UP M"
"You know already or else you wouldn't have called me down," Trent said.
Walker nodded. "Trivette is the one who made the connection."
"What we need from you is a recent sample of Margo's writing, if you've got one," Trivette said.
Trent shook his head, and the man in the suit rolled his eyes.
"There is no reason Mr. Malloy needed to see any of this just to provide us with a sample of Agent Jones' writing. We could have found that!"
"Agent Martin in Margo's superior," Trivette said.
"Ranger Trivette, I must protest this gross disregard for the confidentiality of this case!" Agent Martin interjected.
"He hasn't heard from Margo in a long time now, and right now we're just hoping to prove that she's still alive," Trivette finished defiantly.
"That's it, I want all of you off the case," Martin hissed.
"I dare you to try," Walker said quietly. The two men sized each other up, then Martin turned on his heel and left, yanking out his cell phone.
"Walker, I do have a note, but it's very personal," Trent said.
"Trent, if it were anyone else, I wouldn't say this. I don't know what's going on here, but I know you wouldn't endanger Margo. I'll allow you to test it on your own, but I want to be kept in the loop."
"Thank you Walker, Trivette. I owe you guys." He accepted a photograph of the wall form Trivette and left the scene, feeling like he was leaving the last traces of Margo behind him.
He lost both FBI tails in traffic on the way back to Thunder Investigations.
Trent dug through his old piles of useless things he could never bring himself to get rid of. A homemade Christmas card form Tyler and Tandy, a brief letter of congratulations from Walker when Trent had earned his black belt, a ticket stub from when he saw Star Wars…
The note Margo left in her place next to Trent that night she had spent with him almost a year ago.
Trent:
I'm so sorry to run and leave you with all these questions, but I only had a 24-hr window to see you. I don't know when I'll be able to see you next, but know that you are foremost on my mind. Until next time.
Love, Margo.
It was all he had left of Margo, and whenever he wondered if he actually had such strong emotions for her, it reminded him in vivid flashes what had passed between them. Margo had always been a friend, and they realized too late how good it felt to be something more. If he had brought harm to her….He brushed this line of thought away. It wasn't helping him find her.
Trent's next stop was Uppercuts. He needed Butch's help. The man was practically a yellowpages unto himself.
"Handwriting match?" Butch frowned.
"Someone not on the job anymore," Trent added. "It's a very sensitive case."
Butch frowned again; he could tell Trent was keeping something back. "Well, I suppose old Toones still owes me." Butch wrote down a number and held the paper out for Trent. "He's damn good at what he does; was the best in his day. Might still be, too, except he's retired." He jerked the paper away from Trent's grasp. "And Trent? If you get an answer from Toones, you owe me an explanation. You're not tellin me everything, and it's not like you."
Stepping into the house Toones shared with his wife of thirty years, Trent had the impression that he must be the stingy sort. There was no art on the walls, and the carpet looked as old as its owners. The furniture seemed antique and dusty. Betty must not get around well anymore.
"Butch sent you?" Toones' eye dissected Trent, reading the young man as easily as Trent had sized him up. Toones decided there was something tragic in Trent's nature that pleased him. "Well, come on down." Toones hobbled stiffly down the stairs to his basement with his cane.
Trent had to stop and look around. He had been dead wrong about Toones. The man had money, which he had apparently used to set up a very modern, very extensive laboratory in the basement. Betty had heard them coming and met them at the bottom of the stair hands folded in front of her.
"I didn't realize we were expecting company," she said. Trent glanced to the left, the direction she had come from, and saw a nice office with plush carpeting, a nice leather chair, and an open laptop computer resting on an ornate antique desk.
"The PI I told you about," Toones said, pushing into the bright sterile lights of his lab.
"How exciting! Make him sign a waiver!" She disappeared into her office again, and Trent followed Toones.
"Sign this," Toones said, slapping a piece of paper on an uncovered surface. "Says you won't sue if a fictionalized version of our encounter were to end up in a novel."
Trent read the short disclaimer. "Your wife is an author?"
"Mystery. It pays the bills and keeps her happy. You going to sign or not?"
"Sounds like I don't have a choice," he mentioned as he scribbled something that looked like "Trenton Malloy" under the disclaimer.
By this time, Toones had put on goggles with magnifying lenses as thick as coke bottles. "Welp, let's see it!" Trent mutely handed over Margo's letter and the picture from the bank robbery. He hoped the note wasn't as obvious as he thought it was. After all it didn't mention any specifics…
Toones glanced at Trent over the ridiculous goggles, and the younger man knew that his affair with Margo would end up in a future mystery novel. Toones' attention turned back to the note as he examined the paper, the ink, the pressure of Margo's writing. Once, he even smelled it and gave Trent another knowing look.
Next he looked at the picture, his entire face seeming to sink into a thoughtful frown. He moved to a light table and jotted down a few notes. He put a thin piece of paper over Margo's note and began marking loops and spacings.
After a good deal of time had passed with no visible results, Trent began to wander the lab, looking at posters and framed samples on the walls.
"Well," Toones said finally. "This isn't her." He handed Trent the picture. "I can give you a kind of vague profile of this perp, though."
"From the handwriting?" Trent couldn't help sounding dubious.
"It's either right on, or completely wrong," Toones said. "But some of my characteristics aren't based on the style of writing, but more on what was written."
"Well, it's better than nothing," Trent said.
"Damn right it is! Ok, first, why it's not her: look at the T—I assume that's you—and the M—that's her."
"They don't look alike at all," Trent said sadly as he looked at the details Toones had marked.
"Nope. And the M should be dead on since she writes it a lot. But here's the thing about it: whoever wrote this thought hard about it. She knew the handwriting would be analyzed or could be analyzed, so she used capital letters to try to disguise herself. This woman normally uses very loopy, very frilly writing."
"Woman?"
"I believe so, and here's why," he added before Trent could question him further. "From the scene I can tell you this heist is a professional job. Lots of planning and recon went into it, and it was executed perfectly. Yet, whoever did this spray-painting was an amateur! Any hoodlum on the street knows that you can't hold spray paint too close to the wall because some of it will get on your hands, or too far because you'll get a splatter effect like this. And you don't get to be robbing banks without being a hoodlum first. Judging by the irregularity of the letter size and the sloppy way the "T" is crossed, she did this from too far away to have precise control. Maybe she didn't want to have to explain spray paint on her hands. Whoever she is, she has something to lose by being caught."
"Doesn't everybody?"
Toones shook his head. "Not caught by you or the police. Caught by someone close to her, a husband or child, close friend, et cetera. She's leading two lives in this. People close to her would be surprised to find out she's involved with this."
"Other suspects?" Trivette asked when Trent brought it up. "I don't know if you've noticed but we've got the Feds here because of a lack of suspects…"
Trent sighed. "I know, I know." This note was the key to everything. Trent's instinct was practically screaming as much. He just hadn't found a way to crack it yet. Toones had agreed to check it against any other suspects Trent could find, though. Trivette continued to talk about how frustrating the case was and how many dead ends and unsubstantiated leads there were as Trent surveyed the board. Ira Temp. Reformists. Margo Jones. His mind buzzed. "You haven't investigated the Thompsons, have you?" Trent interrupted. "Since Ira works for them?"
"Clean as a whistle," Trivette replied. "The Senator would never support a movement like this! It goes against everything he stands for!"
Trent's cell rang, and he answered it distractedly. It was Toones.
"My boy, you are the luckiest sonovagun I've ever met! The odds of me finding it! And you having it! It's astronomical!"
"What?" Trent was only half-listening to begin with, and Toones was talking in riddles.
"The hand writing! You left your case file here, and I found a match!"
"You did?" Trent's full attention was on Toones now.
"Exact match, my boy. It will hold up in court, I can guarantee that."
"Well who is it, Toones?" Trent grabbed a pen.
"Not over the phone. Bring the cavalry with you. I love an audience when I crack a case wide open."
Trent sighed. "We'll be there in 10."
Trent turned his attention back to Trivette and filled him in. The Ranger would meet him at Toones' place as soon as he pulled Walker away from the Feds. Trent hung up and wondered what Butch had gotten him into. At first glance Toones seemed harmless enough, but he was turning out to be just plain weird.
"I just boxed a lot of his stuff that he left at my place and never looked at it again. I don't even know if he realized I had it," Danae explained as she shifted boxes around in her storage locker. She finally found the one she wanted and slid it toward her eagerly.
Carlos squatted next to where she knelt with the box and slit the packaging tape with his pocket knife. Danae pulled hard on the flaps. Inside, he could see boxes of wedding invitations, picture frames, and knick knacks. Danae pulled out a wire-bound leather notebook that simply had the year embossed on the front. Her hands were shaking when she handed it to Carlos.
He thumbed through it quickly. Roger was a thorough man, apparently, prone to taking precise notes. His contact list was extensive, and Carlos was shocked to see a name he recognized. He moved on to the calendar section, where Roger's neat handwriting detailed cash and drug flow, locations, even exact times. Some of Roger's younger female clients didn't pay with cash. He looked at Danae to find that she was reading over his shoulder.
"He's such a bastard," she sobbed. Carlos put one arm around her shoulder, and tucked the book into his jacket pocket.
"Yes, but this will put Nic and several other drug dealers behind bars," he said gently. "That has to count for something."
"Not if I take it and leave your bodies," a strange voice replied from behind them.