Nik Kane Alaska Mystery - 02 - Capitol Offense Read Free Page A

situation just to show him that he’d be better off staying with the security firm. But the chief had too much at stake to send Kane blundering into the political world just to teach him a lesson. So this was probably a legitimate job, and it did sound more interesting than what he’d been doing. Of course, watching paint dry sounded more interesting, too. As long as Jeffords didn’t want him to do anything he just wouldn’t do. He watched as Jeffords’s fingers, nimble despite his age, danced just above the counter, reassembling the Glock. Then he began feeding rounds into an empty clip.
    “So do you want me to try to get this guy out of the trouble he’s in or not?” Kane asked.
    Jeffords’s thin smile became a grin. I’ll be damned, Kane thought. He might still be human after all.
    “You know I’d never ask you to do anything but what you thought was right, Nik,” the chief said. “We both know that wouldn’t do any good. What I’d like you to do is go and talk with Mrs. Foster and, if you find it agreeable, work for her.”
    He snapped the last round into the clip.
    “I believe she’s prepared to offer you quite a lot of money,” he said. “You do need money, don’t you, Nik?”
    “Everybody needs money,” Kane said.
    The truth was that Kane was doing pretty well financially. He was drawing a salary from the security firm and a pension from the police department, and since he wasn’t drinking he didn’t have any expensive habits. But wanting to go out on his own was part of an effort to gain greater control of his life. Working, as he saw it, was a matter of trading his time for money and, as he got older, time got to be more and more important. More money would buy him more time to do what he wanted. If he could just figure out what that was.
    “I’ll have to hand off my part of a surveillance,” Kane said. “Then I’ll go see this Mrs. Richard Foster and I’ll try really hard to take the job.”
    “Good,” Jeffords said. He slapped the clip into the automatic and holstered it. “Wait here.”
    He went back to the range master’s stand, returning with a much plainer automatic, a couple of clips, and a black fabric belt holster. He laid them all on the firing table.
    “You should have a little practice,” Jeffords said.
    Kane looked at the gun for a long moment, then shook his head.
    “I don’t think so,” he said.
    Jeffords blew air through his lips in exasperation.
    “Then at least take the weapon with you,” he said. “It’s a gift from me.”
    Kane could see that saying no would start an argument. It was easier just to take the gun.
    “Okay,” he said, picking up the automatic and accessories from the stand and stowing them in various pockets. “But I don’t see why you’re so concerned. If this case is political, what’s the worst that could happen? A nasty campaign ad?”
    Jeffords gave him another real smile.
    “You have no idea,” he said.

2
    Politics is the art of human happiness.
    H ERBERT A LBERT L AURENS F ISHER
    K ane was sitting at his computer, reading up on the White Rose Murder, when his cell phone rang.
    “You have to come and get your things out of the house,” his ex-wife, Laurie, said.
    “I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Kane said. “How are you?”
    He could hear her take a deep breath and exhale with a sigh.
    Great, he thought. Just ten seconds on the telephone, I’m pissed off and she’s long-suffering.
    “Nik,” she said with obvious patience, “we’ve talked about this. We’re not married anymore and it’s time to make the separation complete. We’ll both be better off.”
    “I haven’t got anyplace to put that stuff,” he said.
    Oh, that’s good, he thought. Be childish. That’s appealing.
    “Don’t be like that, Nik,” she said. “You’re making good money now. Get out of that crappy apartment and get a house big enough for your things. Build that cabin in the woods you always used to talk about. Rent a storage locker.