CHAPTER
32
PULLER LOOKED AT JEAN TRENT and then drew his gaze back to Sam Cole. They weren’t twins. They really weren’t that close in looks. But still, on closer examination, it was evident they were related.
He said, “So Sam’s your little sister?”
Trent nodded. “By two years and two days.”
Cole said, “But people always think she’s the younger one.”
“I have regular massages and my own trainer and chef. You go on stakeouts and high-speed chases and eat crap, Sam. It takes its toll.”
“I guess it does.” Cole added, “So more death threats?”
“What he says.”
“You don’t seem too concerned,” observed Puller.
“Roger travels with a bodyguard. We have more than adequate protection here. He’s licensed to carry a concealed weapon and he does. People around here don’t like him. But no one has ever actually attacked him.”
“If you say so.” Puller glanced back at Cole. “You ready to roll?”
“Let’s go.”
As she passed by her sister, Trent said, “Why don’t you come for dinner tonight?” She glanced at Puller. “And why don’t you come along too?”
“Why?” asked Cole.
“Roger’s going to be out of town and your niece has been asking about you.”
Cole looked a bit guilty at this last comment, thought Puller.
Her sister must’ve noted this too. “Say about eight-thirty? We eat late here.”
“Okay,” said Cole.
“If you get fancy for dinner, I didn’t bring my dress blues,” said Puller.
“We’re actually pretty casual.” She looked at her sister. “Where are you off to now?”
“To see some dead bodies get cut up.”
“Have fun.”
They walked back to Cole’s cruiser.
“How come you neglected to tell me about the family connection?” asked Puller.
“Was it relevant?”
“Who knows what’s relevant until it is or isn’t?”
“Well, now you know.”
“He’s about ten years older than her. Second wife?”
“No. He just married late and she married early. Her kids are his kids.”
“She mentioned your niece. I saw a teenager on the stairs going in.”
“Meghan. She’s fourteen. Awkward age for a girl.”
“And you said they have an eleven-year-old son too?”
“Roger Jr. He’s away.”
“Away where?”
“Military academy.”
“Trent didn’t strike me as the military type.”
“He’s not. He’s far more into private gain than public service. But his son has a problem with discipline and I guess my sister didn’t want to deal with it. So away he went to some place in Pennsylvania where they whip you into shape and make you say ‘sir.’ ”
“Not so bad. Discipline is a pretty good asset for life.”
“Maybe. But I think they gave up on him too early. He’s only a kid. And discipline starts at home. You ship a kid off at that age he probably thinks you don’t give a crap about him.”
“And do they? Give a crap about him?”
“Not my place to know, really.”
“Not close with your rich relations?”
“Who really knows anybody?”
That’s more true than not, thought Puller. He said. “So earlier death threats?”
She whipped around, hands on hips. “I told you they were investigated and the case closed.”
“I know that’s what you told me.”
“So why do you keep bringing it up?”
“Because I want to know more than what you’ve told me. That’s generally why I ask questions.”
“Well, I don’t feel like elaborating.”
“Where does your brother live?”
“In Drake.”
“What does he do?”
“Generally as little as possible. Is this an interrogation?”
“I’m just trying to understand the playing field here, nothing more. If I offended you, I’m sorry.”
His frank manner defused her anger.
“Randy’s the youngest. Just turned thirty and sort of lost his way in life. We’re hoping he finds it again. Real soon.”
“I take it no one sent him away to a military academy.”
“Maybe someone should have.”
They climbed into the cruiser.
Puller clicked his seat belt. “Any hits on that guy from your BOLO?”
“None. Something tells me he left Drake a long time ago.”
She clipped her seat belt across her and fired up the engine. “What’d you do with the laptop and briefcase?” she asked.
“On their way to USACIL via military courier.”
“Good place?”
“Best place. You can tell right from the moment you walk in when you see it on the floor.”
“See what?”
“The lab’s logo. Bought it back in the fifties from some guy for a buck.”
“What is it?”
“Detective Mickey Mouse. The guy who sold it was named Walt Disney.”
“A crime lab’s logo is a cartoon character?”
“When you’re that good, who cares what your logo is?”
“If you say so.”
They left the Trent mansion behind and headed back to the real world.