The Workers of Iniquity: A C.T. Ferguson Private Investigator Mystery (The C.T. Ferguson Mystery Novels Book 3) by Tom Fowler

Author:Tom Fowler [Fowler, Tom]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Fowler Writes
Published: 2018-06-04T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I called Rich as Rollins and I drove toward the Rodgers house. He answered in a tired voice. "Hello?"

"Rich, I might need your help with something," I said.

"Color me surprised. What's up?"

I let the slight pass. Katherine Rodgers was more important than my ego, at least for now. "The loan shark, Rosenberg, might be dabbling in kidnapping."

"What?" The weariness fled Rich's voice. "What happened?"

"My client's son called me," I said. "His sister got taken from in front of their house."

"Rosenberg did it?"

"Don't know yet, but who else is a good candidate?"

"Fair point," said Rich. "Have you called the police yet?"

"Does calling you count?"

"What do you think?" I heard agitation creep into Rich's tone. It happened often when we talked.

"I think having a bunch of cops sniffing around Rosenberg's operation isn't going to help Katherine Rodgers."

Rich didn't say anything for a few seconds. "You might be right. We don't even know for sure he took her, though it seems likely. Look, I just worked a long shift, and now I'm off for two days. I'll meet you at the Rodgers house."

I was stunned, and it made me pause for a second. "All right . . . great."

"But if we're not hot on this girl's trail quickly," he said, "we're going to get more people involved."

I figured as much. "I guess we will."

"We will. What's their address again?"

I gave it to him.

***

By the time Rollins and I got there, Pauline was home and looked like she wanted to jump off a bridge. Zachary tried to comfort her, but there was none to be found. His face sported a couple of bruises—one would turn into a hell of a shiner—and a laceration he should probably get stitched. Haunted eyes reflected sadness and failure. He thought he let his sister down when he couldn't stop Rosenberg's toughs from taking her. I would need to talk to him, but I needed to talk to Pauline first.

As I sat beside her, she gaped at me and sobbed. Before I could say anything, she sagged against me, head on my shoulder and arms wrapped loosely around me. I patted her back and let her cry. Rollins took stock inside, then went outside and searched some more. Pauline's bawling slowed when he returned. I caught his eye, and he shook his head.

Pauline sat up and stared at Rollins. "Who's he?" she said through her tears.

"His name is Rollins," I said. "I hired him to help me after I got shot at a few days ago."

Her acknowledgement was lost in a couple of final sobs, and I handed Pauline a box of tissues from the end table. She took one without comment and wiped her eyes, then blew her nose loudly enough to stop traffic two blocks over. As if on cue, I heard a car door slam out front. Rollins turned toward the sound and looked out the window. "Looks like a cop, whoever it is," he said.

"My cousin," I said, "and he is a cop. We can trust him.

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