Now You See Him (Roy Ballard Book 4)

  © 2017 by Ben Rehder.

  Cover art © 2017 by Bijou Graphics & Design.

  Digital design by A Thirsty Mind Book Design.

  All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

  For my favorite traveling companions...

  Mike and Cynthia Smith

  Rob and Toni Cordes

  See you in August

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Much appreciation to Tommy Blackwell, Jim Lindeman, Becky Rehder, Helen Haught Fanick, Mary Summerall, Marsha Moyer, Stacia Hernstrom, Linda Biel, Leo Bricker, Kathy Carrasco, and Pam Headrick. Special thanks to Karen Hobbs and the Canyon Cruiser staff for helping me nail down some details. All errors are my own.

  NOW YOU SEE HIM

  A ROY BALLARD MYSTERY

  BEN REHDER

  1

  The intruder could hear the heavy snoring of a person who’d had a lot to drink, and it calmed his nerves somewhat as he slipped into the bedroom in near-total darkness. He stopped for a moment and waited. Gave his eyes a chance to adjust. Helped a little. The bed was straight ahead, with the foot facing the bedroom door. To the left of the bed was a short, wide dresser. To the right, a nightstand. That’s where the phone would be, if Harvey was like most people his age.

  That was his name—Harvey. Harvey Selberg. Worked at a bank. Twenty-five years old. Like the rest of his group, Harvey had really cut loose the previous evening. Lots of shots. Lots of beer.

  The air conditioner suddenly cut off and it became much quieter in the room—except for the snoring. Deep and regular. The dude was totally out.

  The intruder’s palms were moist and his heart was hammering hard. He waited another moment, but his vision didn’t improve. This was as good as it was going to get.

  Just as he began to step forward, it occurred to him that Harvey might not be alone. He’d had his girlfriend with him on the boat. What if she’d come home with him? What if she was lying in bed with Harvey, eyes open, watching? Waiting. Planning. Maybe Harvey kept a handgun in the nightstand drawer. The intruder knew what he’d do in the same situation. Move quickly and come up firing until the dark shape in the bedroom dropped to the floor. Hard to tell if there was a lump under the blanket at Harvey’s side. Maybe. Maybe not.

  Son of a bitch. This was crazy. Stupid. He’d just have to risk it.

  But it was worth waiting a few minutes, which he did, until the air conditioner kicked on again. Good. That would mask any noise he might make.

  He took one small step forward on the carpeted floor, and then another, and another. That’s all it took. Now he was right beside the bed, with his thighs no more than eighteen inches from the nightstand.

  He squinted. Best as he could tell, Harvey was alone. Harvey, who’d had one too many tequila shots and was now blissfully unaware of, well, just about everything.

  The intruder bent forward slowly and reached toward the top of the nightstand. There was no clock of any kind, which was unfortunate, because a clock would’ve emitted some light and made it easier to see.

  Slowly... slowly... grasping in the dark... palms open...

  And there it was. Wait. No, that was a wallet. A random burglar would take it, so he stuck it in his pocket. He’d remove any cash later, then trash the rest of it.

  He reached to the nightstand again and this time his hand landed squarely on Harvey’s phone. It even had the charger cord attached. Harvey, in his inebriated state, had remembered to charge the ol’ phone. Priorities, right?

  The intruder disconnected the cord, gently placed it on the nightstand, and began to back away with the phone in his hand. As soon as he was outside, he would turn the phone off. That would disable the GPS tracking feature. Couldn’t track it if it wasn’t turned on.

  Then, just to be sure, he would destroy it somehow.

  Harvey was still snoring. Hadn’t missed a beat.

  The intruder turned and made his way for the bedroom door.

  And right then, the phone came to life in his hands, blaring the unmistakable opening guitar riff of “Highway to Hell” by AC/DC.

  2

  I was lounging in bed on a September Sunday morning with a gorgeous blond woman when my biggest client called.

  “Are you busy?” Heidi asked right off the bat.

  “Not really,” I said. “Just spreading joy and contentment around the world, one person at a time.”

  The blond woman elbowed me, then slipped out of bed, wearing nothing but panties, and made her way into the bathroom. I studied her closely, because the future isn’t guaranteed, and if I was never in this enviable position again, I wanted to remember every detail. She had a small tattoo on her hip, above her right buttock. I’d known for several years that she had a tattoo, but I never knew what it was until recently.

  “Could you spread a little of that goodwill my way?” Heidi asked. “I need a favor.”

  “I’ll do my best. What’s up?”

  I could hear Heidi take a big breath.

  “This is just me, now,” she said. “Not acting as your client. And if you say no, I will totally understand and respect that.”

  I sat up in bed. The cold air in the room felt good on my bare torso. “Everything okay?”

  “I don’t know if you saw it on the news, but on Friday night, a twenty-two-year-old kid drowned in Lake Travis. He was out on a party barge, apparently jumped off the top, and never surfaced. They’re still looking for him, but at this point, it might be a while before they find his body. Or maybe they won’t find it at all.”

  “I did hear about that,” I said. “Saw a headline but didn’t read the article.”

  “Unfortunately, he was my nephew.”

  “Oh, hell, Heidi, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thank you. He’s my brother’s boy. His name is Jeremy Sawyer. Was. I didn’t get the call until yesterday afternoon.”

  “That’s really sad.”

  Heidi started to say something, but her voice choked up and she took a moment. I waited. I didn’t know what to say. I’m not very good in situations like this.

  Eventually Heidi said, “My brother and his wife are pretty torn up, as you can imagine.”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “What a horrible thing to happen.”

  “Here’s where the favor comes in,” Heidi said. “Would you mind looking into it for me? Nothing elaborate. Just ask a few questions and see what you think. I’m not expecting a big investigation or anything.”

  I could hear the shower running in the bathroom.

  “You know I’d do anything for you, Heidi—especially in these circumstances—but what exactly would I be looking into?”

  “I don’t know for sure. All I know is that something doesn’t seem right.”

  “How so?”

  “Everything the sheriff’s office has told us is so vague. From what I understand, nobody even saw him jump off the boat, which seems odd. There were nearly fifty people out there. How could nobody see?”

  It wasn’t unusual for details to be sketchy in the hours or even days after this type of accident, but there was no need for me to point that out. Heidi already knew that. Instead, I asked if they’d assigned a detective yet.

  “It’s Ruelas,” she said, laughing. “You knew it would be, didn’t you?”

  I’d b
e a real jerk if I complained about anything in these circumstances, so I said, “No problem. He’s good.”

  “Yeah, he is.”

  “Tell me about Jeremy,” I said.

  “He was a smart kid, Roy. Not rash or impulsive. He doesn’t even drink.”

  I didn’t respond to that. I was guessing that Heidi—who was in her forties—might not know her nephew’s party habits as well as she thought she did. One thing I remembered from the headline was that the drowning had taken place near Devil’s Cove, a notorious party spot on Lake Travis. It wasn’t unusual for hundreds of boats to gather in the cove—music blaring, alcohol flowing, nubile young ladies in bikinis gyrating on bows of boats like it was the set of some elaborate music video. The average age of the partygoers was probably twenty-two or twenty-three. In other words, there was a lot of potential for things to go wrong, even if everyone obeyed the laws and ignored the urge to do something stupid or risky.

  “Who was he out there with?” I asked.

  “Just a group of his friends, and I think one or two people from school. Plus some other people he didn’t know. Jeremy and his group didn’t have the boat to themselves.”

  “Where did he go to school?”

  “Texas State. Oh, I forgot to mention—he was an amazing swimmer. He’s on the swim team.”

  “Yeah?” I said.

  “I sound like I’m grasping, don’t I?” Heidi asked. “Like I don’t want to accept what happened, so I’m looking for some other explanation.”

  “It’s only natural,” I said. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re wrong.”

  “Doesn’t mean I’m right, either,” she said.

  “True,” I said.

  “He literally never did anything crazy or irresponsible in his life,” Heidi said. “This was a solid kid.”

  The shower was still running, and despite the grave nature of my conversation with Heidi, I couldn’t help picturing myself in there with the blond woman. Warm water. Steam rising. Lots of lather.

  Focus, damn it.

  “Tell you what,” I said. “Let me make a couple of calls and get back to you later today, okay?”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Absolutely not. Happy to help.”

  “If it looks like it was just an accident, well, so be it. I’ll accept that.”

  This, right here—talking on the phone—constituted the majority of my relationship with Heidi. We had rarely met face to face. But that hadn’t stopped us from getting to know each other well. Heidi was keenly intelligent, practical, and down to earth. If her instinct was telling her something wasn’t right about her nephew’s death, that was enough for me.

  “I’ll let you know if I find anything out,” I said.

  “Thank you, Roy. My brother and I would be happy to pay you for—”

  “Heidi, come on. None of that.”

  “You sure?”

  “Of course.”

  “You don’t know how much I appreciate this.”

  “No problem. We’ll talk soon. And, again, I’m sorry about your nephew.”

  A minute later, as I stepped into the shower, the blond woman—who also happens to be my business partner—said, “I swear, every time I see myself in the mirror, it catches me off guard. You still like it?”

  Mia Madison ran a hand through her hair, which she hadn’t gotten wet yet. She’d had the color changed less than a week earlier, and I was still getting used to it myself. The rest of her? Well, it was just as spectacular as it had ever been.

  “Love it,” I said. “But don’t tell Mia.”

  I leaned in close and gave her a kiss. To hell with morning breath.

  “How is Heidi?” she asked.

  “Not very good, unfortunately,” I said.

  “What’s up?”

  I explained the situation, and Mia asked some questions, and then she said, “We’re not super busy right now. I can handle the Babcock case on my own.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Of course not. It’s Heidi.”

  I nodded, but I was getting distracted, and my eyes were drifting downward. I know this sounds crazy, but I’d always found it difficult to maintain a conversation for very long while standing naked with Mia in the shower.

  She said something else, to which I could only reply, “Huh?”

  “Maybe we should resume this conversation after we dry off,” she said.

  “I think that’s a great idea.”

  If I had accepted Heidi’s offer to pay me for my services, I would’ve been in violation of the Private Security Act in the Texas Occupations Code for acting as an unlicensed private investigator. Mia and I are not private investigators, licensed or otherwise.

  We are legal videographers.

  I’m sorry, what?

  That’s one of the replies I typically get when I mention what I do for a living. To be fair, Mia and I aren’t your typical legal videographers. Most of them concentrate on filming depositions or court proceedings, which is more complicated and demanding than it seems. And they work with stenographers to produce accurate transcripts.

  Mia and I, on the other hand, specialize in capturing video evidence when a claimant is suspected of committing insurance fraud. Ever seen footage of a guy playing soccer or windsurfing when he allegedly has a cervical fracture or a slipped disc? That’s the kind of video Mia and I provide—if we’re lucky, and if the subject is actually faking.

  Our average day on the job involves a lot of surveillance, boredom out the wazoo, and then perhaps a few minutes of the subject toting a forty-pound bag of dog food to his car. Basically we follow people around and document their deceit and dishonesty. Truth is, it’s nice work if you can get it. And we get it, because we are both extremely skilled at it.

  Originally, it was just me—a one-man operation—and I would occasionally ask Mia for assistance. She was a bartender at the time, usually free in the daylight hours, and she didn’t mind earning an extra hundred bucks here and there. And, of course, I appreciated the way she could help bring a case to a rapid end.

  Imagine a guy walking out of Home Depot and he sees a tall redheaded knockout in a short skirt and heels attempting to wrestle a heavy object—say, a new propane grill in a bulky box—into the back of an SUV. What’s he going to do? No question. He’s going to trip over his own feet in the rush to offer a hand. Then he’s going to pick that box up, despite his allegedly torn rotator cuff or ruptured knee ligament, and do the job by himself, happy to demonstrate that he is all man, from top to bottom. I’ve seen guys do that with a wife or girlfriend lingering nearby, glaring. And, of course, I’m always hidden in my van nearby, video camera running, usually grinning from ear to ear.

  Working with Mia in this fashion gave rise to a great idea. Why not work together all the time? And not as boss and employee, but as partners? I ran it by Mia and she liked the idea, although it took some time for her to commit. She eventually did, with some nudging by me, and we’d both been thrilled ever since.

  I hadn’t told her at the time that I suspected I was in love with her. Wasn’t long until I knew I was in love with her, deeply and thoroughly. Still took me a long time to tell her. What a wimp.

  3

  Mia left to run some errands and I stayed at her house in Tarrytown to do some research. I sat on the couch with my laptop and read every available online article about Jeremy’s death, scanned the party barge website, and watched several YouTube videos about party barges on Lake Travis—but I didn’t learn much more than Heidi had told me.

  The party barge operated out of a marina just west of the main basin of the lake, off of Hudson Bend Road, and not far from Devil’s Cove. You could rent the barge for a private party, or buy a ticket for one of its regularly scheduled cruises on the weekend. That’s what Jeremy and his friends had done, meaning they hadn’t known everyone on the boat, just as Heidi had mentioned. That might be relevant, or it might not.

  The barge was twenty feet wide, fifty
feet long, and had a tubular slide jutting out from the rear. This particular barge was named the Island Hopper and had a Caribbean theme, which, as far as I could tell, meant they played reggae music, or reggae-influenced music, during the cruise, and that was about the extent of it. As far as food and booze, you had to bring your own or hire a caterer.

  Then I grabbed my phone. First call I made was to the detective, Ruelas. Disagreeable guy. Arrogant. Had an ego. I was prepared to leave a voicemail because he rarely answered when I called, but on this occasion he did.

  “I was wondering when you’d call and start bothering me,” he said.

  I started to ask why, but then I realized he’d know that Heidi was the victim’s aunt, and that Heidi was also my client, and he’d put two and two together.

  “I bet you were quivering with anticipation,” I said.

  Did I mention that Ruelas and I don’t get along particularly well? It’s mostly because he’s an ass, but he’s able to hide that side of his personality from some people, like Heidi and Mia, when he chooses.

  “I was hoping Mia would call instead,” he said.

  I’d always suspected that he had a crush on Mia, but that wasn’t an outrageous assumption, because most guys did. Harvey Fierstein would’ve had a crush on Mia.

  “She wanted to make the call,” I said, “but she decided to place her hand on a hot stove instead. Said it would be more enjoyable.”

  “Well, we already know she has a masochistic side,” Ruelas replied, “seeing as how she hangs around you so much.”

  It always irritated me when Ruelas managed to come up with a decent rejoinder to one of my scathing and witty remarks. I was tempted to shut him up by gloating about my relationship with Mia—I’ve got her and you don’t—but she deserved better than that. Also, our relationship—the seeing-each-other part of it—was new, and I didn’t want to jinx it.

  So I said, “What can you tell me about Jeremy Sawyer?”

  “Why should I tell you anything?” he asked.