“I hope you are somewhere safe, Doctor Zudak,” Derek said.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The earliest flight Derek could book was scheduled to depart Chicago’s O’Hare airport at 9:58 p.m. that same day. As he glanced at the digital clock in his Buick Lacrosse, Derek realized he had time to kill. Time to think. To plan out his next steps. To figure out what he would do if he came face to face with Alexander Black and what story he would give to the police if and when they asked him for details.
In the three years that Derek had been a “freelance detective,” he had made several friends on police forces across the country. While none of these friends would ever invite Derek in on one of their investigations, he knew that if he ever got into a situation, they would have his back.
He also knew that he had made plenty of enemies during his three years of freelance work. To many, what Derek did was “real police work” and, as such, should be left to the professionals. He was seen as a danger, an outsider, a nuisance to many police departments. Though Derek never intentionally broke any laws, his freelance status allowed him to cut corners that police detectives couldn’t.
“We have protocols to follow, Cole!” he was often told. “You go running into situations, doing whatever you think you should do and next thing we know, our whole case is blown because you didn’t follow protocol.”
While Derek had made some mistakes when he first started freelancing, those mistakes were never repeated as he gained more experience. He learned better how to do his job while assisting and not interfering with the “real police detectives’ work.”
Over the last few years, Derek had helped police departments that were often understaffed and overworked to solve crimes that would have otherwise gone unsolved. Though he had only been involved in less than thirty cases since going freelance, his skills were sharp and his reputation was, for the most part, stellar.
Still, the average detective in an average police department wanted nothing to do with any “freelancer.”
At least not publicly.
Many of the cases that Derek was hired to solve or resolve were also cases that a local police or sheriff’s department was involved in. Though few would ever welcome Derek’s involvement in front of others, many would quickly learn to appreciate what Derek could do and how he could help their cases.
“I don’t need any credit once we solve this case,” he would tell anyone on any police force that would listen. “My credit comes from my client paying me. I can be as invisible as you need or want me to be.”
Derek’s ability to avoid complying with protocol and “police procedures” gave him a unique, and often times, envied advantage over a police department’s officers. When a house couldn’t have access gained without a search warrant in hand first, Derek was able to get in without having to wait for some judge to “weigh the rights of the person against the expected and possible evidence that may or may not be found.” When a suspect needed to be spoken to and who was “less than agreeable,” Derek didn’t have to honor a request for a lawyer to be present and didn’t have to worry about what was being seen on the other side of a two-way mirror.
He was no vigilante, and he tried very hard to follow what police procedures that were needed to be followed. But when push came to shove, as it often does in the world of “good guys versus bad guys,” Derek took care of business.
It was his clients, after all, to whom Derek was responsible. If they needed something resolved, and the desired resolution was legal, Derek would get it done. One way or another, Derek always delivered the desired resolution.
As he drove to the airport, Derek made a few more calls. The first was to the Hertz reservation line, where he rented a mid-sized car to be picked up at the Albany airport.
“And how long will you be needing this vehicle, Mr. Cole?”
“Can we leave that open for now?”
“I’m sorry, sir. We do need a time frame.”
“Four days, and if I need to extend or shorten the rental?
“Just call us back, and we’ll take care of you, Mr. Cole.”
The next call he made was to Verizon’s 411.
“Name and listing for a Doctor Stanley Mix. I believe they live near or in Rochester New York,” he asked.
“I’m sorry,” the computerized voice responded, “that number is unlisted.”
“Damn,” he said.
He dialed the next number and waited for his call to be answered.
“Hello?”
“Thomas, it’s Derek.”
“How did your meeting with Rinaldo go? Did he deny everything?”
“He confirmed everything. Listen, you did some research, and I need a little help from you.”
“What do you need?”
“Do you have the phone number for Stanley Mix?”
“Yes, but why do you want to call him?”
“His name is on that list you told me about, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but I didn’t hire you to protect anyone but me and my parents.”
“Understood, but if I can make a call and let him know that he should take precautions, I don’t think that would take any time away from my primary responsibility.”
Derek hated when his clients went “freelance” themselves or grew impatient with whatever time it was taking Derek to provide a resolution. This client had already done too much research. Derek knew that people who do research end up acting on whatever information their research produces.
“Understood. You just find my brother and keep me and my parents safe.”