Chapter 1
“My name is Robert Atkins.”
Sherrie nodded and wrote the name into the app on her phone.
“My father is James Atkins.”
Her gaze was torn away from the screen and onto the face of the young man.
“I believe you’ve met him.”
Sherrie scowled. James was Caucasian, perhaps five feet ten, one hundred eighty pounds, with brown hair that was thinning at the crown. The young man across the desk from her was over six feet, heavyset, with skin that was midnight black. His hair was closely cropped on his head, and his facial features were typical for someone of African heritage. His eyes were dark brown and showed a great deal of intelligence.
“My father murdered my mother,” Robert continued. He placed a thick file folder on the desk blotter in front of him. “I have amassed a great deal of information about my father.” He patted the file. “I want him found and prosecuted.”
“I take it you’ve gone to the police with this,” she said while she took additional notes.
“Yes,” Robert said as he leaned back in his chair.
The office was well appointed. The desk was much better than the usual sheet metal model topped with laminated particleboard. On the wall behind Robert was a framed university degree. Sherrie noted that the degree was in psychology. That explained why the man had a single office in that building. There was no secretary, no waiting room. The office was just a standard rectangle, with the desk centered along the outside wall. Across were client chairs. There were none of the stereotypical couches, but there were comfortable chairs and muted colors on the walls and floor.
“Unfortunately,” Robert said, “they said this evidence is not ‘actionable’, in their words.”
Sherrie nodded. “I’ve heard the term.”
“I called you for two reasons. First, your friend Nancy Carlson mentioned your name. Second, she also mentioned that you’d managed to get him arrested at least once.”
“But not for long,” she replied. “He found a way to get himself out of the building without the proper paperwork.”
“So,” he said with a grin, “in a way, he’s a fugitive from justice.”
That brought a smile to her face. “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she said, “but, yes, that would be true.” She chuckled. “I never thought of myself as a bounty hunter.”
The grin faded from Robert’s face. “If you take the case, please be aware that my father has powerful friends.”
She nodded. “No doubt.”
“People who would kill you to protect my father.”
“Heavy hitters, so to speak.”
Robert’s face was stern. “Organized crime figures. Politicians. And some very high up in law enforcement.”
“So I should approach this case with great care,” she said, her face just as serious.
Robert nodded. The movement of his large head showed just how serious his words had been.
She thought for a moment. “I must admit, Mister Atkins, I would love to get some payback from your father for what he put me through.”
“I though you might feel that way.”
“And I have friends in the local police who would help me on the case.”
He sat, his thick hands on the blotter, and listened attentively. Sherrie wondered if he assumed that posture when he listened to his clients.
“And I rarely turn down a challenge.”
A smile blossomed on his face.
“Perhaps we should discuss my fee?”
