My Private Detective. Rebecca Winters

friend’s ravaged face was the last thing Heidi saw before she turned sharply away and left the building; the last thing she heard was the horrifying sound of doors locking behind her.

      To some degree, Dana had always suffered from claustrophobia. Heidi could just imagine how much worse that condition had become since she’d been here. The prison doctor refused to give her medication for it. That was another injustice that needed to be corrected.

      As soon as Heidi got into her car, she pulled out her cell phone and called her parents. Fortunately they were home. She asked them to call the Turners and find out Mr. Cobb’s home phone number, then call her back.

      Halfway to San Diego, she heard from her father, who gave her the number. She phoned immediately, and it didn’t surprise her to get the attorney’s voice mail. On a late Sunday afternoon he could be anywhere.

      “Mr. Cobb? This is Heidi Ellis, Dana’s friend. I’ve just been to the prison to visit her. She needs medication for her claustrophobia. Surely something can be done to help her with that. But more importantly, we’ve got to get her out.” Her voice trembled as she spoke.

      “Dana doesn’t belong in there. She’s not going to last very long. I’d like to reopen the case. If you’d get back to me at home and tell me what has to be done to make that happen, I’d be very grateful.

      “I’m going to be frank. If you feel you can’t do any more for her, please let me know so my family and I can retain another attorney.

      “Please call me as soon as you can. I don’t care how late it is. Thank you very much.”

      Heidi gave him the number at her apartment and ended the call.

      It felt good to have done that much, but when she hadn’t heard from Mr. Cobb by the time she’d returned to San Diego, she was frantic.

      Unable to concentrate, she drove to her parents’ home in Mission Bay. Decisions needed to be made as soon as possible. Every minute that passed drained more of the life out of her friend.

      IT WAS TEN AFTER NINE Thursday night as Gideon Poletti approached the nursing station. “Can you tell me which room you’ve put Daniel Mcfarlane? He asked to see me.”

      The registered nurse on the oncology wing at St. Anne’s looked up from a chart. “He’s in west-160. Please keep your visit short. He has surgery in the morning.”

      “That’s what I heard.”

      While he’d been following up a lead in a missing person case, Gideon had received a phone call from Ellen Mcfarlane. Her husband, Gideon’s former boss, was in the hospital with prostate cancer.

      Last year everyone in local law enforcement had gone through a hard time accepting the retirement of the brilliant, shrewd head of the San Diego Homicide division. The city had lost a great warrior.

      Though another qualified detective with years of service in every department had been installed to head the division, it would be impossible to fill the older man’s shoes.

      Gideon had always been good friends with Daniel, both on and off the job. But the older man had made himself scarce since his retirement, and Gideon hadn’t seen him in several months.

      Following the arrows to the west wing, he found the room in question. Ellen was at her husband’s bedside. For a man about to undergo surgery, Daniel appeared as vibrant as ever. Unlike a lot of men in their late sixties, he still had most of his dark hair, which was finely streaked with silver.

      “Gideon!” He sat up in the bed. “I’m glad you could make it.”

      “I came as soon as I could.”

      He hugged Ellen, who excused herself so the two men could talk. Then Gideon shook Daniel’s hand before pulling up a chair next to the bed.

      “I’m sorry to hear about your illness.”

      “So am I.” The older man chuckled. “But the doc assures me the surgery’s routine and I’ll be my old self in no time. I’ve decided to believe him.”

      “I believe it, too, Daniel. Now, what can I do for you?”

      A sheepish expression crossed the older man’s face, something Gideon had never seen before. He had a premonition that his friend was about to ask him an unusual favor.

      “If you can’t or don’t want to help me out, all you have to do is say so. It would mean some sacrifice on your par—”

      “Daniel,” Gideon interrupted him. His curiosity had reached its peak. “What is it?”

      “All right. As soon as I retired, I was besieged with requests for speaking engagements, teaching seminars, interviews, you name it. I was even offered a university position.”

      Gideon nodded. “I can imagine.”

      “I turned everything down because of a promise I made to my wife. We’ve spent most of this year traveling or vacationing at our cabin in Oregon.

      “Then a few weeks ago I got a call from the local school district asking me to teach an adult community education class on criminology. My daughter, Kathie, is a teacher serving on that board, and she put them up to it. I think she’s worried that her old man’s missing the department.”

      “I think she’s probably right.”

      Daniel smiled. “Yes and no. I’m working on a book, which I’m enjoying very much. But I won’t lie to you. There are times I miss the old adrenaline rush.

      “However, that’s not the point. Because of Kathie, I said I’d teach one class. The first session was last night. But this morning my doctor phoned the house with the results of some tests taken last week. He said he wanted me to come in and have the surgery immediately.”

      Gideon could see where this was headed.

      “Tomorrow night’s the next class. The spring quarter runs for six weeks, and the classes are on Wednesday and Friday evenings from seven to nine. If all goes well, I’ll be able to finish up the last six classes or so. But I need someone to fill in for me for the rest of April and part of May. You’re the man I want to take my place.”

      “I’m not a teacher, Daniel.”

      “Neither am I,” Daniel said with a grin. “All you’d have to do is pretend you’re investigating a murder. Proceed as if you were in charge of the crime scene. Just verbalize the steps so they’ll know what you’re thinking and doing. Emphasize forensics—the class is particularly interested in that. That’s it!”

      “Not quite. I’m not the legendary Daniel Mcfarlane.”

      Daniel ignored that comment. “Before you say no, Gideon, hear me out. My daughter’s built me up to be some kind of paragon, which I’m not. However I do know a man who is, and that’s you.”

      “Come on,” Gideon scoffed.

      “It’s the truth. The day you resigned from the NYPD to move to San Diego and join the force was our good fortune. Right from the start you were the officer who stood out from the rest. Over the years you’ve distinguished yourself again and again. The way you helped bring down that Russian Mafia ring last fall was damned impressive.”

      “Don’t give me the credit, Daniel. My friend Max Calder is the one who deserves it.”

      “I agree it was a team effort. Nevertheless, because of your undercover work with the FBI, the powers that be were considering you to take my place. But they don’t like to promote any detective to that position until he’s at least forty-five.”

      By now Gideon was on his feet. “I would never want your old job. Not only could no one else ever measure up, Kevin needs me around on a regular basis. Serving on that special task force took a year out of my life and made it difficult to spend enough time with him. He’s been much happier since I went back on regular assignment.”

      “That’s the beauty of