CHAPTER 42

CASSIE OPENED HER EYES to the smell of coffee. "Oh no," she groaned. She'd hoped she was dead.

"How are you doing?" Charlie Schwab's blue eyes were laughing at her.

She swallowed down a new wave of nausea. "I'm having a bad day," she murmured.

"I heard your husband died last night," Charlie said with some show of concern.

"Uh-huh. That sheriff tell you?" Cassie considered standing up.

Schwab nodded. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Well, thanks. That cop thinks I killed him. Where is he, searching the garbage for poisoned hypodermic needles?"

Schwab laughed suddenly. "You're a funny girl."

"Oh really?" Cassie snorted. She touched the little bump on her forehead where she'd gone into the door.

"Looks like you tied one on last night."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Strong odor of alcohol. You know, you sweat it out of your pores. Unmistakable, believe me, I know."

"Ugh." Humiliated, Cassie dragged herself to her knees, then to her feet. The coffee cup and saucer he'd handed her rattled dangerously in her hand. Charlie grabbed the cup out of her hand.

"Where's that cop?" She peered around, looking for him.

"Oh, he left."

"He left? Really?" Cassie brightened.

"Well, I told him he could go, I'd take over from here."

"You? Take over from here?" The ridiculous feeling of always knowing less than everybody else overcame Cassie. She stumbled over to a kitchen chair and sat down with her back to the ascending sun. The radiance of morning killed. "Oh God, I can't take this."

"You okay there?" Schwab asked.

"No." Cassie put her cheek down on the table and tried breathing slowly enough to make the room stand still.

"Go on, drink up." Schwab put the cup down in front of her.

"There isn't any," she mumbled.

"No, I made some more. How about some aspirin? Where is it?"

"In the drawer there somewhere." She waved her hand vaguely. "One of those drawers."

He found the bottle of Bufferin, tossed out two, and handed them over.

"I'm not drunk," Cassie insisted. "I'm just a little nervous."

"Take them anyway. They'll help."

She picked up her head and swallowed the aspirin. "You're really some sort of cop, aren't you? People who do audits don't come into your house and take over police investigations."

"Well, you know. In the Service we can do pretty much anything we want."

Cassie shook her head. "Which branch of the Service are we talking about now?"

"We bring in whatever branch we need." He appeared serious. He wasn't laughing now.

"You're scaring me."

"That's my job. Would you like to know about some of our powers?"

"Maybe some other time."

"I'll tell you anyway. We can get your bank records without you even knowing it. Anything we ask for is ours. My supervisor has given me carte blanche on this case. I can do anything I want."

Cassie's heart thudded. "You checked my bank account?"

He nodded.

"But there's nothing in it."

He nodded some more. "No juice there."

"Well, you were looking in the wrong place. The juice is in the refrigerator." She really was cross-eyed with all this IRS spy stuff.

"Most people put it in the bank." The twinkle was back.

She didn't know what he was talking about. "They put the juice in the bank?"

"Uh-huh. In safe-deposit boxes. You know what I mean, undeclared income." He repeated it patiently, watching her face closely. "We talked about this before. The IRS looks for undeclared income. I'm a finder, remember."

"I don't have any of that kind of goddamn juice. Could I have a few more of those aspirin?" Now she was in a cold sweat. She knew she must stink unbelievably. Alcohol, vomit. Fear. And she was just a spouse. Imagine the fear real crooks felt.

"No need to get testy." Schwab got the bottle for her and sat down again. "You can also find it in their canceled checks. Purchases. The whole lifestyle. I like to get the big picture before I form an impression."

Cassie swallowed two more aspirin and waited for her brains to tighten up. They felt loose, like unset Jell-O. "My husband died last night. He handled the income and the taxes. I've told you this a million times. I didn't even see his body. Understand?"

"No. Explain me."

"Explain you? Okay. Everybody takes care of things for me. My son took care of my husband's body for me. I never even saw it." She tried to get that across. This was the reason she was in so much trouble. No one let her do anything. She couldn't take control of her own life.

"I met him at the warehouse, seemed like a nice young man," Charlie said about Teddy. Neutral, Cassie liked that. He didn't say her son was an asshole.

"Well, looks can be deceiving," she murmured.

Charlie laughed again. "Maybe he was trying to protect you."

"Well, that's wrong. I don't want other people to mess me up. I can do it just fine by myself." She shook her head again.

"You certainly can." Schwab put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "You know what else the IRS can do? We can give you summonses to appear anytime we want. We can search your house and seize your property. Your car, your house. Garnish your wages."

"I told you already. No wages. I've always volunteered."

"And speaking of garbage, we can go through your garbage," Charlie added.

"Be my guest." Cassie waved her hand.

"We can take all your records and documents. We can tap your phones. Want to know what else we can do?"

"I'm very afraid already."

He laughed. "You should be. Do you know why we have these powers?"

Cassie heaved a sigh. He wasn't going away. "So you can hurt us?"

"Private taxpayers fund about sixty-one percent of the country's budget." Charlie poured himself more coffee, then liberally added milk. He'd learned to make it, but didn't know how to froth. That gave her some satisfaction.

"Did you know that corporate taxpayers fund only about eleven percent of the budget?" he asked, pointing the spoon at her.

"Uh-uh." Could she take a nap now?

"That's why the wage earner, the small-business taxpayer, is so important to us. You're our all."

"That's interesting." Cassie had always wanted to be somebody's all.

"Paying taxes is completely voluntary, but we have to ensure people don't think it's a joke. We want them to comply. That's the reason we scare you."

She nodded, eager to please. "Believe me, I want those taxpayers to comply. If I had my way we'd all comply a whole lot more."

"You're very funny, did you know that?"

"This is not a funny situation; I'm really scared," she confessed. Voluntary tax payments, who was he kidding?

"But I liked that one about Thorazine. I told it to my supervisor. My dad, too. They both liked it."

"Your dad and your supervisor." Cassie frowned. Where was this going?

"Did you know what we can do to a taxpayer who tries to resist or complain?" Schwab asked.

"Charlie, my husband died today. Could you give me a break?"

"You people! All you want is breaks. Come on, guess. What can we do to taxpayers who resist or complain?" Now Schwab waved his hands. "What?"

Cassie guessed. "Kill us?"

"Ha-ha. That's good. Another good one." He slapped his knee.

"I wasn't being funny. Are you going to kill me? Just let me know. I had a bad night. I want to wash my face and brush my teeth before I go."

"No, I'm not going to kill you," he said, a little testy himself now. "It's nothing personal. Personally, I like you. I more than like you. I think you're a very lovely lady. In fact, if the situation were different, I'd ask you for a date."

"Look, forget the date," she said quickly. "Just kill me quick."

"Oh come on, you don't mean that." His laugh was a touch strained now.