When the Tiger Kills: A Cimarron/Melbourne Thriller: Book One

by Vanessa Prelatte

  “What are you smiling about?”

  “None of your business. Are we still set to leave by nine?”

  Ty nodded. “I'll need to get there early, do the preflight check. You want to come with me, or take your own car and come over later?”

  Dawn checked the time. “It's not even six-thirty yet. I'll catch up on some paperwork and meet you there.”

  “Okay. It'll take me just a few minutes to get ready – then I'm out of here.” He leaned over to give her a quick kiss. “See you in a few.”

  Rafe was already there and waiting when she pulled into the parking lot outside the hangar at Nyetimber shortly before nine o'clock. He was also dressed in dark clothes and boots, and the huge grin plastered on his face told her that something was up.

  “Did you hear the latest news?”

  “No, but obviously you did. Are you going to tell me, or do I have to play twenty questions first?”

  “This news is too good to waste any time playing guessing games. I heard it from Wynicki, just after I got home last night. The Minotaur has gotten a promotion.”

  Lieutenant Wesley Collander, christened “The Minotaur” by Rafe (because, Rafe insisted, he was 'half-man, half-bullshit') was universally detested throughout the Mountpelier Police Department. A big, beefy man with a gut so large that it looked like he’d swallowed a tire from a monster truck, Collander liked to strut around and talk big, but when the going got tough, he folded like a house of cards in the middle of a hurricane. His meteoric rise to the rank of Lieutenant was propelled not by any significant contribution to police work, but by the fact that he was the son-in-law of the former chief of police. When his father-in-law had resigned (or been fired, according to rumor), cops throughout Mountpelier had crossed their fingers and prayed that Collander would soon be booted out as well.

  “He got promoted? How is that good news?”

  “Because he isn't going to be directly in the chain of command anymore. Even though his title was “Special Liaison to the Chief of Police”, he's actually been acting as a sort of assistant chief the last few years. But now his father-in-law is out, and Chief Wirthing wants his own people around him. So to deal with the Minotaur, he's created a new division called “The Special Unit for Crime Prevention.” Collander has just been promoted to Captain in charge of the Unit. And D.C.? It's a one-man unit. He has a secretary, but nobody assigned to work under him. It's brilliant. A bullshit job with a bullshit title. The Minotaur's horns have just been sawn off.”

  “Yeah, but don't forget: even without any horns, a bull can still trample you to death.”

  At a hail from Ty, they walked over to the waiting chopper and boarded. After stopping to pick up Pete, they continued their search for the elusive missing car. The first two sites they checked were wash-outs, and Dawn had to fight against the frustration that was ballooning inside her gut and force herself to concentrate. Every minute that went by without any clues to help them locate the missing girl they knew only as “Lee” made her prospects for survival more and more bleak. At the third site, however, Pete saw something that prompted him to ask Ty to circle back for another look. Ty dropped the helicopter so low during this second pass over the search target that Dawn could swear they were almost skimming the tops of a line of tall evergreens that sloped down the incline leading to the bottom of a ravine.

  “There's something down there!”

  At Pete's excited statement, Ty looked for a place to land, finally settling for a narrow strip of grass next to the road at the top of the ravine. Scrambling out of the helicopter, Dawn and Rafe let Pete take the lead in blazing a trail down the slope toward a clump of trees. Branches tore at Dawn's clothes, but she paid no attention to that. For she could see it too now – a patch of red peeking out from amidst all of that green.

  Chapter 4

  Lee sat up on the cot slowly, relieved that this time her surroundings didn't dance before her eyes. She'd surfaced from the drugged sleep a few times before, but the dizzy spells had prevented her from getting up and examining her prison.

  From the looks of things, she was in a basement of some kind. The cinder block walls had been painted a soothing shade of pale blue, but it was still obviously a cellar. To her left, she could see a furnace, a water heater, and a couple of stationary tubs. To her right, a closed door that perhaps led to a storage area of some kind. And directly in front of her, a wall covered with sketches. All of them of the same person. Her own face stared back at her, captured time after time in pencil and in ink. An easel sat to one side, with a stool in front of it and an artist's palette sitting on a small table set beside it. She recognized it at once as Michael's. She had only the vaguest memory of being brought to this place, but she remembered clearly the horrifying moments just before she had lost consciousness for the first time. She'd seen Will, clearly drugged as she herself had been, but holding his own at first in a desperate fight with Michael. She'd tried to get up then, do something to help Will, but her body had felt like lead, and her heavy limbs refused to respond to her mind's commands. Then the terrible moment when Will had lost his balance and disappeared over the edge of the cliff. She'd tried once again to take some kind of action, but she'd been too weak even to scream, let alone move.

  Then Michael had come, picked her up, and put her in the back of his truck. Her next memory was of waking up here, wherever this was. A wave of desolation threatened to paralyze her, but she shook it off and rose, determined to at least find out where the door on the right led. She could make it that far, despite the shackle clamped around her right ankle - the chain was long enough.

  To her relief, she discovered that the door led to a small powder room. After making use of the toilet, she studied the sink area. A bar of soap, a small tube of toothpaste, and a toothbrush in a holder lay there, along with a couple of hairbrushes. To her left was a towel rack, which held a couple of face towels and a washcloth.

  Dampening the washcloth, she used it to wash her face thoroughly. Then she brushed her teeth, thankful to get the nasty taste left over from the drug out of her mouth. After that, she used one of the hairbrushes to smooth out her tangled hair. Feeling marginally better, she made her way back to the cot and sat back down. Despite the presence of the furnace, there was little heat in the basement. She was still dressed in her tank top and her jeans, but of her coat and boots there was no sign. Picking up the blanket from the bottom of the cot, she wrapped it around her shoulders. Then she buried her head in her hands, trying to determine what to do next. She was still thinking things over and considering her limited options when she heard the sound of a door opening above, followed by the sound of footsteps pattering down the stairs leading to the basement.

  *****

  While the crime scene techs processed what they were pretty sure was the attempted murder victim's vehicle, Dawn did some multitasking. First she called the lab to find out if there were any results yet on the poured-out beer discovered at the campsite, and then she made a few calls regarding the Torrense case. After spending some time on the phone, she disconnected and waited for Rafe, who was running the red SUV's plates, to finish up his conversation with the DMV. Raising her eyebrows, she looked at him inquiringly.

  “You first,” Rafe responded. “What did you find out?”

  “The lab report on the beer came in. It was definitely drugged. And I was able to connect with Cullen's aunt, Ellanor Torrense. She flew in from Arizona this morning and checked into the Mountpelier Arms. I've tentatively arranged for us to meet with both her and Gwen Mallinder at one o'clock this afternoon. I figured we should be finished up here and on our way back by then. I also contacted the officer who investigated the accident that killed Gwen's father. He's agreed to meet with us after he goes off shift. He's bringing a copy of the accident report with him."

  “Good. Now it's my turn. According to the DMV, the vehicle is registered to Willoughby Preisinger. I've got his address. If Preisinger is our male victim, we can talk to his family, h
is friends, his roommates – find out everything they know about his girlfriend.”

  One of the techs signaled them just then, indicating that his team had finished with the SUV, so Dawn and Rafe approached the vehicle and studied the evidence that had been retrieved from the car's interior. A man's parka and another backpack, this one filled with women's clothing. In the trunk, a large cooler filled with food and bottles of water, a camping stove, some junk food. And in the glove compartment, the most important find – a man's leather wallet.

  “Willoughby Preisinger,” Rafe confirmed with satisfaction as he came across the driver's license that had been discovered within. The photograph on the license was clearly that of their male victim. Rafe whistled when he came across another photograph that the techs had found tucked in the wallet. “Look at this,” he said, passing the photograph to Dawn, who studied it intently. It showed the victim seated in what was obviously a photo booth, a girl with long, silver-blonde hair at his side. On the back, someone had written: Will and Lee – Manitou Springs – September 20.

  Passing the photograph back, Dawn said, “Okay. Now we know what she looks like, but we still don't know her last name. They didn't find a cell phone, like we were hoping they would, so there's no contact list for us to check.”

  “We'd better get a move on it, get to the address listed, and start the friends and family route.”

  Dawn checked the time. “It'll be close to two by the time we get back to the airport. The Mountpelier Arms isn't that far from Nyetimber. We could reschedule the appointment with Ellanor Torrense and Gwen Mallinder and head directly to Will's address, then circle back later and meet them after we're finished there. The problem is, Will's place is all the way on the other side of town. Going there and then back will take a lot of extra time.”

  Rafe considered. “Let's leave the one o'clock appointment as it is. After we've spent some time on the Torrense case, we can pick up where we left off on this one.”

  Ellanor Torrense answered the door right away when they knocked. After they'd identified themselves, she said, “Come in. Gwen's already here, and she's shown me the letter. I wish I could say that I'm surprised, but I'm not. Once I'd gotten over the initial shock, I realized that I should never have underestimated the evil that horrible woman my brother married was capable of.”

  They moved into the sitting room of the suite. Gwen Mallinder sat on one of the chairs, gripping the arms of the chair so hard that her nails were digging into the soft leather. Since Cullen's aunt took the other chair, Rafe and Dawn seated themselves on the sofa.

  “Ms. Torrense,” Rafe began, “we're sorry for your loss. Gwen tells me that you were quite close to your nephew.”

  Ellanor Torrense nodded. “Cullen was all I had left of my brother. I loved him, even though I was not blind to his faults and failings. For most of those, however, I place the blame on his mother. She was the worst possible influence on him. When he was with me, he was an entirely different boy – at least when he was young. A most pleasant companion, in fact.” Her voice faltered and she cleared her throat. “Excuse me. I swore to myself that I would not lose my composure. I'm sure you have some questions for me. Please proceed.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Torrense. We need to get some information from you, first about your nephew, then about the circumstances of your brother's death. Now, can you tell me when you last spoke to Cullen?”

  Ellanor sighed. “I hadn't seen or spoken to Cullen in over a year. Although we were quite close when he was a boy, everything changed between us as he grew older. I blame that on his drug use. After he was arrested the first time and finished the drug counseling program, I was hopeful that it would make a difference. I contacted Cullen and invited him to spend some time with me in Arizona that summer, thinking that getting him away from his former associates would be good for him. Everything went well at first. Then one day I came home after spending the afternoon with some friends and found a note from Cullen, thanking me for my hospitality and stating that his mother needed him, so he'd had to leave and return to Mountpelier. I was hurt that he hadn't waited to say goodbye in person, but I soon discovered that that was not the worst of it. It turns out that Cullen had used the time while I was out to search my house and find information that made it possible for him to access one of my bank accounts. He withdrew the maximum amount allowed for a twenty-four-hour period. Ten thousand dollars. My beloved nephew stole ten thousand dollars from me.”

  Her voice cracked, and she seemed to find it difficult to go on. “Excuse me. I need to get myself a glass of water.”

  “I'll get it for you,” Gwen said, leaping to her feet and crossing over to the adjoining kitchenette. Taking a bottle of water out of the refrigerator, she proceeded to open cabinets until she found some glasses. She filled one of the glasses with some water and hurried back to Ellanor, who accepted the glass and drank gratefully. “Thank you, my dear. Perhaps you'd like a glass yourself? And what about you two?” she said, indicating Dawn and Rafe. When they both declined, Gwen poured out a glass of water for herself and returned to her seat. Then Ellanor continued her story.

  “I could have pressed charges, of course, but I decided not to. Instead, I came here to Mountpelier. I waited until I knew his mother would not be home, and then I went to the house and confronted Cullen. He broke down and cried, said he was sorry, he didn't know what had come over him, he'd never do it again. I responded that he wouldn't have a chance to do it again, because I was breaking off all contact with him. He begged me to change my mind, give him another chance, but I was adamant. I told him that until I had evidence that he was serious about getting clean and staying clean, I wanted no more to do with him. He promised he would do anything, go into counseling, anything. I responded that receiving drug counseling had not worked the first time, and I was doubtful that going through a similar program would have any better results a second time. I told him that he needed to make some radical changes in his life. Find some sort of residential rehab program that worked, get clean and stay clean. Then he needed to get a job and start paying back the money he stole from me. Only then would I consent to see him again.” She paused for a moment. “It was the right decision, but it doesn't make it any easier. Now he's dead and gone, and I'll never see him again. And if Monieque had anything to do with his death, I'll see to it that she is prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

  “Did you have any suspicions, any at all, before you read the letter that Cullen sent to Gwen?”

  “No, none at all. Of course, I've known for years that Monieque is totally selfish and quite incapable of loving anyone but herself; however, much as I dislike her, until I read the letter, it didn't occur to me that she would go so far as to commit murder. In addition, it always seemed to me that she thought of Cullen as an extension of herself, and it was the farthest thing from my mind that she would ever want to be rid of him. Now, of course, I see how naive it was of me, to think that there were any limits to Monieque's selfishness. As I told you, I was not surprised when I read that letter. Shocked, yes. But surprised? Given what I know about her, I immediately knew she was capable of it. So I was not surprised, no.”

  “What about your brother, Ms. Torrense? What can you tell us about his death?”

  “My brother died while he and Monieque were away visiting some old friends in Monieque's hometown. The cause of his death is listed as severe acute pancreatitis. Since he had suffered from mild pancreatitis for years, and was in the hospital receiving what I believed to be competent treatment at the time, I did not suspect that his death was due to anything but natural causes. No autopsy was performed on my brother's body, which relieved me at the time. However, Gwen and I did a little research on the Internet just before you arrived. It turns out that certain poisons can mimic or even induce severe acute pancreatitis. Given that, I intend to get in touch with my attorneys and begin the necessary steps to have my brother's body exhumed for an autopsy.” Seeing Dawn and Rafe exchange glances, she deman
ded, “Is there some sort of problem?”

  Rafe replied, “Ms. Torrense, in most states it requires a court order to have a body exhumed. If the purpose of the exhumation is merely for reburial in another place, getting such an order is generally not a problem. However, it's usually much more difficult to get a court order if the purpose for exhumation is to have an autopsy done. The court usually demands substantial evidence that such a step is warranted before granting such an order.”

  “Why? He was my brother. After he died, we brought his body back home to be buried in our family plot. I own title to that plot. Some doubt has arisen concerning the true cause of his death. Why would a judge not allow me to exhume my brother for an autopsy?”

  “Ms. Torrense, an autopsy is a very invasive procedure. Most judges hesitate to consent to disturbing the dead in such a way except for very serious reasons. That you own title to the plot is helpful, but without proof of some kind, I doubt that you could get an exhumation order at this point. Remember, all we have right now are our own suspicions and the line in Cullen's letter where he asserts that he thinks his mother may have killed his father. That isn't proof. Speak to your attorney, by all means, but don't be surprised if he or she advises you against acting at this time.”

  “I see. This is most unsettling. So you advise me to wait?”

  “Yes. Give us a few more days, at least. We don't want to tip Monieque off that we're even looking in her direction. If we can dig up some evidence that she was somehow involved in Cullen's murder and in the circumstances leading up to the death of Gwen's father, it will give you more ammunition to use when you petition for an exhumation order. Tell me, can you think of any reason why Monieque would have wanted to do away with your brother? Was there any monetary benefit, for example?”