Savage Rendezvous

by R. T. Wolfe

  Nickie had decided it was time to turn up the heat and call in the old man for questioning. She pulled her Diet Coke from the door of the station's machine. It was hard enough to believe Mrs. Juracek had no idea about the safe, but Jackson? He owned the place long before the deceased came along. Twisting the top of her soda about a quarter turn, she closed her eyes and took in the sound of the sizzle. It was always good for a needed mental boost.

  She headed back to her office, although she wanted to stop by reception and see if Fed Ex had delivered her files. But, the results on Zheng's DNA search were in. She couldn't tackle both that and her mysterious FBI file plus keep herself from taking out her frustrations on the nearest colleague or perp. Knowing your issues was half the battle. She smiled, taking a long swig as she made her way to her office.

  The part-time paper-pusher who used the desk outside of Nickie's office was the perfect kind of colleague for taking out frustrations. On the corner of the desk sat a tabloid. It had been pushed off the edge far enough that Nickie would have to be blind to miss it. Duncan was on the cover in the bottom-right corner. He was lip-locked with that Coral Francesca woman. The actress's hand was plastered to his ass. It was at the fundraiser thing he went to two trips ago in L.A. If little miss nosy wanted Nickie to have a reaction, she should have picked a paparazzi shot that didn't so obviously depict Duncan in a situation he didn't want to be in.

  She sat down to dig through the DNA results as her phone buzzed. Her heart did a small jump when she saw the text was from Duncan. 'landed safely. see you tomorrow evening.'

  She planned to stay at her town house that night. It would give her time to pack.

  The results on Zheng were several pages long. That was a good sign and a bad one. His DNA was a match. It was good for her investigation. And it was just plain sad.

  He was a match to evidence found on three dead girls. Each case was over ten years old. She printed each. Nothing in ten years? He must have become more careful as he got older or else he had others doing his dirty work for him for the past ten years.

  No. Her fingers gripped the sides of her desk. He would want to do it himself.

  Darkness covered her as she adjusted her glasses and looked at the pictures. They were so young. Had she looked like that? How could a man possibly get off on a child? The freaks were always sorry when they were caught. None ever came forward on their own. Every single perp seemed to use the abused-as-a-child excuse. Nickie didn't buy it. She was abused as a child and didn't have a need to hurt children.

  Two of the girls had his hair on them, one his skin beneath her fingernails. Good for you, Nickie thought of the girl who took a piece of him with her on her way down. Each showed signs of a struggle. Defensive wounds on their forearms, several blows to their heads. It wasn't always that way, she remembered. Some died from a single gunshot wound. Those were usually the ones who were getting too old or started showing physical effects from the drugs that were pumped into them. And those were probably the ones difficult to pin on him. No DNA. The ones that went down hard were the ones used as examples to scare the hell out of everyone else.

  Her intercom light flashed, making her jump.

  "Savage," she answered.

  "We've got Mr. Jackson in interrogation one for you."

  "I'll be right there."

  She leaned back in her chair and stretched the bruises that were yellowing but sore as hell and seemed to cover every inch of her body. Good cop or bad cop? She decided to play it by ear.

  They left him alone in the room as Eddy watched on the other side of the one-way glass. He wore an old school, tailored, three-piece suit, and he had unbuttoned the jacket.

  "Good afternoon, Mr. Jackson." She came in and stood across from him at the stainless steel table. "Thank you for coming. Can I offer you some coffee?"

  "No, thank you, Detective. I need to get back to work. What is this about?"

  Nickie sat down gently in the chair at the other side of the table and folded her hands in her lap. "Mrs. Juracek hasn't had a chance to get ahold of you?"

  "No." He looked like he might pop out of his chair. "Did you find the person who did this to William?"

  "I'm afraid not, but we found a gun."

  His eyes darted to hers. "You have the murder weapon?"

  No need to argue over semantics. "The safe in your office."

  "You mean the office at the store?"

  She nodded.

  "That's impossible. A gun couldn't fit into the slot. It's made for bills and sometimes padded envelopes holding exquisite jewels. It can't be opened unless two people are present—"

  "The other safe."

  He looked around like he was searching for something. "You mean the one in the wall?"

  "Sylvia didn't mention that we discovered it?"

  "No, why would she?" His eyes grew large. "That's where you found the murder weapon?"

  She set her folded hands on the table and sat forward in her chair. "We need your help. Tell me why you didn't mention the safe or the gun when we questioned you before?"

  "That old thing?"

  Yep. That old thing.

  "The safe is useless. Even you could pull the door off with your hands."

  She let the chauvinist comment pass. "The gun."

  "Why would there be...? Who would put...?" His eyes turned back to her. "You don't think I...?"

  "This is all routine. You understand. We'd like to get a DNA sample from you. It's a simple cheek swab. And fingerprints, if you would. It can all be done before you leave."

  "I. Will. Not." He thrust his pointed finger toward her as he said each word, then stood and staggered before he caught his balance. "This is why you called me down here? Are you desperate? Accusing innocent people because you can't solve this case?" He limped to the door. "Am I a prisoner? Or can I leave?"

  "You are free to go."

  Mrs. Juracek was next.

  Chapter 21

  Nickie forced herself to ride coach. The seat was dirt cheap. Points for her. It was okay that she couldn't straighten her legs. The trip was under two hours. It didn't matter that her armrest was busted and flipped open every time she touched it.

  But the dude next to her who kept crossing the invisible line separating their air space with his elbow was about to get his ass kicked. This was all Duncan's fault. She didn't know about first class or what it was like to ride in a private plane until he came along. Drive an Audi? Ride first class? She absolutely would not let him make her soft.

  Where was that stewardess with the basket of complimentary snacks?

  She lifted a hand to the one who walked by, her crisp navy blue suit brushing Nickie's shoulder in the cramped space. "Excuse me, miss." Discreetly, Nickie flashed her badge. Maybe she could turn slightly soft. "I have an appointment I need to get to. I'll need to get off first when we land."

  The gal was actually contemplating turning her down?

  "We don't have notifica—"

  "Would you like me to speak with your supervisor?" Nickie interrupted.

  "We generally let first class out—"

  "Fine. After first class." All Duncan's fault.

  She really wanted to do the Mrs. Juracek interrogation herself. Eddy was a fine detective. He would do a good job, but Nickie liked to do things herself. It was part of her doesn't-play-well-with-others. It had always worked for her.

  Today was important. She had questions no one else could answer. It didn't mean he would answer. Her former captain spent his days in one of the most maximum-security federal prisons in the country. Housed interestingly in the college town of Terre Haute, Indiana.

  It was an easy trip. Over and back, she convinced herself. No carryon bags. No overnight. Just her briefcase filled with her tablet and the files she may or may not need to shove in Tanner's face.

  She'd personally gotten him an individual cell. It wasn't exactly solitary confinement. More like a keep-the-inmates-from-using-the-pedophile-as-a-shower-toy individual cell. The
y had an understanding, she and Tanner. She kept him safe, and he told her what she wanted to know.

  Usually.

  She wished she could check on Eddy, but there was no way she was going to pay money for Wi-Fi. Who couldn't go for two hours without using their phone? She might possibly have been convincing herself rather than complaining.

  She'd called the prison ahead of time. The penitentiary would have Tanner ready when she arrived. They'd been more than helpful during her past visits. She despised meeting with Tanner. It was a necessary evil.

  The image of him handcuffed and shackled to a chair that was dead-bolted to the floor helped.

  * * *

  Duncan had spent three days and nights at home working on the impromptu painting of his detective. It put him behind schedule. Cause and effect. Behavior and consequences. It may have been worth it but did little to ease his schedule. To add insult to injury, the painting of her sat unfinished on his easel in Northridge.

  She received the DNA results from Zheng. Her files from the FBI were en route. He should be with her. He had no closure from the unfinished painting, and he should be with his detective.

  Sitting in his hotel suite, he put the finishing touches on his final painting of Sophia Colour. She was a picturesque woman. Perfect nose, high cheekbones. Her hair extensions blended seamlessly, draping her hair in thick, silky, black waves.

  She was an easy subject to paint. She had personality and expression. The painting he worked on was for her agent's office. It wasn't four-foot-by-eight like the ones he'd completed for so many in L.A. She stood facing away from the camera in a bright turquoise, floor-length gown with an open back. She was one of the few actresses in Hollywood he truly enjoyed spending time with.

  She wasn't his detective.

  His detective was checking out a rental car in Indianapolis right about then. He checked the time on his phone, adjusted over time zones and corrected his thoughts. She was probably arriving at the prison. She was going to face the man who held her captive in the back of a truck. Tanner had probably been heading to Seneca Lake in order to attach weights to her ankles and sink her to the bottom at the time he was captured.

  It wasn't that she couldn't take care of herself. She'd scoffed at the idea of taking his plane, mumbling something about what the officers at work would say about it. It was that she shouldn't have to do this alone.

  He checked his phone again for a text letting him know she landed safely. The idea of riding coach made him shiver. If they were going to be a married couple, they would need to come to an agreement regarding sending a message when the other didn't crash into a fiery ball and instead landed safely after a flight on a commercial plane. He'd checked the flight status and saw that it reached Indy. That wasn't the point.

  The view out his window was of smog and rush hour traffic. Not exactly pristine working conditions. He finished with his smallest strokes—size 000 brushes—to create the final, most intricate of details. His goal was for viewers to second-guess whether his work was a portrait or a photograph. After the final touches, he had just enough drying time to deliver the piece to Sophia's agent the following day.

  His phone buzzed, indicating a text. He nearly dropped it as he checked the screen. Except it wasn't Nickie. It was his aunt?

  'check the cover of the daily rich and famous'

  The cover? Ah. A shot from the fundraiser. Good, he thought with the caution of a person experienced with tabloids. Sophia deserved the exposure, even if it was from a shady magazine such as The Daily Rich and Famous. Brie enjoyed the times his picture showed up on the arm of one of his clients. She seemed more than pleased that his clients were no longer love interests. Those times seemed long ago, he thought, as he booted his tablet.

  He poured a fresh cup of coffee as the Internet connected. His detective was far from rich or famous. His memory brushed a quick hint of her lavender scent through his mind. He smiled and decided he was going to give her hell for not letting him know she'd landed safely.

  Plugging The Daily Rich and Famous into the search engine, he came up with the one of Johnny and Bebe Lyons. Apparently, they publically announced an open marriage and were looking for couples with similar beliefs. Duncan knew the couple well enough to know nothing could be further from the truth.

  His coffee tipped and ran across the desk in a steady stream to the floor. He couldn't bring himself to reach for a napkin with his eyes stuck on the screen. He remembered the photographer who took the picture. He just didn't remember it this way. No. No, no, no.

  He stood and clutched his cell. Dialing Nickie's number, he grabbed a handful of hair as he stared at the picture of him and Coral Francesca embraced in a kiss with her hand on his backside. The caption read, 'Oscar award-winning Coral Francesca reminisces with artist ex Duncan Reed.'

  "Nickie. Answer," he yelled as he darted his eyes around the room. Hanging up, he thumbed through his contacts until he found his pilot's number.

  As he held the phone between his ear and shoulder, he packed his things.

  "Andrew, this is Duncan. How fast can we get airborne?"

  "Today, sir?"

  "Yes. Tell me you can make it work."

  "The little lady will be glad to have me home early, sir. I'll make the arrangements and contact you when I have an estimate on our departure clearance."

  His pilot was a good man. Duncan would compensate him accordingly for the last-minute change.

  His next call was to Sophia's agent. "Good day, Duncan." He must have read his caller ID. "You sound rushed. You're going to have the painting here, yes? I have people coming."

  "Yes, yes, it will be ready, but it needs drying time, and I have to get home. I've booked my hotel room for another night. You'll have to come and pick it up here."

  "Pick it up? I'm busy. Why can't you bring it by on your way?"

  "Alex, I have an emergency. It needs to dry. I'm leaving."

  * * *

  The prison guard escort was waiting for Nickie after the first check-in and search. "You'll need to leave your personal belongings here, Detective. You understand."

  She did understand and unfortunately was getting accustomed to the routine. "Are you the one taking me back?"

  "Yes, I am."

  She emptied her pockets and left her briefcase, taking only her manila file folder with her. "Do you need to look through this?" she asked, holding out the file.

  The guard shook his head. No file search? This was new. She must be getting a good rep around here.

  "I need to give you a heads up, Detective. Some of the guards don't like that Tanner has his own cell."

  Then again, maybe not. "I get that. He's still a key witness and a source to an ongoing investigation." She wouldn't mention that she only learned the investigation was ongoing a few days ago. "I hope you understand."

  "Ain't no skin off my back."

  They put Tanner in one of the rooms they'd met in before. He looked thinner each time she saw him. But his color was still good and his face and arms were clear of the defensive wounds and abrasions from the time he had been placed with a roommate and ate with the rest of the prisoners.

  He sat in a metal chair at a metal desk. His hands were free of cuffs, which told her he'd been keeping his nose clean.

  "No greeting, Captain?" She turned her chair backward and slung her leg over the top. "I'm hurt."

  He didn't look like this break in his routine was a welcomed distraction.

  "How's life, Tanner? Are you getting rehabilitated and all that?"

  "I'm in for life, no chance for parole. I don't need to rehabilitate."

  "You have a point. What about the cell, then? Are you all cozy? I see you haven't had anyone kick your ass lately. Or worse." She smiled. It couldn't be helped.

  He obviously wasn't interested in their usual bantering. And here she'd flown all the way out. Riding coach.

  "You told me Zheng was beyond you. I want to know how far beyond you."

  "I don't l
ike to be manipulated."

  "Says the man who manipulated children for nearly thirty years. How far?"

  "I heard you took in Moody." He shook his head like he was impressed.

  "Moody and each and every one of the girls," she corrected.

  He leaned forward like a kid who couldn't wait to tell a secret. The guard stepped forward at his proximity but Tanner didn't back off. He looked back and forth from one of her eyes to the other. His smile sent a chill down her spine. "There's always more where they came from." He lifted his brows up and down once.

  There was more to what he just said. She could taste it in the damp air. Of course, there were more girls. Did he mean more girls to abduct? Or was he referring to the mind boggling number of children that were sold into sex trafficking every day? It was with great force that she made her lips ask the question she somehow, somewhere thought she already knew the answer to.

  It came out in a whisper... a choked whisper. "Where?"

  He leaned away from her and slung his arm on the back of his chair. He hadn't looked so smug since his days at the station. Reflexively, her heart started beating like it was trying to get out of her chest. She knew this answer, but she couldn't let it come to fruition in her mind.

  Shrugging, he stuck a finger in his mouth and picked at his teeth. "Arkansas, Washington State. Everywhere, Nick."

  Zheng wasn't there the night they took down the operation at Moody's white house. Of course. In an obvious gesture her shoulders fell. She didn't care that it brought pleasure to Tanner. It was difficult to make her dry lips move. "Are you telling me Zheng has more groups of girls?" she croaked. The look on her face was probably that of a little girl. A little girl who had been beaten until all of her will was gone.

  "You're kinda slow, Nick." His laugh was deep and guttural. "You just getting that now?"