She frowns slightly at this and looks down at the toes of her boots. When she raises her eyes to me she says, “Alright, I’ll plan to be there. I’ll also let you know how things go with the case.”
“Thank you. Remember, earlier reporting is better.”
She nods and leaves my office with Varg following behind.
How has she grown into such a beautiful woman with such a good heart? And to top that off, she is my most tenacious Inspector, solving cases with her gift, her passion, and her considerable intuition. Today scared the living daylights out of me, though. I need to think about hiring a partner for her. An image rises in my mind of a man riding around with her in a car. My gut aches at the thought, but it would be safer for her.
A few moments later I find myself still staring at the door that she walked through. I shake myself and pick up my cell phone, dialing up voicemail. I hit replay on my latest message. Dragomira’s unmistakable voice says, “Jack, I met the Illustrissima. Please stop by, for we have much to discuss.”
I frown and play it again.
“I met the Illustrissima.” And again and again and again. “Illustrissima. Illustrissima. Illustrissima.” I slam my hand down on my desk. She must be mistaken.
Chapter 28
Fly Trap
Bluebell Kildare: May 29, 2022, Red Ages
Gambino pulls to the curb on Agnes’ street in his marked car, and Varg and I hop out of mine. Gambino gives Varg a look and raises his eyebrows at me. I nod back at Gambino to confirm that he’s with me. Gambino tilts an amused smile that miffs me more than just a little. Varg deserves considerable respect in my humble opinion, and Gambino is not, as of yet, giving it to him. Humph! Gambino will learn soon enough.
Agnes lives in a blue, one-story cottage trimmed with white shutters and yellow daylilies. It’s humble but pleasant and well-cared-for. Gambino rings the bell, and we wait anxiously to see who appears.
Agnes opens the house door but leaves the screen door conspicuously intact. She looks to be in her fifties with light brown, wispy hair flying about her shoulders. As soon as she sees Gambino, she frowns. “I thought I answered all your questions already.”
Gambino smiles amicably, gesturing toward me. “This is Inspector Kildare with the Supernatural Investigation Bureau. I’m sorry to bother you again, but we have a few more questions.”
Agnes squints her eyes and crosses her arms under her ample bosom, nodding reluctantly. “Okay, I guess, but you can’t come in right now. My house is a mess. What do you want to know, anyway?”
Gambino smoothes his suit lapel as he asks, “Is your brother Paul home?”
Agnes looks disgusted. “No. He’s probably at the damn pub, getting sloshed again.” She tilts her head as though thinking, and then asks curiously, “Why? Do you think he had anything to do with it?”
Gambino’s brow furrows and he glances down at his shoes. “We can’t really answer that question. Right now we’re just gathering information. The pub you mentioned, is that the Cock and Bull Tap?”
Agnes shifts on her feet and answers with a mixture of shame and resignation. “Yes. That’s where he always is.”
Gambino asks the crucial question. “Do you know where Paul was on May 26?”
“No,” she says with a huff. “Remember I was visiting my parents in Hickory Creek? I’ve not got him in my pocket, have I? He was probably doing what he always does: hanging out at that pub or sleeping it off.”
Gambino seems to think he’s gotten all he can and moves to leave with a “Thanks, Ms. Zadwadski.”
I quickly step up to the screen door to ask a few questions in my own way. ”Is that your pretty blue Sunray in the driveway?”
Agnes pushes through the screen door to look where I’m pointing. The sun shines down lighting up the brightly patterned apron tied about her waist. She gives her car a loving glance and answers with pride, “Yes, it is.”
I walk to the driveway and circle the car as I admire it. “It is a beautiful car.” I trail my fingers down the hood. “I’ve heard it’s very comfortable and that it’s great with the top down.”
Agnes steps out further toward the car and smiles at that. “I always wanted a convertible. I saved up for years to buy it.”
“Well,” I say, “I think it was worth the wait.”
She nods at this, and her lips soften a little out of their pinched grimness. Seeing this, I ask, “Where’s the Shockwave? I drive past this way to work, and usually see it in the mornings. It’s hard to miss a classic like that.”
Agnes frowns, “That was my father’s car. It’s a beauty, alright, but not my style. Paul had a fender bender and is having it repaired right now.”
I stand back to admire the car in full. “So Paul usually drives the Shockwave?”
“Yes. It’s too awkward for me with that big front seat. And besides, it’s that awful green color.” She wrinkles her nose at that.
I laugh, thinking back to my conversation with Rubalia. “I can understand that. Well, thank you so much for your time. I’m sorry we had to bother you again.”
Agnes’ thin smile stretches across her face. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” Then a sad and worried look passes over her face. “I sure hope Paul wasn’t involved in anything bad.” Then she walks quietly back in the house.
Gambino looks at me curiously. “You have some skills, Inspector.”
“I have some special talents that help me out.” I look Gambino in the eyes with what I hope is an earnest expression. “I believe her that Paul isn’t here. I can tell when someone lies, but if you need me to, I can circle the house looking for another soul.”
Gambino gives a little shake of his head. “That won’t be necessary.”
“What’s interesting is that she’s apparently completely unaware that her brother has a DUI. She answered that question so easily and with no fear at all. I take it that when you questioned her, you didn’t give her any details. She feels honest about everything she said. She truly doesn’t view her brother as a bad man, just a pathetic one. She’s ashamed of his behavior, but she loves him and feels sorry for him.”
Gambino looks to the side with faraway eyes. “Most of us have someone like that in the family.”
I wonder what his family is like. I’ve never asked him, and suddenly I feel quite self-centered. For now, though, I let that comment slide, as there is business to get to.
“Back to the Cock and Bull Tap then?”
Gambino nods firmly. “Yes. I’ll meet you there.”
A few minutes later, when I arrive at the Cock and Bull Tap, I look at my watch and see that it is approximately 11:06 a.m. Ha! “Approximately!” I chuckle thinking back to Officer Warren.
Gambino and I push through the heavy doors of the Cock and Bull Tap at the same time, and they swing closed heavily behind us. Light streams through the leaded windows, creating a soft glow on the warm wood furniture filling the room. The lunch crowd has yet to arrive, so the place stands practically empty. We scope out the occupants and see a uniformed man sitting by himself at one of the long trestle tables. Two more men sit apart from each other at the bar with their backs to us. One seems further in his cup than the other if the way he uses the bar to prop himself up is any indication. A soft blues melody plays over the speakers, filling the air with soulful emotion.
The bartender sees Gambino and I and lifts up his hand in greeting. One of the men on the bar stools notices and spares us a glance. His eyes widen into twin round, bloodshot globes when he sees us. With a yelp and a spryness I wouldn’t have credited him with, he jumps off his stool and runs out the side exit.
The bartender yells after him, “Hey! Your bill!” At the same time, Gambino and I take off after him with our guns pulled. Damn it! I should have known better than to leave that exit uncovered.
We exit the building and spot him across the street. I start to run after him, but Gambino jerks me back, and I skid to a halt, watching as the first of several cars whizze
s past me just inches away. How stupid could I be? Varg comes bounding around the corner of the bar, apparently having heard our exit and wanting to join in on the fun. When the cars finally pass, we hightail it across the street, eager to catch our suspect.
Paul had entered the alley across the street, but now he’s nowhere to be seen. Blast it! We keep pounding down the gravel alleyway as fast as we can, hoping for a glimpse of him hiding on either side. Even so, it only takes a second for Varg to race ahead of us at top speed. We look left and right, but the buildings are packed as tight as sardines, leaving no place to veer off. Still, we see no sign of him. I am more than fed up with disappearing men!
Gambino pulls ahead of me with his longer legs, but when I make it about halfway down the alley, I come up to Varg, who is issuing a low and dangerous growl toward the base of a dumpster. I open up my sixth sense and confirm there is a soul inside. Gambino pauses when he realizes he’s running alone and starts retracing his steps toward us. I catch his gaze and nod at Varg and the dumpster. Gambino nods back in understanding.
I point my gun toward the lid of the dumpster, and Gambino kicks it, yelling, “This is the Crimson Hollow Police! Put your hands in the air and come out slowly.”
We stand there patiently for a moment and nothing happens. I nod again to assure Gambino. He gives it another try, this time allowing more force and rage in his voice. “We know you’re in there. Come out with your hands up. Now!”
Finally, two shaky hands poke out and begin to raise the dumpster’s lid. Gambino flips the lid back, exposing Paul’s ruddy head. Slowly he stands, and his stained, t-shirt-clad chest comes into view above the dumpster rim.
Gambino asks, “Paul, now why did you run?”
Paul speaks in a piteously slurred and whiny voice that makes me wince. “I was scared.”
You don’t need a gift to see this is true with all the shaking he’s doing. On second thought, a good part of that could be the alcoholism talking.
Gambino trains his gun on Paul and orders firmly, “Climb on out of there. Don’t make any fast moves.”
Paul grabs the side of the dumpster and tries to stand on a stack of garbage bags to get leverage, but he slips back, falling on his rump in the gross muck.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Gambino swears. Thrusting his gun in his holster, he leans over to grab Paul’s arms, pulling him out effortlessly.
Paul swings his legs over the edge, and instead of catching himself, he slops to the ground like a sack of pudding. I can see and smell that he’s wet himself. Yep, a good portion of that shaking is real fear, not just alcoholism.
Gambino shakes his head at the pathetic ruin of a man. He pulls his gun again and says, “Lie flat on the ground, Paul, face down, and put your arms behind your back.”
Paul is blubbering now and still trembling, but he lies down and obediently puts his hands behind his back. I honestly don’t think he has any gumption left in him. The fact that he even ran in the first place is surprising. Gambino quickly slaps some cuffs on him and reads him his rights.
As we walk a very stinky Paul back to Gambino’s squad car, Gambino asks “Paul, where is your Shockwave?”
Paul slurs, “M’fred Robby’s houz.”
Gambino gathers the rest of the details as best he can and calls on his radio to have the car impounded for evidence.
When Gambino finally closes the car door on Paul, he turns to me. “Well, I’m glad we were able to wrap this up, and your wolf sure came in handy.” I puff a little at his praise of Varg, but I see that Gambino’s feeling some premature success.
“Gambino, Paul isn’t the man who grabbed me behind my apartment. He isn’t tall enough. He couldn’t have aimed as well as the man who shot at me behind the Cock and Bull Tap. Look at his hands shake! Nor does he have the skills to break into your evidence locker. He’s not Gifted.”
Gambino scowls as he recognizes the truth.
I continue, “I think he’s only a part of the picture. I have a little leg work to do while you process him and he sobers up. How about I stop by the precinct later on to see how questioning is going?”
Gambino looks a good deal less happy than he did a minute ago, but his shoulders are still strong, and he looks determined to soldier on. “Sure thing.”
I head back to the Cock and Bull Tap and approach my friend Steve Jamison again. I extend my hand for a shake, and Steve accepts it warmly. With a nod toward the door he inquires, “You got him?”
“Yeah, we got him.”
Steve pulls his hand back and whistles softly while his eyes rest lightly on me. “That sure was hot to watch.”
His honest appreciation for my physique is clear in his eyes but has no effect on me. I brush it off and lean against the bar. “So, was that the same man who wore the red cloak on the day I came in here?”
The bartender says, “No, Ma’am! That’s Paul. He’s one of our usual barflies. He’s here all the time. The guy in the red cloak had never been here before and hasn’t showed up since.”
I look at him closely, squinting my eyes, giving him warning to be square with me. “Are you sure?”
Steve purses his lips. “I am abso-fucking-lutely sure.”
I sigh. “That’s what I thought. Thanks, Steve.”
I head out, but as I approach the door, I throw over my shoulder, “Keep remembering his face. I might be back!”
Chapter 29
Empathetic Soul
Bluebell Kildare: May 29, 2022, Red Ages
I pull my car into the visitor section of the Crimson Hollow Fire Department. No sooner do Varg and I stroll through the administration door than a smoking hot fireman walking in my direction asks, “Can I help you?”
If I were another woman, I would surely answer that with, “I’m on fire. Can you lend me your hose?” However, since I am not another woman, I pull out my badge and say, “I’m Inspector Kildare here to see Chief Gerald Mack.” I sure wish I were another woman sometimes.
The fireman points down the hall. “Third door on the right.”
Varg and I continue down the hall and pass two more handsome and well-built guys. This place is just crying for a fireman calendar! Chief Mack sure keeps them in shape.
I restrain myself with all my virginal dignity and instead knock calmly on the door that reads “Chief Gerald Mack” on the outside.
He calls out with a deep, smooth voice, “Come on in.”
I open the door and the first thing I see is a beautiful Dalmatian sitting on a plaid dog bed under the window. The Dalmatian jumps up and starts doing the doggy happy dance around Varg. Varg stands at my side and does a little sniffing but remains aloof and dignified. I think he’s playing hard to get. I open the door further and see a wide oak desk with an older gentleman sitting behind it. His lanky form is obvious even as he sits in a casual and relaxed position.
He smiles at me gently and gestures at the chair opposite his desk. “Make yourself at home.”
I step in and sit down at his desk. Varg parks himself by my side, and the Dalmatian lies at Varg’s feet, rolling over to show her belly.
“Hello, Chief Mack. I’m Inspector Kildare of the Supernatural Homicide Investigation Unit.”
Chief Mack inclines his head slightly with a smile still on his lips.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Chief Mack inclines his head slightly more and says, “Sure.”
So far Chief Mack has hardly moved, his face has been nothing but kind, and his voice is smooth and rich as spiced rum. I am getting a feeling about Chief Mack, and it’s a good one so far. He has medium brown skin with curly black hair that is cut close and graying at the temples. The age spots that speckle his face are all but eclipsed by the intelligence shining out of his observing eyes.
“I understand you lead the committee that oversees the Sun Flare Celebration Fireworks and Magic Show.”
Mack nods at this and watches me as I continue.
“I understand there was
a talent interview on Phantom Island. You were interviewing volunteers.”
Mack nods at this as well.
Clearly Mack is not going to chat it up, so I’d better ask direct questions. “Did you do the interviews?”
Mack says in his slow as molasses cadence, “Well, I did the early interviews, but I got called out on a big fire in the Warehouse District about midway through. The rest of the committee finished.”
I pull out a photo of Jason, his missing person’s photo which looks like a school photo of him, not an autopsy photo. I lay it on the desk and push it toward Chief Mack. “Was this boy at the interview?”
Mack looks at the photo carefully and then looks up at me with a troubled look. “Sure was.”
“What can you tell me about this boy?”
Chief Mack closes his eyes for a moment as though he’s pulling a picture of the boy up in his mind, then says, “The boy was real talented. He was selected for sure. But he never showed up to the practice sessions.”
I look closely at Chief Mack and say, “Jason was kidnapped. Your interview was the last anyone saw of him before he disappeared. He was found murdered twenty-eight days later.”
A look of sadness passes over Chief Mack’s face in concert with the feelings coming from inside him. Mack is a man full of great empathy for the human race. I can feel that. That must be why he chose this job. Mack looks at me past his furrowed eyebrows and says slowly, “I’m real sorry to hear that. Truly, I am.”
He is sorry. Mack is feeling pain for the boy and telegraphing it. I feel it swell up inside of me and pinch my chest tight.
“Did you see Jason leave with anyone?”
Mack looks thoughtful as he rubs his chest as though it feels too tight. “No, Ma’am. He was still there when I left. The selected candidates were held till after the interviews so we could give them the rundown.”
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