Charity Kills (A David Storm Mystery)

by Jon Bridgewater

  __________________________

  Peggy’s Notes: My friend Elaine has been found dead. Her body found across the street from the Dome inside an old car. My only friend from Tejas... We just had lunch she giggly about the fun she was about to have at Rodeo. I told her I was worried, she had fallen in with some not so nice people. Saw her with stinking big wheels that like younger women and are all married. They found body Sunday a.m. Cops told me someone had cut her throat. She was naked and they were sure she had been abused. Her funeral was in town, she didn’t have any family left. The funeral was simple not too many there, some I knew from Tejas... Strangers too, two men and two women...must have worked for Tejas after I left. The Tejas people told me the company paid for funeral since she had no family. Elaine, I will miss you my friend.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Show Must Go On

  Monday morning Detective Storm was waiting in the dazzling reception area of the Show. Today the coming and going of numerous people made the place appear even busier than it had been yesterday. People scurried around everywhere; the chatter of workers on cell phones and radios filled the hallways; serving people carried trays of food; people pushed carts loaded with signs and ladders. All were finishing up the last minute details. Some people whizzed by on electric scooters that carried them from one end of the monster building to other. To Storm it all looked like total confusion, but he was sure as big as this endeavor was, it all made sense to someone.

  Storm had come back to see Dakota Taylor and secure the video tapes from the stadium and the center from the night of the murder. He hoped the videos might show Leslie going or coming with someone, possibly a killer, or at least the last person to see her alive. At this point he needed a lead, any lead, somebody who had seen the girl, who had talked to her—someone who might have seen her killer.

  Dakota arrived in the reception area, chatted a minute with the receptionist, and walked directly to Storm. With her hand extended, she said, “Good morning, Detective Storm, what can I do for you today?”

  Storm took her hand giving one firm shake, thinking it was a shame this very attractive woman had ice water running in her veins. This morning she seemed even more aloof than she had on Sunday.

  “Ms. Taylor, I would like to pick up the security camera videos from say, 8:00 PM the night before the girl was found to 4:00 AM Sunday morning.”

  “Detective, you will have to be more specific than that, you understand we have security cameras mounted everywhere.”

  Storm thought a minute. “OK, was this building open to the public Saturday night?”

  “No, only employees of the Livestock Show and Rodeo or the NFL would have been able to get in here.”

  “Nobody else? How about Show officers and their guests?”

  “Oh, yes, they would have been allowed in to visit the VIP Room.”

  “Then I would like those, as well as those from the stadium,” Storm added, as if he had just thought of it.

  “The stadium videos don’t fall under our jurisdiction. You will have to request them from the appropriate person in the stadium offices.”

  “Would you know who that might be?” Storm’s patience with her stonewalling was already running thin.

  “Yes, I believe your police Sergeant Hebert can help you with that.”

  That raised the hackles on Storm’s neck. Why would Hebert have access to the security cameras of the stadium and why hadn’t he said anything about them yesterday? What the hell was the old fart up to?

  Ms. Taylor then sent Storm to see Jeff Osborn, the head of security for the Center, to retrieve the videos for the times he’d requested. Osborn had a video of the main west entry and one of the escalators going to the second floor, but when asked about the VIP Room he stuttered, hemmed, hawed, and sheepishly said no, they didn’t use surveillance in those rooms, but he gave no explanation as to why. He took Storm’s card and said if he found anything else he thought would help he would get in touch with him.

  As Storm left the office, he saw Jeff Osborn immediately reach for his phone and place a call. He thought, I’ll just hang around to hear what’s so important. Storm ducked around a support beam and listened to Osborn’s side of the conversation.

  “Osborn here.... Yes, he just left....”

  “No, he has no idea. Don’t worry, the scrubbing was good, it would take a pro to find where I changed it.” That said, Storm heard Osborn hang up the phone after he had passed the word to whoever was on the end.

  Storm got on the elevator, not satisfied with the way things had just gone, pretty sure the man had not been totally truthful with him, but hoping he would get luckier and the girl would show up on the stadium video disk somewhere. He headed off to see Hebert and found him in an office just off the north gate of the stadium, next to the workout area for the Houston professional football team. Storm couldn’t help whistling to himself at how state of the art the workout area was. He had only seen rooms like this one on TV. It was outfitted with all the latest equipment. Given the problems the new team had had in their first season, it was ironic that the place was empty. It seemed to Storm somebody ought to be in there working with the offensive and defensive line since God knows neither could block or tackle. But I’m not here to ruminate about the failings of the team, he reminded himself. I need to talk to Hebert.

  As he reached Hebert’s office, he got another smartass Hebert jibe. “Did you find the killer yet, Desk Boy”?

  “Nope, but closing in on him. You sure you don’t know him?”

  “What the hell do you mean?” From the sharp defensiveness in Hebert’s tone, Storm knew he had hit a nerve. God, I love the payback...

  “You watched the videos from that night yet, Hebert?”

  “Why?” Hebert squirmed in his seat. Storm smiled, thinking, he must be wondering if he’s being accused being accused of something. Good. Let ‘im squirm.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were in charge of security in here?”

  “You didn’t ask,” Hebert smirked, trying to put Storm back in his place.

  “Well, I am now, and I need all the videos from the ten hours before the girl was found to two hours after.” Catching a breath, he continued to push Hebert. “What did you see on the videos?” Sometimes the direct way was the best way, Storm had learned in many sessions interrogating suspects and witnesses over the years. So he acted as if he already knew the answer, a tactic that often caused a reaction from the one being questioned, and that reaction often led down the path to the truth.

  The way Hebert blew Storm off was almost as good as a direct answer: “It will take a couple of hours to get them for you. We are pretty busy around here with the start of the Show and I have to break someone away from other duties to make you a copy,” countered Hebert.

  Storm shot Hebert a look that said, “I know you are lying to me. You’ve seen them.” But Storm knew, and he figured Hebert knew, he couldn’t prove that. “I want the videos from every entrance used by anyone from staff to Show members that night. Have one of your ‘boys’ bring them downtown to me.”

  That nagging feeling in the back of Storm’s head began to crawl down his neck. He was more and more sure that everyone out here was lying or covering up something and that everyone seemed to know more than he did at this point in time. He had to get back to Russell to see if he and Grady had continued digging around at the station and found anything more.

  * * * *

  Russell and Grady had met up early that morning to go over more tapes and take notes, recording anything they could find about other girls who had been found dead under suspicious circumstances, throats cut and dumped anywhere. They were being as surreptitious as possible so as not to attract attention from the overeager-looking-for-a-big-break types. They for sure didn’t want Chu or her cameraman to find out what they were doing. If the chihuahua with great legs found out, their cover would be blown and anyone who might know something would most definitely go underground, ending all chances
of untainted information. They wanted to help Storm solve this case. If they helped him they would be helping themselves; this could be the coups de grace for two veterans. Old dogs can find a bone occasionally and this bone could be a career maker.

  * * * *

  When Storm arrived at the TV station he made his way back to Russell’s small office which, as always, was chockablock with papers, computers, and one large screen TV. Grady and Russell were huddled together over his desk watching a much smaller TV screen with a built-in disk player.

  Russell looked up. “Hey, Colombo, what did you find out at the show this morning?”

  Storm replied, “Got the security disk from the Center and waiting for more from the stadium. Guess who I had to see to get those?”

  Grady looked at Russell, raised his eyebrow, and Russell just shrugged. “Who?”

  “Hebert.”

  “Police Sergeant ‘I am a coonass which means I am better than your ass’ Hebert?” Russell snorted. He had trouble with Hebert years ago as a reporter and since then the man’s inability to get along with news outlets had grown into legend.

  “Yep.”

  “What the hell is he doing with security videos from the stadium?” asked Russell.

  “He is in charge of security out there.”

  “Isn’t he still on the city payroll?”

  “Yep, but with all the events at the stadium and center, he is assigned there. He even has an office near the team workout center.”

  “Wonder if he gets two checks?” wondered Russell, just shaking his head.

  “Who knows,” shrugged Storm, “but that old fart knows more than he’s tellin.’”

  “Think he already looked at the disks?”

  “Oh, yeah, I am sure of it, but he wouldn’t admit it. He said he didn’t have them and would have to get them to me. So I told him to send one of his ‘boys’ to my office with the copies. God, I loved digging him with the word ‘boys,’ too,” Storm chuckled to himself, as Russell just grinned.

  Looking at both of them, Storm asked, “How you two doing? Find anything new?”

  “Yes, actually we did,” Grady grinned. “Looks like there have been a few suspicious deaths of young women around the Dome grounds and it looks like it’s been going on for the past seven years.”

  “Seven years?” whistled Storm. “All during the Show?”

  “Yep. All during the barbecue or while the Show was in full swing.”

  “What else?”

  “Six young women, plus your new one, all in their twenties, all brunettes, all from small towns, all found naked with their throats slashed.”

  “This is getting hinky. Why hasn’t this been on someone’s radar screen before? Were any of them solved?”

  “Not that we can find. Not even a mention of a suspect or if the cases were ever solved.”

  Russell pulled out a list of names and pictures of the six girls. “All young, all pretty, and all dead,” he commented. “All killed the same way, all to add to the Leslie Phillips case. We’re not any closer to this one, are we? All we’ve done is add more unsolveds to the list.”

  “Looks that way. We got one hell of mystery going on here, fellas, don’t we?” Storm said afraid to say what he really thought. These could all be the handiwork of a serial murderer, and someone—or lots of someones—were complicit in covering it up.

  “Look, guys, keep digging but don’t let it get out, keep it under wraps, okay?”

  “Don’t worry, Grady and I have lots more traps to run and dirt to dig, but we’re playing this close to the vest. Chu and her bunch of ankle biters won’t get their hooks into this ‘til we break it and the bad guys get caught.”

  Grady laughed. “It’s nice to be doing something again and doing it with you guys makes it even better,” he said. “I’m not letting this one get out.”

  “Can I have a copy of that list?” asked Storm, as he prepared to leave.

  “Sure. What you planning on doing with it?”

  “Going back to see Alisha, see if she has anything more on this girl and see if she can pull any files on the other girls without anyone finding out what she is doing.”

  “Oh, yeah, the assistant M.E. Last time I saw her I asked her, ‘How you like your new boss?’ At which time I got a snide sneer and a kiss-my-ass smile. She knew that I knew M.E. Roberts is another blithering idiot political appointee. What more could she say?”

  * * * *

  Back at the Show offices, another meeting was taking place. Dakota Taylor and Sergeant Hebert were in Leon Powers’ office and they had Vern Nagel on the speakerphone. Powers just stared across his desk at Dakota and Hebert and he didn’t have a happy look on his face. Hebert knew that this was no time for him or Dakota to hide anything or polish the apple. Powers was serious and wanted to know what was going on. “What does he know?” referring to Detective Storm.

  Dakota responded, “Nothing yet, or at least he doesn’t seem to. He came in and asked for the video disk from security. All we had to give him was the main entrance and escalator going to the second floor. Jeff gave him copies and he left and went to see Sergeant Hebert for the stadium videos.”

  Powers turned to Hebert. “Well?” His lips puckered up in a way that said without words, “This is not the time to do anything but lay out the all the facts as they are known at this time. So get on with it.”

  “He came to see me, told me what he needed, and I told him I would have to get them. He said to have one of my people deliver them to him downtown.” Hebert didn’t say anything about the animosity between him and the Desk Boy, and he sure didn’t want to mess this gravy train up. He had been given the opportunity to take over this plum from his predecessors, and the money he made here equaled his police salary for a year. The added income was his retirement fund and nobody was going to screw that up. Nobody. Most of the money was unreported and buried tin cans full of the cash filled his back yard. Not even Powers knew about the under the table money he got for turning a blind eye to certain goings-on and directing his men and the one lone woman under him to do the same.

  “Have you seen them? Did you see anything that could prove to be embarrassing a liability to the Show?” Powers demanded, looking directly at Hebert to see if he twitched.

  “Yes, sir. I watched them all once closely,” replied Hebert. “I didn’t see anyone take her out of the stadium.”

  “Did you see her go in then?”

  “Yes.” Hebert knew the next question and readied himself to answer it.

  “Who with?”

  “Joe Dresden,” Hebert said in a hushed voice, as if someone might overhear him.

  Every eye in the room rolled, and Vern just gave out a loud sigh on the other end of the phone. Hebert and everyone else in the room knew Joe Dresden. He was a ne’er-do-well who had married “up” and lived like he’d earned every bit of it. His wife, the former Ellen Hitchcock, now Ellen Dresden, was one of the richest women in Houston and from a family that built a solid business from the ground up. Ellen had taken over the helm of her father’s business when he passed. Joe was her second husband and had worked for her as a sales associate when they met. He moved up to president of the company when she became the CEO as the successor to her father. The company was the biggest distributor in the Southwest for a locally owned air handling supplier. The company had contracts with everyone in Houston, mostly because of her father’s business savvy and later due to Ellen’s own shrewdness in getting the business classified as “minority owned” when she took over.

  Ellen had been a member of the Livestock Show for a number of years and when she started dating Joe, he became a fixture in the VIP clubs and restaurants. Everyone knew about Joe and Ellen. Ellen was homelier than a mud fence, obnoxious, pushy, and generally not a nice person, but she put a lot of money into the Show, so everyone kissed her ass. After they married, Joe became the leader of the kissers. Joe had always been a philanderer and Ellen knew it, but as long as she didn’t get hit in the face
with any of his dalliances she turned a blind eye. People laughed and whispered behind their backs, but nobody overtly would utter a word. Her money was too important to piss her off, so they just let Joe be and let him act as if he was one of them.

  “OK, so she went in with Joe Dresden. What exactly did you see, Sergeant?”

  “About 11:00 PM on the night of the murder I saw Joe and the girl go up the elevator, headed, I assume, to the VIP club on the ninth floor. They were with a group of people, all directors and above, and a bunch of other women.”

  “Did you watch the entire tape?” interrupted Powers.

  “Not a tape anymore,” Dakota officiously threw in, “it’s a disk now.”

  Looking as if he was trying not to show his frustration, Powers ignored her. “OK, did you watch this disk?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, go on with the story then.”

  “Nothing more to tell. I saw Joe and a couple of the other men leave about an hour later but I never saw the girl leave.”

  “Nothing at all, not hide nor hair of the girl again anywhere on the disk?” Powers growled.

  “No, sir.”

  “Right. So how did she end up in a garbage dumpster?”

  “I don’t know,” answered Hebert, deciding brevity was best in this situation.

  “Dakota, have you seen this disk?” asked Powers

  “No, sir,” Dakota said, shaking her head.

  “OK, I want you to watch it with the sergeant and I want you both to double check it to see if there’s anything—anything at all, that might embarrass the Show.”