Fatal Intuition

by Makenzi Fisk

  Allie shook her head. “Erin’s in the field.”

  “I haven’t seen you this upset since you came back from Winnipeg.” Gina tilted her head. “Is that what this is about? Has something happened?”

  “Lily’s escaped. She’s coming.”

  “Holy hell! So, that’s where your hot girlfriend is. I wondered what happened to her graduation. I thought maybe she had to do some remedial…” She waggled her hand.

  “Erin and her training agents tracked Lily west, but they lost her. I think that’s because she’s not going west. She’s coming here.”

  “That’s bad news. Let’s hope they catch her quick.” Gina rubbed a red mark on her throat. “Derek’s going to have a total meltdown when he finds out.”

  A vision of large hands around Gina’s neck surfaced in Allie’s mind, the man bending double and cupping his crotch. “Did you tell Chris what Derek did to you today?”

  “How can you know that?” Gina frowned. “I wish you’d called me earlier and given me a little heads up on that.”

  “I didn’t know it until now. I looked at that display and imagined the two of you struggling in front of it.”

  Gina straightened a package on the shelf. “Yup, you guessed it. This is where it happened. Don’t tell Chris. Derek didn’t mean it, and believe me, he’s sorry. He’ll be crying for days, every time he pees.” She shrugged at Allie. “You see all this, and you don’t realize when you’re channeling a beer guzzling, burger-eating carnivore?”

  “Channeling? I’m not—”

  “Girl, you can say you’re a good guesser, or you have intuition, or whatever works for your denial system, but my gypsy ancestors called it being psychic. You’re psychic.”

  “No. I’m … ” Allie sighed. “I have a weird ability. I don’t want a label. I can’t do party tricks. I can’t solve crimes. I can’t even get it to work when I want.”

  “Don’t worry, Chris didn’t need you to tell him that there weren’t enough grounds to arrest Derek, and frankly I’m not convinced he’s the one who murdered that guy. I’ve seen him at his best and worst. He’s a pathetic jerk, but I don’t want to believe he’s a stone cold killer.” She distanced herself from the offending shelf. “Even so, the dumb ass should check himself into detox before he really does kill someone.”

  “I should go home. Maybe I’ve been working too much. All I really need is a little milk for my morning latte.” Allie plucked a carton from the cooler.

  Gina waved her money away. “Don’t think of it. I’m coming over first thing in the morning to drink it anyhow. You’re going to make me a fancy coffee, and we’ll talk about what a great night’s sleep you got. Mikey can pull every damn thing from your cupboards for a change, and we can talk about how smart he’s getting.”

  “Maybe between the two of us, we can keep track of him.” Where were her keys? Had she left them in the ignition? She had not been herself when she’d arrived.

  “Hah, he takes after his dad,” Gina snorted. “We can also talk about Erin’s little niece. Not the twin with the fancy dresses, the one who wears the army boots.”

  “That’s Victoria!”

  “Go figure. She’s what? Eleven? Too young for sneaking around with boys. Her young fella comes in and buys the candy, but I see her out there behind the trees. I don’t want to be the one to tell her mom. That’s your job, okay?”

  “So that explains why she takes off alone on her bicycle every once in a while. A boy. I’ll talk to her about sneaking around.” Allie opened the door and turned back to Gina. “You had gypsy ancestors?”

  “No, not really, but it’s a good story, eh? Now, get in your Jeep, and call your parents in Toronto before you even turn the engine on. You need a mom hug or something.” Gina closed the door and twisted the deadbolt. “See you tomorrow.” She stayed behind the glass until Allie showed her the phone in her hand.

  Doppler perked his ears up when her mom answered the phone on the second ring. “Hi sweetie. It’s late. Rough night? Need to talk?” The dog wiggled onto her lap. What would Erin say about all the bad habits he was learning in her absence? The last vestiges of shadow smoke wafted away. Allie put the call on speaker before she drove away.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Derek Peterson pulled the collar of his windbreaker up over his ears. He backed his shoulders against the concrete bridge supports under the lip of the deck above. Two feet from where he stood, fat droplets of rain bounced off the pavement. His shoes were soaked, and his pants were wet to his knees from slogging through the swamp to get here.

  Ernie had picked this location. It had been their meeting place when he was still on the job. Two patrol cars could fit end-to-end under the bridge, one to keep watch and write reports, the other to catch some shut eye, although it always seemed to be Derek’s turn to nap.

  This place was easy to access by car, but he hadn’t wanted to risk being spotted crossing town in his rental. It had not been as easy to get here on foot in the pouring rain. He was soaked to the skin and his pants chafed at the crotch. With trembling fingers, he teased the sodden fabric away from his tender right testicle.

  He should have known better than to put his hands on Gina Braun. She was a firecracker, always had been. It was the way she’d looked at him, a mix of pity and disbelief, that made him finally see himself through her eyes. He was a pathetic drunk, a goddamn has-been, a fucking loser.

  Derek had been waiting half an hour when he spotted Officer Mark Jenssen approach in his marked police cruiser. Better known as Ernie, the other half of the department’s Bert and Ernie Muppet joke, he rolled through water puddles and parked in his usual spot.

  Derek opened the passenger door, and adjusted his pants before he squeezed in beside the bracket of the Remington 870. “How’s it feel to be nice and dry when I’m out here like a wet muskrat?” He rested one hand on the shotgun’s pistol grip, and jammed the other in his jacket pocket. Ernie had probably already noticed that he had the shakes, but at least this way they wouldn’t have to talk about it. He’d run out of whiskey hours ago and he badly needed a drink.

  “Sorry about the weather, Lieutenant. I ordered up sunshine for this morning, but I guess I didn’t pay my weather bill on time.” Ernie snickered.

  “Well, I’m not in handcuffs, so I guess that bastard Z-man still doesn’t have enough evidence to get a warrant.”

  “Aw come on. Z’s a good guy. He’s doing his job. You might be surprised that he is the one guy, besides me, who might actually think you’re innocent.”

  “You’re pullin’ my leg.” The way Derek saw it, Z-man had always been the first in line to try to take him down. Erin had caught him the last time, but it had been Z-man who’d made the arrest official.

  “It’s true.” Ernie handed Derek a plain envelope. “This is Bert’s Ident report. The victim, Ethan Lewis, was killed by two bullets to the chest. The lone assailant beat him in the face with a blunt instrument ante mortem.”

  “Beat, and then shot.” Derek’s fingers squeezed the handgrip tighter. His knuckles were scabbed over but still looked like hell. “Wait a minute. You said blunt instrument, not bare knuckles.”

  “Yeah,” Ernie nodded. “That’s what Bert figured. He said there was some sort of rounded shape to it, like a steel pipe.”

  “Or a police-issue expandable baton.” Derek felt the finger of blame point directly at him again.

  “Uh, possibly.”

  “Shit. Mine was at home last I saw it.”

  “Great, we’ll contact your ex-wife.”

  Derek kneaded his forehead with dirty fingers. “She sold the place right after she divorced me. Sent me a letter to tell me she threw out everything I owned. It’s gone. There’s no way I can prove I don’t still have it.”

  “And there’s the issue of your prison association.”

  “Fuck, that’s bad news.” Derek put his head in his hands. “It’s a frame-up. It’s gotta be. I didn’t. I couldn’t have. I can’t remember.”


  “That’s bad news indeed.” The in-car laptop blipped and Ernie punched the keyboard. “I think it might be a good idea to stay out of sight a while longer. Z-man’s not ready to take you in, but—”

  “He couldn’t catch me if he tried. That straight arrow couldn’t do covert ops if his life depended on it. The problem is that he’s a linear thinker. Point A to point B. I’m smarter than him.”

  “Like I said, right now you’re only wanted for questioning. You’re right, Z-man goes by the book. He’s not coming after you, but there are half a dozen others who might be tempted, warrant or not.”

  “I can’t go back to jail. I’ve got a life to build. Has anything surfaced on Tiffany? Any word at all?” Derek knew he sounded desperate, but he didn’t care.

  “Nada. Nothing since you said you last saw her. She dropped off the radar, went off the grid. You know, there’s a possibility that she’s not hiding at all.” Ernie glanced at him sideways. “In most missing persons cases, this means they met with foul play. Have you considered that?”

  “No way. She was a saint. She didn't have an enemy in the world.”

  Ernie paused. “Have you talked to Armand? A guy like that would notice a filly missing from his stable.”

  “She wasn’t like that. She was a good person. A good mother.”

  Ernie held up his palms. “I’m not saying she wasn’t, but you should consider the possibility that her pimp might know something.”

  “She didn’t have no pimp, and that’s the end of it.” Derek glared at him, seriously considering ending their partnership here and now.

  “I see you’re in a bad way, and I’m not passing any judgment here, but as one friend to another, is there anything I can do for you?”

  Derek thumped his soggy shoe on the floor mat. Water squished out the sides. “Yeah, I need a favor, buddy.” The shakes were reaching his legs now, and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold out without a drink. He took a couple of bills from his wallet, unable to meet Ernie’s eye. “I’d be in your debt if you’d pick me up a two-four from the Stop ’N Go. I’d go in myself, but with all the trouble …”

  Ernie looked at the twenties and pursed his mouth. He shot a glance over his shoulder and back at Derek. “It’s not what I had in mind. If you let me take you in, I promise to keep it away from the press. There’s a nice detox—”

  Derek swore his blood pressure rose ten points. “I don’t need detox. I need a goddamn case of beer,” he hissed.

  “I’d help you out if it wasn’t for this call that just came in, Lieutenant. I really should… Aw come on, you want me to buy beer when I’m in uniform?”

  “Tell her you’re planning an after-work party for someone’s retirement. What’s so hard about it?” Derek pulled out ten more bills and slid them across the seat. “For your trouble, and for the Ident report. I sincerely appreciate all you do for me.”

  Ernie exhaled, and his hand darted out for the cash. “I guess I can think up something. I’ll be right back.”

  Derek stayed out of sight under the bridge until Ernie returned. He leaned against the concrete to keep his knees from shaking when he saw the car round the corner on its way back.

  Ernie rolled down the window and handed out the case. On top of it was a plastic bag that smelled divine. “Gina laughed in my face when I told her about the retirement party. She sent this bag for you. There’s fried chicken, a couple of hot dogs and I think she put in a pint of milk.” A grin slid onto his lips. “She said to tell you you’re a dumb ass, and she hopes your balls get better soon.” He rolled up his window and drove off.

  Derek ripped open the top of the case and tugged a bottle through the hole. He poured half a beer down his throat without swallowing, and let out a belch. The rain had stopped, and when the sun came out, he convinced himself that everything would turn out fine. He’d prove his innocence, stay out of jail, and find Tiffany if it was the last thing he did.

  He drank another beer before he looked in the bag Gina sent. The steaming, foil-wrapped packages smelled good. He ate a piece of chicken between swallows of beer. After he’d thrown three or four empties into the ditch, he was feeling himself again.

  He glanced down the sidewalk and spotted Armand’s low-rider Chevy parked on the street. That meth-head pimp had some explaining to do. He left what remained of his two-four on the sidewalk, strutted up to the front door and knocked on the faded wood with his scabby knuckles. Not a single floorboard creaked in response.

  What was he thinking? It was too early in the morning for drug-dealing pimps. They were creatures of the night, vampires. He booted the flimsy door open and let himself in.

  The living room was a mess of stained furniture and drug paraphernalia. Foil wrappers, dusty plastic and discarded clothing littered the floor. He stepped carefully around the trash. A used needle would penetrate his shoes faster than he could say communicable disease.

  He found the bedroom and stepped into the darkness. It was true, unkempt humans were the foulest smelling creatures on the planet. A Confederate flag thrown over the curtain rod blocked any possibility of light, or fresh air, from entering. If he had another choice he’d back out right now, but this might be his last hope of finding Tiffany. He flipped the light switch on and prodded the twisted lump of blankets on the bed.

  Not one, but two naked figures emerged. Probably younger than she looked, the female pulled the sheet up over sagging breasts. Her mascara-smeared eyes flared wide when she focused on the stranger in the doorway. She took the sheet with her when she scooted off to the washroom.

  Derek kicked the edge of the bed and kept his distance. “Get the fuck up, Armand.” Druggies were unpredictable. You never knew if they would come up swinging, or if they would whine like little pussies. He’d been popped in the face more than once when he was still on the job.

  “Angie? Where you gone, baby?” Armand sat up, and tossed his long braid over his shoulder. Save for his face, his entire body from the waist up, was covered in tattoos. Skinny and long-limbed, his leathery skin stretched tight to his bones like a rattler. He froze when he spotted Derek. “What’s goin’ on? Is it a raid?” He slid one hand slowly under his pillow.

  “Not today, dirtbag.” Derek grabbed him by the ankles, and hauled him off the bed before he could retrieve whatever weapon he was going for. Armand landed in a serpentine knot on the soiled carpet. He knelt on him, one knee pressing into the back of his skull.

  “Ain’t got no cash,” Armand grunted. “And my delivery doesn’t come in until tomorrow.”

  “That’s not what I’m after.” He let pressure off so Armand could talk without grunting. “Tell me about Tiffany.”

  “Are you the guy on the news? The one wanted for murder? Are you gonna kill me?”

  “Like I said, not today, dirtbag. And I didn’t kill anyone. Today, we’re only gonna talk.”

  “Like we’re only talking here now?” Armand twisted to glare at him. “If you say so.”

  “Tell me about Tiffany Schmidt.” Derek kneeled on his head until there was a subtle pop, and the drug dealer groaned. “You were her dealer. A few years back.”

  “Ohhh, Tiff . I haven’t seen her since she stopped using. She told me she was getting clean. Going to marry a cop, or some damn thing.” Armand’s foot twitched. “My whole body’s going numb, man. Come on, let me up. I won’t do nothin’ but sit here.”

  Derek let him go and stood.

  Armand curled into fetal position. Was he waiting to pounce, or was he really hurting? “Was that you she was talking about?” he whispered. “I thought it was her fantasy.”

  The washroom door opened briefly and closed again. Armand’s girlfriend wasn’t dumb enough to try calling the police. She’d stay there and wait it out, as long as it took.

  “Wasn’t no fantasy,” Derek muttered. “You swear to God you don’t know where she is?”

  “I promise, I ain’t seen her. Nobody has. But that was a long time ago.”

 
“If I find out you had anything to do with her disappearance, I’ll come back and strangle you in your sleep.” He picked his way through the rubble in the living room and walked out the front door. His two-four was right where he’d left it. Z-man wasn’t going to catch him. No one was. He picked up the case and trudged back to the swamp.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Over there.” Erin pointed to a set of tire marks that veered off the road a couple of miles north of the roadblock they’d recently dismantled. “They might have gone cross-country. That’s the only explanation for why we haven't located the car anywhere in the area.” In the last four hours, they’d been back and forth on this road a half dozen times, but this was the first time she’d spotted the tracks. Early dawn’s glow had made it easier to see.

  Gonzales slowed. “Where? I can’t see a thing.”

  She pointed the LED spotlight. Faint tracks led down through the dried-out ditch and up onto the other side. She traced the path through the weeds and grimaced. The underside of a vehicle had laid bare a patch of dirt and rocks harsh enough to tear loose a car’s oil pan. It had bottomed out, but had still made it through.

  Gonzales sucked air through his teeth and regarded the marks for a moment. “I guess they’ve already smoothed it out for us.” He hopped out, retrieved a traffic flare from the trunk, spiked it into the asphalt, and gave Erin a wink when he jumped back in. “If they got through, we can too.” Eyes blazing with determination, he turned the wheel and hit the gas.

  She grabbed the door handle when they plummeted to the bottom of the ditch, and the undercarriage squealed in protest. A large rock spewed sideways, and tires spun gravel behind them. They found traction and vaulted up the incline.

  He laughed when they topped the rise and leveled out. “I love Chevys.”