The Gold Dragon Caper: A Damien Dickens Mystery (Damien Dickens Mysteries Book 4)

by Phyllis Entis

  I drove to police headquarters as fast as I dared. Parking the car in the City Hall lot, I grabbed the handbag, ran across Stewart in mid-block, and pushed my way to the front of the line at the Information kiosk. “I’m here to see Lt. Davila,” I told the constable on duty. “My name is Dickens. Damien Dickens. He’s already expecting me, but tell him it’s urgent.” The officer lifted a telephone handset, spoke a few words, and pointed me to the bank of elevators. “Fifth floor. He’ll meet you there.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Davila was standing in front of the elevator as the door slid open. “Mr. Dickens? Come with me, please. The insurance adjustor is waiting in the conference room.” He looked me up and down, puzzled. “Where’s the gold piece?”

  “That will have to wait. My wife is missing and in danger. I need your help.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall, staring at me. “What do you mean by missing?”

  “I just went by her brother’s apartment. I found her keys on the floor outside the apartment door, and her handbag was in the bushes.”

  “Did you check the apartment? Did you disturb anything?”

  I took the key ring out of my pocket and handed it to him. “The fob belongs to my wife. The Yale key fit the lock to the apartment, so I went inside. Millie’s clothes and things were still there. There was no sign of a struggle or any indication of a disturbance inside the apartment. I suspect she was ambushed as she was unlocking the front door. I eyeballed the place but, except for checking inside her suitcase, I left everything exactly as I found it.”

  “Wait here.” He stepped over to the nearest desk and made a call. “I’ve alerted Missing Persons,” he said, replacing the receiver on its cradle. “They’ll begin by checking hospitals and so forth. Do you have a current photograph of Mrs. Dickens?”

  I reached into Millie’s handbag, removed her driver’s license from its slot in her wallet, and showed it to him. “This isn’t the best photo, but it’s the most recent. I have a better picture in my billfold.” I reached into my hip pocket and retrieved a photograph of Millie and me from a few months back. We had celebrated our wedding anniversary at Angelo’s, one of Atlantic City’s signature restaurants. It was a rare bright spot in a bad year, and Millie was looking her best: hair flowing loose over her shoulders, a relaxed smile on her face, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

  Davila walked off with Millie’s license and the photo, promising to return them as soon as copies had been made. He was back within minutes. “I’ve initiated a BOLO, and have arranged for a squad car to maintain surveillance on the apartment complex,” he reported. “Also, I’ve assigned one of my detectives to the case. He’ll apply for a warrant to search the apartment unit, and will oversee door-to-door interviews with the neighbors. There’s nothing more to be done at the moment. Now, about the nugget.”

  “Screw the nugget. I need to find my wife.” I turned away from him and jabbed at the elevator button.

  Davila gripped my arm, turning me to face him. “I know you’re worried, but you must let my people do their job. I promise to keep you fully informed. The nugget is stolen property. Don’t force me to charge you with possession.”

  I told him I had left it in the trunk of my car. He detailed a constable to accompany me downstairs to fetch the gold piece. We rode the elevator back to the fifth floor in silence. The nugget heavy in my arms, I followed the officer down the corridor to the conference room. When we entered the room, Davila was at the head of the table, deep in conversation with a woman who was seated nearby, leafing through the contents of a file folder. She closed the folder abruptly when we walked in, as though she had been caught in an indiscretion. Motioning for me to place my burden on the table, Davila grunted a perfunctory introduction. “Mr. Dickens, this is Georgette Favreau, adjuster for the Aces Insurance Company of Nevada.”

  Favreau acknowledged my existence with a silent nod and a minimal smile. At Davila’s prompting, I removed the nugget from its protective sack and stepped away from the table. While I paced the room, impatient to be on my way, eager to get on with my search for Millie, Favreau and Davila circled the table, viewing the nugget from all angles. With a Polaroid camera, the adjustor took a series of photographs, laying them in sequence on the conference table to develop. She made a rough sketch, taking measurements of the gold piece with a set of calipers and jotting the numbers on her diagram. Finally satisfied, she numbered the photographs in sequence, dated them, and asked me to sign each one. I scribbled my initials over and over, like an automaton. My mind was on Millie. Where she might be. What kind of trouble she was in.

  Davila’s pager beeped as Favreau was handing me one last form to countersign - a signed receipt for the nugget. He excused himself after glancing at the display, but was back almost immediately. “You need to come with me, Mr. Dickens,” he said. My heart skipped a beat at the expression on his face, and I followed him out of the room.

  “What’s going on? Is there news of Millie?”

  He replied with a noncommittal grunt as he jabbed the elevator call button. We rode down to the basement level in silence. I followed Davila past a booking sergeant, who buzzed us through a locked set of barred doors.

  “In here.” Davila gestured with his thumb at a door marked ‘Authorized Personnel Only’ as he lifted a handset from its cradle on the wall, to announce our presence. The door swung open, and I followed him into a small, poorly lit room. Most of one wall was taken up by a plate-glass window. On the other side of the one-way glass was a standard interrogation room. A small, rectangular wood table was centered in the room, each of its four legs anchored to the floor with a metal bracket. An unmatched pair of wood chairs faced each other across the table.

  “What’s the story?” Davila asked the Matron, who had been waiting for us in the observation room.

  “The prisoner was brought in semi-conscious and incoherent this morning on a 390D. She had no ID, so we logged her under a Jane Doe. She regained consciousness about a half hour ago. Said her name was Millie Dickens, and insisted on speaking with Sheriff Dietrich right away. She became highly agitated, so I instructed the medic to administer a sedative to calm her down. The BOLO hit my desk a few minutes after the sedative took hold.”

  As I watched through the glass, the door to the interrogation room swung open. A uniformed female officer escorted a woman into the room and seated her facing us. The prisoner stared at the one-way glass, seeming not to recognize her own reflection in the mirror. Her blond hair was bedraggled and begrimed, her face scratched and filthy. Her clothes were torn and in disarray. But Millie had never looked more beautiful to me than she did at that moment.

  I was speechless, stunned by the rapid-fire series of events. “Can you make a formal identification for the record, Mr. Dickens?” Davila prompted me as I stared through the glass.

  I turned to Davila and the Matron and nodded. “That’s my wife.” My throat was tight with emotion, and I had to clear it before I could continue. “For the record, her name is Millie Dickens.”

  Davila helped me complete the necessary paperwork for Millie to be released into my custody. At last, the Matron unlocked the door to the interrogation room, and ushered me inside. Millie looked up when the door swung open, but she gave no sign of recognition. She appeared dazed. Disoriented. I took her by both hands, careless of the eyes I knew were upon us, lifted her from her seat and folded her into my arms. “You’re safe now,” I whispered to her. “I’m here.”

  She was shivering. I took off my jacket and draped it over her. My arm around her waist for support, I walked her to the elevator. We made slow progress through the lobby, and I asked a uniformed officer to stop traffic for us so that we could cross Stewart to the parking lot mid-block. We had just reached the sidewalk when I felt Millie sag against my body. I lifted her in my arms and carried her the rest of the way. After helping her into the car, I secured the seat belt around her and got behind the wheel.

/>   We were stopped at the corner of Las Vegas Boulevard and Charleston, waiting for the traffic light to turn green. I took the opportunity to look at Millie, who was staring straight ahead, crying silently, her chest heaving and her tears leaving tracks in the dirt on her face. I reached for her hand and squeezed it. “It’s okay now, honey,” I reassured her, feeling a stab of hurt when she shrank from my touch. “You’re safe. You’re with me.”

  I turned into the Sands, selecting a parking spot as close as possible to our suite. Millie had recovered some of her strength during the 20-minute drive, and seemed more aware of her surroundings. I guided her to our unit, opened the door and led her to the bed. Without a word, she lay down and closed her eyes. I removed her shoes, loosened her clothes to make her more comfortable, and covered her with a blanket. After scribbling a note and leaving it on the nightstand, I closed the bedroom door and went next door to tell Susan and Bruno what had transpired.

  Bruno had taken Artie and Hershey for a walk, Susan told me. She listened with rising distress as I reported what little information I had gleaned. “Best I can figure, Millie was waylaid outside her brother’s apartment and taken somewhere in the downtown area. According to the Matron, she was incoherent when she awoke, screaming that Turpin was after her. That’s when the jailhouse medic dosed her with diazepam.” I shook my head. “I don’t know whether or not she was hallucinating, but something or someone scared the living daylights out of her. And as you know, Millie doesn’t scare easily.”

  “Has she been able to tell you anything yet? About what happened to her, or about her brother?”

  “She was only half awake on the drive back here, and fell sound asleep as soon as we got to the room. I was wondering whether you would mind staying with her for a while. I don’t want her to wake up alone in a strange place after what she’s been through, but I need to scare up something for her to wear. The stuff she has on is filthy and in ruins. The rest of her clothes are in Colin’s apartment, which the cops will have secured by now.”

  “I can take care of that for you, Damien,” Susan offered. “Millie and I have shopped together from time to time. I know her size, and I know what she likes. There’s a department store just a couple of blocks from here where I can get everything she’ll need to carry her over for at least a couple of days.”

  Shopping is something I usually try to avoid but, under the circumstances, I hesitated to accept Susan’s offer. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I know you’ve been upset with Millie for abandoning the search for Artie. I don’t want you to feel under any obligation to do this.”

  Susan waved off my concern. “Millie and I can have a heart-to-heart talk once she feels up to it. I won’t deny I was angry with her when she flew off without a word, and I hope she’ll see fit to explain her actions to me. But, for now, I’m just thankful she and Artie are both safe.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Millie was still asleep when I tip-toed back inside our suite. I took a chair from the living room, placed it beside the bed, and sat next to her. Her face was its normal, healthy color under the grime, and her breathing was regular. From time to time, her hands and feet twitched, and a muscle jumped in her temple. I watched the rise and fall of her chest, wondering what kind of hell she had been through.

  I reached forward and touched her forehead, moving a strand of hair away from her eyes. Her hair felt stiff and greasy, and I knew Millie would be mortified to have been seen in public in her present state. As I stroked her cheek, I felt her stir. Her eyes opened, blinked a couple of times, then focused on me.

  “Dick?” she whispered. “Is it really you? I didn’t dream it?”

  “Shhh,” I took her hand and touched my lips to her fingers. There was dirt caked under her nails, and their edges were chipped and rough. “It’s really me.”

  She sat up as though spring-loaded, looking around frantically. “Where are we? How did I get here?”

  I eased her back down onto the bed. “We’re at the Sands Hotel in Las Vegas. Susan is in the suite next door.”

  “Artie? What happened to Artie?”

  “He’s safe. He’s with Susan. Bruno will be taking him back to Vermont tomorrow morning.”

  “Bruno’s here too?”

  “Yes, I arranged for him to watch over Susan while Hershey and I looked for Artie.”

  Millie struggled back into a sitting position. “I need to see Susan. To apologize for…”

  I stopped her. “There will be plenty of time for that. You and Susan can hash things out when you’re feeling better. What you need to do first is to get some rest and have something to eat. Then you and I will talk.”

  “I guess I have some explaining to do.” Millie’s voice faltered as she caught a glimpse of herself in the bedroom mirror. “But, first, I want to get cleaned up.”

  It was a full 45 minutes before Millie appeared in the sitting room, her body wrapped in a hotel bathrobe. She had washed her hair and blown it dry, and it billowed loose, the way I liked it best, framing her face and neck. I rose as she walked toward me. “Feeling better?” I asked.

  “Mmmm, yes. I’m still a bit shaky, though.”

  “That’s because you haven’t eaten in quite a while. I’ve ordered some soup for you.” Leading her over to a small folding-table, I pulled out a chair for her. She sat, her eyes never leaving me, as I ladled chicken noodle soup from a heated tureen into a bowl. As she sipped at the rich broth, I told her about my search for Artie. When I reached the part about rescuing him in Cisco, I hesitated before telling her who the boy’s captor had been, and how he had fled. “I’m sorry, honey.” I reached across the table to take her hand. “I would give anything not to have to tell you this. It was Colin. I had him in my sights. I let him get away.”

  “Damn him.” Her eyes filled with tears. “And to think I abandoned the search for Artie in order to …” She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs. “I’m so ashamed. I’ve made such a mess of everything.”

  Putting my arm around her, I urged her out of the chair and guided her to the couch. I fetched a box of tissues from the bathroom, and handed it to Millie as I sat down beside her. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, then swiped away a few stray tears with an angry sweep of her hand. “I think it’s time you told me what happened,” I suggested, keeping my voice gentle. “You’ll feel better once you’ve done so.”

  She nodded as she wiped her eyes once more, gathering her thoughts before telling me about the phone call from Sonya, and what transpired afterward. I remained outwardly calm, though I seethed inside as she described her abduction. But, when she told me about Turpin’s attempt to rape her, I could contain myself no longer. I sprang from the couch, storming back and forth across the room, using words I never before had spoken in front of my wife. Raging in a voice that must have carried through the entire complex, until I heard a tiny voice say, “Dick?” I stopped mid-curse, taking in Millie’s stricken expression. Her ash-white face. She had drawn her legs up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them for protection, and she was trembling.

  “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to upset you.” I sat next to her, put an arm around her, and stroked her hair with my free hand, calming myself as I gentled her.

  “Dick, there’s something more. Something I should have told you long ago.”

  “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

  She shook her head. “No, this is something you deserve to know. Something you need to know.” She disengaged from my embrace, sat up straight and focused on a picture hanging on the wall across the room. I took my cue from her and moved to the other end of the sofa, giving her the space she seemed to need.

  She took a deep breath and blew it out. “You know my parents were killed in a car accident when I was a teenager, and you also know I raised Colin. But there’s a lot more to the story I’ve never told you. I want to tell you now. I need to tell you now.”

  “Millie…” I want
ed to stop her, to tell her this could keep until she felt stronger.

  She turned to face me, her eyes meeting mine in a silent plea, then bowed her head, looking at her hands. “My father was an expert finishing carpenter. A cabinet maker. His work was in demand in the construction industry, and he made a good income. I was an only child, and Daddy’s pet. My birth was a difficult one for Mother. Though she and Daddy wanted another child, she was never able to conceive again. Eventually, they accepted I was to be an only child.”

  She sighed and brushed away a stray tear. “My father would come home from work smelling of sawdust and sweat. He’d drop to his knees to give me a hug even before he greeted Mother. Daddy was the one who read to me at bedtime and took me to the park on weekends. Sometimes, he would take Mother and me on road trips.”

  “I remember you telling me they took you to Montreal to visit your grandfather.”

  “That’s right.” Millie smiled at the memory. “And they used to take me to New York from time to time. One year, we walked in the Easter Parade, Daddy holding onto one of my hands, and Mother the other. Daddy had purchased a new suit and fedora for the occasion, and Mother and I wore new dresses and hats. I felt so proud. I thought Daddy was the handsomest man on Fifth Avenue.”

  Her face darkened. “I was twelve years old that year. We were staying at the Plaza. Mother and Daddy were invited to an evening cocktail party on Easter Sunday, hosted by Daddy’s most important New York client. The function was held in the client’s hotel suite. They brought me along because Daddy didn’t want to leave me alone in our own hotel room. He was afraid of what might happen, even in a ritzy hotel like the Plaza.”

  She paused to blink away a few tears. “He was right to have worried. We’d had a busy day, shopping and sightseeing, and I was so tired I couldn’t keep my eyes open. Daddy’s client suggested I take a nap in one of the bedrooms. I don’t know how long I had been asleep when I was awakened by the creak of the bedroom door. There was a click as the lock engaged. The room was dark, and all I could see was a shadowy figure approaching the bed. He sat down next to me, started talking as though to himself. His speech was slurred, and I know now he must have been drinking. ‘Someone told me there was candy here,’ he said. I had no idea what he meant, but he scared me.” Millie was pale, tears streaming down her face as she relived the experience.