Shadow Spy (A Bryson Wilde Thriller / Read in Any Order)

by R. J. Jagger

  He was about thirty, tall and powerful.

  Wilde didn’t know if he could take him in a fair fight.

  Wilde had only planned to get a feel for the man, not have an encounter. When he saw him though, something built up in his throat.

  “Stay here,” he told Alabama.

  Then he headed over.

  The man was walking now, going the same direction.

  Wilde caught up from behind and put a hand on his shoulder.

  It was ripped with muscles.

  The man stopped and turned.

  Wilde handed him the matchbook, the red matchbook with the gold B on the front, the one he found in the dirty clothes. As he did, it dawned on him that the B stood for Black.

  “You dropped this,” he said.

  The man looked down at the matches then into Wilde’s eyes.

  118

  Day Six

  June 14, 1952

  Saturday Afternoon

  AFTER RETRIEVING THE BRIEFCASE from under the bed at Fallon’s hotel, she and Jundee drove south until they got into the sticks and booked a room at a one-story dive called the Dangling Donut. They had no idea how the place got its name and didn’t care.

  Jundee was tense.

  Something was wrong.

  When Fallon asked what it was, he said, “I keep thinking about that car that stopped by yours last night. The license plate is EZ3.”

  “It is?”

  He nodded.

  “I never noticed,” she said.

  “It’s easy to remember,” he said. “If the body shows up and gets in the paper, whoever stopped might remember that night. He might remember the plate number. If he does, the cops can trace it to the rental agency and from there to me.”

  “So what do we do?”

  He exhaled.

  “It would be dangerous to go back there,” he said. “Real dangerous. It might be more dangerous not to, though. I think we need to move the body.”

  Fallon laid face down on the bed and closed her eyes.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Jundee said. “This isn’t your fault.”

  “Yes it is.”

  “No it’s not,” he said. “It’s just one of those things. I’d rather have the body where you put it than have it out there on the lawn. You did good, real good. We just need to make it a tiny bit better.”

  “Okay.”

  He rubbed her shoulders.

  “We’ll do it tonight,” he said. “We’ll do it right at the edge of darkness while there’s just enough light to find it. We’ll bring it back, put it in the trunk and find a new place for it another fifteen or twenty miles down the road.”

  “It gives me the creeps,” Fallon said.

  “What, the body?”

  Right.

  The body.

  “It’s just a body,” Jundee said. “It can’t hurt you.”

  He straddled her ass and massaged her back.

  SHE ROLLED OVER, put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  “Come here, you,” she said.

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you.”

  JUNDEE TOOK HIS TIME WITH HER.

  She’d never been loved that much, that thoroughly, that infinitely.

  Afterwards, Jundee stood naked in front of the mirror and raked his hair back with his fingers as he studied his face.

  He was gorgeous.

  Beyond gorgeous.

  Fallon had never seen a more perfect man.

  “After we move the body, we’ll pay a visit to the Vampire,” he said.

  Fallon sat up.

  “You’re kidding?”

  No.

  He wasn’t.

  Not even a little.

  “We have to get that other briefcase out of her hands,” he said. “It’s a matter of national security. Once we get the pair of them, we’ll burn them to ashes, every single piece of paper. Then it will all be over. At that point they’ll leave us alone.” He paused and added, “She won’t go to the police. She can’t. She’s a spy. That’s where she got the money for that mansion. She must have been involved in some heavy things.”

  Shade frowned.

  “That PI guy—”

  “—Whitecliff—”

  “—right, Whitecliff, he said he thought the person who hired the other PI was a man.”

  Jundee nodded.

  “Right.”

  “If that’s true then Vampire’s working with someone,” she said. “She has backup, or co-conspirators or whatever they are. They might be staying at her place.”

  “That’s a chance we’ll have to take.”

  She came over, wrapped her arms around his stomach and laid her head on his back.

  “You scare me sometimes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re not afraid of anything.”

  He shook his head.

  “Trust me baby, I’m scared of every piece of this. I’m more scared than you could ever know.”

  119

  Day Six

  June 14, 1952

  Saturday Afternoon

  SHADE AND LONDON headed to Wilde’s office to find the door locked and no one answering. A white cat with a black tail bounded up the stairs and rubbed against Shade’s leg. They took it to the Ginn under Wilde’s office, ordered beer and a bowl of milk, and kept one eye on the street and the other on Tail.

  “So what now?” London said.

  Shade shrugged.

  “If I were you, I’d just get out of town. You really don’t have a dog in this fight.”

  “That’s actually a good idea. Come with me.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I made a promise to catch a mole,” she said.

  London wrinkled her face with disapproval.

  “That’s history,” she said. “It would have been a long shot getting the goods even when you were on the inside. Now it’s impossible. Just call your contact. Tell them it didn’t work out. Let them go to Plan B.”

  “Can’t,” Shade said. “I need to nail whoever it is that’s framing me.”

  “Penelope Tap.”

  “Probably but I’m not positive.”

  London took a swallow of beer.

  It was cool but not cold, not frosty.

  “I hate warm beer.”

  Shade agreed.

  “Warm beer’s only okay if it’s your fifth or sixth,” she said. “We should have gotten wine.” A pause, then, “There was something wrong with Mojag’s eyes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. They were different.”

  “Eyes don’t change,” London said. “They looked the same to me. I didn’t see anything different.”

  Shade patted the woman’s knee.

  “Thanks for being here. I really screwed your life up.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” London said. “It was time.”

  SUDDENLY AN IMAGE jumped into Shade’s brain. It must have registered on her face because London said, “What’s wrong?”

  “I just figured something out,” she said. “Remember when we went to Wilde’s office this morning and the door was open?”

  Yes.

  She did.

  “There was something wrong, other than the door being open, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. It’s been nagging at me all day. I just now figured out what it was.”

  “So what was it?”

  SHADE DIDN’T ANSWER.

  Instead she stood and gathered up Tail. “Come on, I want to get back into Wilde’s office.”

  “He’s not there.”

  “That’s his problem.”

  They headed for the door.

  “Wait a minute,” a man said.

  The words came from the bartender, a gruff man with a raspy voice and too much pollution in his eyes.

  “You might be interested in this,” he said.

  He handed them a newspaper.

  Composite sketches of their faces were on page 5 in co
nnection with the shooting of a man named Jack Mack on Market Street last night.

  “I don’t know if that’s you two or not,” the man said. “If it is though your secret’s safe with me. I’m not a big fan of the cops.”

  Shade gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  “Thanks.’

  “No problem.”

  WILDE’S OFFICE wasn’t overly hard to break into. He really needed better locks. Inside, Shade pointed to the corner, the empty corner.

  “There was a cupboard door leaning against the wall right there,” she said.

  “So?”

  “So, that’s what’s wrong, it’s gone. Help me look for it.”

  They searched.

  As they did, Shade explained how it came from the shed where Visible Moon had been kept. Wilde had used it to scratch a replica of the marks on the floor under the mattress.

  It didn’t show up.

  “Maybe Wilde took it home or something,” London said.

  Shade shook her head.

  “We’ll ask him but he’d have no reason. Someone stole it, that’s my guess.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t have a clue.”

  120

  Day Six

  June 14, 1952

  Saturday Afternoon

  THE LAWYER showed no reaction to the matches. He didn’t take them out of Wilde’s hand nor did he say they weren’t his. Instead he looked directly into Wilde’s eyes and said, “Are you the one who broke into my office?”

  “Maybe I am.”

  “That’s a serious offense.”

  “There’s a lot of offenses that are serious,” Wilde said. “Take murder, for example. That’s a pretty serious offense.”

  “I can’t argue with you about that.”

  “I’d think not,” Wilde said. “Did you file a police report on the break-in?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why not? Do you have something to hide?”

  Black put a stoic look on his face.

  “We all have something to hide.” He walked away and said over his shoulder, “Don’t do it again.”

  Wilde let him get three steps and said, “Hey, Black.”

  The man turned.

  Wilde blew him a kiss.

  “That’s from Senn-Rae. See you around.”

  “Maybe you will.”

  Wilde watched him walk away.

  Then something happened that he didn’t expect.

  The front door of the office building opened and a woman stepped out. She locked the door behind her and headed up the street in the opposite direction of Black.

  A briefcase swung from her hand.

  WILDE INTERCEPTED her twenty steps down the sidewalk when she stopped to light a cigarette. She was about thirty. Tan legs and arms were framed in a white sundress. Her eyes were green and her hair was thick.

  “Are you Stuart Black’s secretary?”

  She took a deep drag, pulled the cigarette out of her mouth and blew smoke.

  The filter was red with lipstick.

  “Maybe, why?”

  He smiled.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Jackie.” A beat, “Jackie Fontaine.”

  Wilde shook her hand.

  “Nice to meet you Jackie Fontaine. I’d like to talk to you about a few things if you have a couple of minutes.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Bad things,” Wilde said. “Very bad things. Things that will make you wish you never met me.”

  “Well that’s pretty mysterious,” she said. “Am I supposed to be intrigued?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s what I was hoping for. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

  She studied him.

  Then she smiled, not much but a little. The smile was slightly crooked; one side went up a little farther than the other.

  It was very sexy.

  “I like whiskey better than coffee,” she said.

  “Then whiskey it is.”

  Wilde put his arm around her waist and steered her towards Larimer Street.

  She didn’t protest the arm.

  “My questions are about the Shadow file,” he said.

  AS THEY CUT down 16th Street, something happened that Wilde didn’t expect. In the crowd up ahead, Senn-Rae walked directly towards him.

  She was preoccupied, looking in windows.

  Then she spotted him.

  Her eyes went from him to the woman to him.

  Wilde got busy thinking of what to say but never got the chance. Senn-Rae turned at the corner and walked briskly out of sight. When Wilde got to the street and looked up, Senn-Rae was running.

  “A friend of yours?” Jackie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  They walked in silence.

  Then Jackie said, “It doesn’t bother me if you’re a player. I’m just looking to rent, not own.”

  “Good to know.”

  121

  Day Six

  June 14, 1952

  Saturday Afternoon

  WILDE AND HIS NEW FRIEND ended up at a cozy table in the back corner of a dark bar called Whiskey Snake. He felt bad about what he was doing. The woman was looking forward to getting him into bed and that wasn’t going to happen. As bad as he felt about it, he felt worst about all the bodies piling up.

  To his credit, he was honest with her.

  Her told her there were pinup murders taking place.

  He told her his theory that her boss, Stuart Black, was the person doing them. Black’s number was written on a piece of paper that Wilde found in the house of Jennifer Pazour, one of the victims. Black also did legal work for Jack Mack, who got shot to death last night. Most importantly, Black had files on the pinup victims in his office, hidden in the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet, in an expandable file marked Shadow.

  The Shadow file.

  Inside that file was information that only the killer would know.

  “I’m putting myself out on a limb here telling you all this,” Wilde said. “The reason I’m doing it is because I need you to help me.”

  “How?”

  “I want to know if he’s after the woman we just saw back on the street,” he said. “Her name’s Senn-Rae. She’s a lawyer.”

  “What if he is after her? Are you going to kill him?”

  Wilde lit a cigarette.

  “If he somehow ends up dead, I’ll be sure you get another job somewhere. You have my promise. If you have rent payments or something you’re worried about, I’ll cover ’em until you get on your feet.”

  She looked into his eyes.

  “You’re not going to take me to bed, are you?”

  Wilde blew smoke.

  “In different circumstances, if I wasn’t already with someone, I would,” he said. “There’s something between us. We both know it. It’s not something I can act on though.”

  She frowned.

  “You shouldn’t lead a girl on like that.”

  “You’re right. I’m a jerk.”

  SHE DIDN’T LOOSEN UP until the third drink. Then she started to talk.

  “Stuart’s a good man,” she said. “He’s not the killer you’re looking for. His client is.”

  “His client?”

  She nodded.

  “The guy calls himself Shadow,” she said. “We don’t know his real name. After he does a kill, he calls Stuart up and tells him about it.”

  “Why?”

  “In the end if he gets caught, he’s going to have Stuart represent him,” she said. “That’s the official reason, anyway. Between you and me, I just think he needs to talk to someone about it. Stuart’s the perfect guy. He understands defects and doesn’t pass judgment. Plus he’s not at liberty to tell anyone about it, attorney-client confidentiality and all that.”

  “So he doesn’t know the guy’s name, huh?”

  “Negative.”

  Wilde slammed
the whiskey down and ordered two more.

  His head spun.

  He didn’t care.

  In fact it felt good.

  He hadn’t been drunk for a long, long time.

  Maybe this was it.

  He was on that edge where he could go either way.

  SOMETHING WASN’T RIGHT.

  Something didn’t fit.

  At first he couldn’t figure it out but then he did.

  “What you said explains the files,” he said. “What it doesn’t explain is why his phone number was written down on a piece of paper in Jennifer Pazour’s house.”

  “She was a victim, right?”

  He nodded.

  “She was dumped on top of a shed way down south, out in the sticks.”

  “Poor girl.”

  Right.

  Poor girl.

  “So what do you think? Why was Stuart’s number in her house?”

  Jackie didn’t know.

  “The only thing I can figure is that someone must have referred Stuart to her for some reason,” she said. “She never became a client though. She never even called him as far as I know. Maybe the guy who killed her wrote it down, Mr. Shadow. Maybe he was playing some kind of twisted game.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe he wanted the cops to find it and call the number. Maybe he wanted Stuart to get a call from the cops about a pinup murder and then not be able to talk to them about it. Maybe Shadow was testing Stuart somehow.”

  Wilde chewed on it.

  He didn’t swallow it though.

  It was too farfetched.

  FIVE MINUTES LATER Jackie got a strange expression on her face and said, “I just had a weird thought.”

  “How weird?”

  “Freaky weird.”

  “That’s my favorite kind.”

  “I’ll bet it is,” she said. “Anyway, Stuart has a client named Tessa Tanglewood. The last time she was in the office, me and her were talking while Stuart was finishing up with someone else. Anyway, Tessa told me that she had a girlfriend who was blackmailing someone and things were starting to get scary. Tessa told her to contact Stuart because she’d be able to talk in confidence and maybe he’d have some advice for her. Tessa was telling me this so that I’d relay it to Stuart when and if this other woman called. To my knowledge, no one ever called in with an issue like that. But what I’m wondering is whether this pinup victim—”