Angel Dance (Danny Logan Mystery #1)

by M. D. Grayson

  “Thanks. Thought I might get him for a second,” I said, reaching for the towel he handed me.

  “You were awesome,” said a girl, standing behind me. I turned around and saw that it was Gina. She looked at me and smiled. “You know you ran a four-thirty.”

  “Really?” I asked, shocked at the result and even more shocked that she was talking to me.

  “Yeah,” Gina said. “Four-thirty. Damn good. You beat your own PR by twenty seconds. That’s fantastic. I’m impressed.” She smiled at me, then turned and walked back to her friends.

  No shit, I thought to myself. I didn’t think that she even knew who I was and it turns out she not only knows me, but she knows my stats. I could have finished last—it didn’t matter. I was on cloud nine.

  ~~~~

  Gina’s condo was a corner unit on the second floor of an eight-unit building in Queen Anne. Toni and I started interviewing Gina’s neighbors at one in the afternoon. We managed to catch four of the seven at home, which I thought was pretty good for a Thursday afternoon. Three of the four recognized Gina and had seen on the news that she’d gone missing. One guy was pissed that we’d woken him up, and then said he’d never seen her before anyway. Most commented that they’d seen the police cars at the condo over the past few days.

  One by one, we showed the neighbors the group photo plus the isolated head shots of Eddie Salazar and the mystery girl. Most importantly, we were looking for the identity of the mystery girl. Secondly, we were interested in determining if anyone had ever seen Eddie Salazar around Gina’s place. We struck out. None of the four neighbors had ever seen either Eddie or the mystery girl.

  Just after three, we walked back to my Jeep and were getting ready to leave when a silver Toyota Prius hybrid glided silently into the lot. As we watched, an elderly lady got out. She removed a single bag of what appeared to be groceries from her trunk and took the elevator to the second floor. We watched as she entered unit 303—next door to Gina’s apartment.

  “Should we talk to her now?” I asked wearily. “We’re going to have to come back to talk to the others tonight or tomorrow night anyway.”

  “Poor baby,” Toni said. “We’re here, she’s here, we’re getting paid. You can take the elevator if you’re tired.” She got out of the Jeep without waiting for me and headed for the stairs.

  Have I mentioned that Toni can be a little bossy sometimes?

  We went upstairs and knocked on the door for unit 303.

  A few seconds later, the door opened and a lady who looked to be in her mid- to late seventies looked us over. She was probably five four with silver hair pulled tightly back. She was neatly dressed, wearing a pink knit sweater over a print dress.

  “May I help you?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I answered. I introduced us and handed her our business cards. She studied them intently for a minute, then looked up at me.

  “Ma’am,” I continued, “we’ve been hired by the family of the young lady who lives next door to you to try and find out what’s happened to her.”

  “Gina? That poor, poor girl,” the lady said.

  “You know her, then?” I asked.

  “Yes, certainly,” she said. “I’ve come to know her well since she moved in last year. I hope and pray that nothing bad has happened to her.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” I said. “It says on the register that your last name is Perkins?”

  “Yes, Elizabeth Perkins.”

  “Miss Perkins, do you mind if we ask you a few questions?” I asked. “Questions that might help us locate Gina.”

  “It’s Mrs. Perkins,” she said. “My Vernon passed many years ago. I’m a widow. I don’t at all mind answering your questions. Please, come in.”

  We entered, and she said, “Do you mind if I put these groceries in the refrigerator first? I don’t want anything to spoil.”

  I smiled. She reminded me of my grandmother.

  “Please, take all the time you need,” Toni answered.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You two are welcome to sit on the sofa there if you’d like.”

  We thanked her and sat down. Her unit appeared to be identical to Gina’s—at least as far as layout. Of course, the decorating was nothing like Gina’s. Whereas Gina’s condo was stark, modern, and minimally furnished, Mrs. Perkins’s unit looked like my grandmother’s—that is, it featured painted and wallpapered walls, overstuffed furniture, and pictures and knickknacks everywhere. There was hardly a square inch of wall space without a picture or countertop space without some sort of figurine.

  “May I bring you two some iced tea on a hot day like today?” she asked.

  “Please,” Toni said. “That would be delightful. Would you like some help?”

  “No, thank you, dear,” Mrs. Perkins answered, smiling sweetly, as she shuffled back to her kitchen. She laughed and said, “I believe I can still manage to bring a couple of glasses of iced tea all by myself.”

  A minute later, she came from the kitchen carrying a small tray with a pitcher and three glasses full of ice. She placed the tray on the small table in front of us and said, “Please, help yourselves.” She sat down. “Now,” she said, “how may I help you?”

  Before we go out on an interview, we always build a standard list of questions that we call our PQL—our Program Question List. This helps us make sure we don’t forget to ask a question that might make it necessary for us to come back later. Things like what’s your full name, how long have you lived here, how well do you know Gina, when did she leave for work, when did she usually get home—that sort of thing. Mrs. Perkins felt she knew Gina reasonably well, but in a neighbor-to-neighbor sort of way. They did not socialize. We asked if Mrs. Perkins knew whether or not Gina went out often. Seemed like three or four nights per week. Did Gina bring men home? Occasionally. When was the last time she saw her? Last Thursday morning when Gina went to work.

  When we completed our PQL, we broke out the photos. We first showed her the picture of Eddie Salazar. “Do you recognize this man?” Toni asked.

  “Wait a minute,” she said. She reached into her sweater and pulled out a pair of reading glasses with lenses that were nearly a quarter-inch thick. She put them on and stared at the photo for a minute. “No, I’ve never seen him,” she said resolutely.

  “Okay,” I answered. “How about her?” I handed her the picture of Reggie Campbell.

  “No,” she answered. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her before, either.” She looked up at me. “Sorry I’m not being much help,” she said.

  “Don’t worry about that,” I answered. “Right now, it’s just as important that we know who doesn’t come here as who does. You’re being very helpful.” I handed her the picture of the mystery woman. “How about her?” I asked.

  She looked at the photo for a second, then she brightened and said, “Oh, yes! I know this young woman. I’ve seen her here many times.”

  Toni and I were both surprised. “Really?” I said. “Is that right?”

  “Oh yes,” she answered. “I recognize her.”

  I was a little worried about the size of Mrs. Perkins’s glasses. “How can you be so sure it was this girl and not possibly another?” I asked.

  “Because I bumped into the two of them outside once,” she answered, “Gina introduced us.”

  “That’s interesting,” I said. “Do you happen to remember her name?”

  She thought for a second, then said, “I think Gina said her name was Tara—no, wait, it was Kara—something like that.”

  “Could it have been Carolyn or Karen?” Toni asked.

  “No,” Mrs. Perkins said. “Now that I think about it, I’m almost certain it was Kara. I remember thinking that it rhymed with Tara from Gone with the Wind. One of my favorites.”

  “Mine, too,” I said, truthfully. I wasn’t lying. “That’s very useful. Gina never mentioned where Kara lived, did she?”

  “No,” Mrs. Perkins said, “but I do recall Gina saying that they worke
d in the same business together. You probably know that Gina works in her father’s business.”

  “Yes, we do,” Toni said.

  We chatted for another fifteen minutes or so before concluding. “Mrs. Perkins, is there anything else you can think of regarding this Kara girl, or any other thing you think we might be able to use?” I asked.

  She thought for a moment, and then said, “I don’t think so. But I have your card. If I think of something, should I call you?”

  “Absolutely,” Toni said, rising. “We really appreciate your help today, Mrs. Perkins. This is great information. You’ve been a big help this afternoon. You’ve given us a lot to go on.” She smiled, then said, “And, I must say, you make the best iced tea.”

  “Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Perkins said, smiling. “It’s sun tea. It brews all by itself in a jar in the window. I’m glad if I was able to help you. I hope you’re able to find Gina and bring her home safe and sound.”

  “We’re certainly going to try,” I said.

  We thanked her and reminded her to call us if she thought of anything else.

  We left and walked down the stairs to the parking lot. “Sweet lady,” Toni said. “Aren’t you glad you sucked it up and did one more interview?”

  “I’d have been back here tonight or tomorrow anyway,” I said. “But, that said, yes, I’m glad you guilt-tripped me into one more interview this afternoon. It was a good call.”

  “Damn straight,” she said.

  ~~~~

  “You still think she’s hiding out?” I asked Toni on the way back to the office. She hadn’t said a word since we’d left.

  She thought for a second, then said, “No reason to think otherwise. Not yet, anyway.”

  “What about Eddie Salazar? How does he fit in?”

  “Don’t know,” she said. “He sounds nasty, but we don’t know how he fits in or, for that matter, even if he fits in at all—or anything else about him yet,” she said. “All we know is that we need to be careful where we go trying to find him. He’s got mean friends.”

  “And he likes to make veiled threats over the telephone,” I added.

  “True. Still, he might be nothing more than a jilted lover with a bad case of macho-ego, for all we know.” She paused. “But I want to reserve the right to change my mind after we find this Kara chick and talk to her.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. I changed lanes. “Got any bright ideas on how to find her?”

  “Well, that sweet Mrs. Perkins said she thought that Kara and Gina worked in the same business. What could that mean?”

  “Coworker? Let’s check with Robbie when we get back to the office.”

  “Maybe. Odd no one would have mentioned her, though. Besides, if I were Gina and the boss of a whole group of subordinate employees, I probably wouldn’t make any of them my first choice of hangout buddies,” she said. “I’ll bet it’s hard to be the boss in the daytime and a best friend after work. From what I hear about Gina, she’s nothing if not efficient. My money says Kara’s not an employee of the company.”

  She had a good point. “You’re probably right. But it’s easy enough to check with Robbie anyway. I forget the name of the HR lady he said they had, but it should only take a second to crosscheck names.”

  “Okay,” Toni said. “But how about a vendor or a supplier—maybe some sort of wholesaler. Might be that’s their business connection.”

  “That’s good,” I said, impressed. “Same basic concept—how about a customer?”

  “Yep. My working theory then—at least for the moment—is that Gina met Kara from her activities at work. Kara is most likely a reasonably high-ranked financial officer from a supplier or customer.”

  “First thing in the morning, let’s go past Pacific Wine and Spirits. We’ll get a list of employees’ names from HR and then talk to Reggie Campbell about finding a list of supplier and customer contacts. Then we’ll start making some phone calls.”

  ~~~~

  We made it back to the office by four, and I was glad to see that Richard was still there. When I bought Richard’s company a few years ago, I discovered pretty quickly that he wasn’t completely comfortable with the idea of stepping away from the work altogether. He needed to sell the business for health reasons—he’s not really able to perform some of the physical aspects of the job anymore. Even the relatively easy stuff like sitting on a stakeout for five or six hours is hard on him now. Yet, despite the fact that the business no longer carries his name, he has a strong mental need to stay involved. Truth is, mentally, he’s as sharp as ever, and he’s addicted to working cases. If ever there was a born detective, it’s Richard. Anything from crosswords to murder mysteries, he can’t resist. And, after fifty years at it, he’s damn good.

  Not being completely stupid, I realized that I might be able to take advantage of his need to stay involved. If I simply provided him with an office, a phone, a business card and a place to hang out, I got the benefit of his massive database of expertise. What’s more, he does it because he likes it! I don’t have to pay him. What a deal. It’s not really taking advantage, I suppose. We both get something out of it. And we’re both aware of each other’s motives. One of those I-know-that-he-knows-and-he-knows-that-I-know-that-we-both-know-what-each-other-is-after sort of deals.

  “Got a minute?” I asked him from the doorway of his office.

  “You bet,” he said. “I was just wrapping up to go home.” Richard and his wife live in Ballard, just west of Queen Anne.

  I slid into one of the chairs across from his desk. “We got a first name on the mystery lady this afternoon. It’s Kara.”

  “Kara,” he said slowly. “That’s good news. How are you going to track her down, and what do you hope to accomplish if you find her?”

  “We have a lead that Kara is in the same business as Gina. We have a hunch that she might be some sort of finance person employed by either a supplier or a customer of Pacific Wine and Spirits. Hopefully, if we find her, she might have some insight as to what Gina’s up to. She seems to be pretty close to Gina. Gina’s next-door neighbor said she’s seen Kara at Gina’s place a few times.”

  “Sounds like a good hunch, then,” Richard said.

  “Yeah, I hope,” I said. “Step by step, right?”

  “Step by step,” he repeated.

  “What are your thoughts about this case so far anyway? What’s your experience tell you about what’s happening here?”

  “Well, let’s look at the numbers. I checked the Internet. Nationwide, about 180 women are reported missing each day of the year. Of these, probably 80 percent are running away from something or someone—in essence, hiding. Fifteen percent are insane or have some sort of mental problem. The other 5 percent have been abducted and, most likely, are dead within a few hours of abduction. Except for the deceased, most of the others eventually return home or are tracked down.”

  “So you’re saying I should find some comfort in these numbers?” I asked him.

  “Sure, the numbers are in your favor,” he said. “Unless she’s one of the unlucky 5 percent. The numbers most decidedly did not work out for them.”

  “Thanks a hell of a lot.”

  “Well, that’s the point, isn’t it,” he asked, leaning back in his chair and locking his hands behind his head, smiling. “She’s not insane, so if you just go by the numbers, you tell the parents to go home and wait. Odds are excellent that she’ll be back. She’s most likely simply run off for the moment. The problem with this approach is that you’re talking about a young woman for whom a disappearing act like this is completely out of character. And you’re talking about someone’s daughter—not a number in the FBI’s national crime statistics. Why would this young lady run off? She has no known troubles. No known drug problems. No abusive husband. No known abusive boyfriend—although I grant you that Eduardo Salazar may turn out to be a motivation. But for the moment, there’s no reason that we can see for anyone to be after her. Therefore, why would she take off
and hide?”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  Richard smiled. “So what do we do then? Do we throw in the towel and play the odds? Of course not. The way I see it, the problem we have is that fundamentally, we don’t know this girl well enough to understand if any of the things that I just said are factual. Just because she doesn’t have a legal husband, just because she doesn’t have a record of disappearance, just because she doesn’t have any other visible historical manifestation that could lead a rational person to conclude that she was likely to up and disappear doesn’t mean that such manifestations don’t exist. It’s like the old saying, ‘If a tree falls down in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?’”

  Richard sounds more and more like a college professor every day. He’s also fond of sayings. He has one for every situation. This one made a weird kind of sense, though.

  “I imagine,” he continued, “the tree makes a very loud sound indeed, particularly if you happen to be standing directly beneath it. And I also imagine that there’s something in this girl’s past that’s led to her disappearance, that’s caused her to run. We don’t know what it is. We have to dig until we find it.”

  I nodded. “This is true. Of course, there’s the other explanation,” I said.

  He looked at me without smiling. “Of course,” he agreed. “She could just be one of the unlucky 5 percent.”

  ~~~~

  After I called Dwayne and updated him, I wrote up my daily report, a habit I’d gotten into in the army. I said good night to Toni and left the office about six-thirty. I live in an apartment on Dexter Avenue, which is located on a bluff on the next street above my office and about a half mile north. This still puts me at the southern end of Lake Union. I like the water. Something about it soothes me. Lake, ocean, river, you name it—I’ve always liked the water. So my apartment, like my office, has a balcony that allows me an unrestricted view of the south end of the lake. I look right over the tops of the offices on the water, and I can see the eastern shore of the lake—the apartments, the marinas, and the restaurants of Chandler’s Cove. If I look to my left, which is north, I can see the float house where Sleepless in Seattle was filmed. If I look to the right, I can see the Kenmore Air floatplanes seaport. They take off and land all day long. When the wind is out of the northeast, the landing approach path brings them directly over Chandler’s restaurant. I love to watch the unsuspecting restaurant patrons dive for cover when a de Havilland Beaver suddenly appears out of nowhere and roars forty feet overhead on final approach.