by Lee Driver
Slowly, Dagger strode over to the bench and casually sat down next to Sara. He pulled off his sunglasses, rubbed them on the front of his shirt and leaned over, forearms on his knees, glasses dangling from his fingertips.
“Not quite the perfect day to go shopping.” Dagger stared straight ahead at the young men with lust in their eyes. Sara said nothing. “I wouldn’t even attempt to shop during the classic auto show. It’s more wall-to-wall people than the Friday after Thanksgiving.” Still no response from Sara. He glanced over at her hands, the fingers white from being clasped tightly.
Finally, Sara said, “That’s still no excuse. It shouldn’t have bothered me.”
“Don’t beat yourself up.”
“Easy for you to say,” she snapped.
One of the boys in heat made a move. He turned up the collar on his leather jacket. Acting Mister Tough Guy in front of his friends. Dagger wanted to pull on the ring piercing the guy’s eyebrow.
Mister Tough Guy asked, “He bothering you, Miss?”
Dagger glared at him. “Get lost.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
Dagger stood, towering over the fresh-faced kid with the body piercing and the country club emblem on his shirt. Rich kid. Probably drove a Porsche and golfed at Daddy’s prestigious country club. Dagger didn’t cut a figure anyone would want to mess with. His dark eyes were brooding, deep set, and when he wasn’t turning on his warm smile for Sara, he could exude danger from every pore of his body. With his dark hair, continuous five-o’clock shadow, and deep summer tan, he could easily be mistaken for a terrorist and denied boarding on international flights.
He glared at the youth long enough for the sweat to start forming at the kid’s hairline. Dagger said, “I sure hope you weren’t talking to her.”
Sara grabbed his arm. “Dagger, please.”
“She doesn’t look fine to me.” He was brave now. Back-up arrived. His friends had moved off the bench and joined him.
Dagger blinked slowly, his deep inset eyes never wavering from the youth’s. Dagger was lean but what his quilted vest hid was a well-toned body and a 3.15-inch barrel Kimber .45 snapped into the holster at the small of his back, not that he would flash his gun in public. He had a better weapon.
“She’s my sister,” Dagger announced. If there was anything that deflated a young man’s testosterone level, it was hearing that someone was a girl’s father or brother. Fathers and brothers were territorial. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t true. The boys in heat believed it. And they backed down.
As they quietly retreated, Dagger sank back down onto the bench. He lifted Sara’s sunglasses and peered at her red eyes, dropped the glasses back in place.
“We all have good days and bad. Did the truck stall at all today?”
Sara shook her head no.
“See,” he smiled, a warm smile that softened his features. “So another day you’ll probably conquer the mall but the truck will die on you.” He slid his sunglasses back on the bridge of his nose. “I haven’t had lunch yet and that new Rain Forest Café you wanted to try just opened. I think the least you can do after keeping me out so late last night is to buy me lunch.”
That brought the hint of a smile to her lips. Dagger rose and held out his hand. She grabbed it and stood. Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, he kissed the top of her head. And he smiled to himself as they walked to the parking lot. What he loved most were the barbs he was feeling, the green eyes of envy leveled at his back.
CHAPTER 5
October 9, 12:05 p.m.
Dagger checked the beeper clamped to his belt and pulled out his cell phone. Padre answered on the third ring.
“What happened to your vacation?” Dagger asked.
“A homicide has a way of interrupting those slices of relaxation. Where are you? We gotta talk.”
Dagger told him the name of the restaurant and hung up. Sara sat across from him, her eyes wide in amazement at the automated animals, the mock thunderstorm and lightning, the sounds of drizzling rain. He could tell she felt completely relaxed in this atmosphere. They were at a table near a saltwater fish tank containing some of the most unusual fish either of them had ever seen. Overhead, a literal rain forest of foliage hung with automated parrots and other unusual species chattering away.
“Like the place?” He combed his hair back with his fingers and wrapped a rubberband around the thick, shoulder-length hair.
Sara’s smile radiated. “It’s wonderful.” Her eyes were expressive and reflected the curiosity and innocence of her youth but in some respects she had the maturity and intellect beyond her eighteen years.
While they studied their menus, Dagger told her about Padre’s phone call.
“He’s coming here?”
“Yes. He didn’t say what he wanted.”
The restaurant started to fill and was soon a buzz of activity, between the clatter of dishes, random conversations, and laughter of children. They no sooner placed their order then Sergeant Martinez arrived.
“How do you like my fishing outfit?” He slipped out of his trench coat and did a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn, showing off his dark suit, white shirt, and tie. “Pretty good, huh?” He threw the coat over the back of his chair and sat down. “Let me order first and I’ll be right with you.” He flagged down a waitress and ordered a thick burger and side salad. “And keep the coffee coming, Sweetheart,” Padre added.
“Well, well. If it isn’t my two favorite men.” Sheila slid one arm across Dagger’s shoulder. With a well-lacquered nail, she pushed her platinum hair behind one ear. She always used her left hand for this well-practiced movement so she could show the world her engagement ring, a ring that should have been taken off months ago. But Sheila still held out hope. With a flirtatious wink to Padre she slid one hip onto the chair next to Dagger.
“If I didn’t know better, Miss Monroe, I’d say you’ve been following me.” Padre winked back at her.
“Missed you this morning.” Her hand trailed off of Dagger’s shoulder and down his arm.
Sara watched the theatrics unfolding. There wasn’t a hair out of place on Sheila’s head. Sara had seen clothes like Sheila’s in the more expensive stores in the mall. Most of the clientele were dropped off by chauffeured limousines. And one of the hotels had an exclusive salon where the rich socialites had their bodies fussed over, their hair colored and styled. Sara would usually stand in the window and just watch how the women looked when they walked in and the transformation as they walked out.
Sheila’s skin was flawless, make-up picture perfect, a trim model-sized body. She was beautiful. And she knew it. And it wasn’t unusual for Dagger’s ex-fiancée to ignore Sara as she was doing now.
“I don’t suppose you are going to discuss the murder this morning,” Sheila said.
“I’m sure The Daily Herald would love to get all the scoop.” Dagger lifted Sheila’s hand from his arm and placed it on the table.
Sheila’s father, Leyton Monroe owned The Daily Herald, along with a laundry list of other publications across the U.S.
The waitress set a pot of coffee in front of Padre. He filled his cup saying, “Now why would I want to give a statement to The Daily Herald’s ace reporter? Seeing that all statements are coming only from the office of the police chief, I really think you are wasting your time, little lady.” He blew at the steam wafting from his cup.
“Just wanted a few comments off the record. Can you blame a girl?” Sheila placed her handbag on the table and stood. “Maybe you can think about it for a few minutes while I go powder my nose.”
Padre waited until Sheila was out of range before saying, “We’ve got a problem at Headquarters.”
Sara stared at Sheila’s leather handbag. Her eyebrows scrunched as if pondering a major problem. Not only was she curious why the handbag was left, she was also puzzled by the whirring sound she was hearing. “Why would she powder her nose and leave her purse?” Sara asked Dagger.
Dagger
studied the pink leather clutch bag. Curious, he unfastened the clasp. Inside he found a micro-sized tape recorder set on RECORD.
Padre grabbed the recorder from him and spoke into it. “Miss Monroe, I am sure you are aware tape recording conversations without prior knowledge is against the law.” He pressed the STOP button and shook his head. “I have no use for reporters.”
Dagger placed the recorder back in Sheila’s purse and glanced over at Sara. “Good work.” The waitress brought their food and they ate while Padre talked.
“We removed the cameras in the evidence room and installed one of those new-fangled fingerprint scans. The gizmo cost big bucks,” he said around a wad of French fries, “but in the long run, it’s supposed to save money. No clerk needed, blah blah. Well,” he took a sip of coffee, “seems one of the guns we took off the bozo guarding the warehouse last night was logged into the Evidence Room six months ago. Now it’s suddenly in his possession.”
“How long ago was the scanner installed?”
“Two months. They did an inventory before it was installed and the HK carbine was there. Did an inventory last week, the damn thing comes up checked out.”
Dagger’s eyebrows shot up. “Carbine?” He watched Sara pick around several items in her grilled salmon salad. He peered over at her plate. “Those are garbanzo beans, Sara.”
She shot him a look over her fork but it was too late for him to reel the words back in. He should have learned his lesson after the last social function he dragged her to. Sara had taken a sip of her soup and whispered across the table to him, “My soup is cold.” Dagger had replied that it was vichyssoise, it was supposed to be cold. Unfortunately, rather than whispering he had responded in a normal tone that could be heard by everyone seated at the table in the swank Le Bistro Restaurant. This brought chuckles from the Tylers and Monroes. Sheila had taken the opportunity to blurt out, “For godsake. Can’t you take her to a McDonald’s?” Sara had never tasted vichyssoise before and didn’t know there were soups that were supposed to be served cold. Favorite foods eaten by the rich and famous were not on her list of Internet research subjects.
Dagger had apologized profusely that night but dug his grave even more the next day by giving her a book on gourmet eating. Sheila had suggested it. He should have known better than to think Sheila had Sara’s or his best interests in mind.
“They don’t have much of a taste to them.” Dagger shrugged apologetically, still not knowing when to leave well enough alone.
“Hate it when they add strange stuff to my food,” Padre said. “Just lettuce and tomato. Maybe some cucumber. But leave that grassy stuff out and the sunflower seeds and any other foo-foo crap.”
To Padre, Dagger said, “Without a clerk at the desk, how do you verify what left the room?”
“There are tags on each item that have to be scanned. We don’t have a problem finding out who took it. It’s all in the scan log. The problem is the guy retired three months ago. Lou Riley is living out in Idaho.”
“You talked to him?”
“Talked to his daughter.”
“When’s the last time he was in town?”
“She hasn’t seen him since he left. He does a lot of hunting. Planned a trip to Canada, Alaska, she wasn’t sure when he would be calling next.”
“But she’s sure he left town?”
“Positive.”
The thunder and lightning show drowned out their conversation. Dagger pushed his plate away and watched Sara’s eyes scan the ceiling. Children at a nearby table ran over to where the elephant heads were moving. The waitress came by and asked Dagger if they wanted dessert. They declined.
Once the noise quieted down, Padre continued. “Anyway, it’s an inside job. That’s for sure. And to really confuse things, the same guy took out five other pieces since he supposedly retired.”
Dagger tented his hands and propped them under his chin. He stared at the fish tank in thought, watched the fish darting in and out of the sunkin’ ship and mock log resting on the bottom of the tank, while he mulled possibilities around in his head.
“Someone take a copy of his fingerprints from the file and use it?” Dagger asked.
Padre shook his head. “Scanner is too sensitive. Would pick up on the paper, know it wasn’t authentic.” He pushed his chair away from the table, crossed one ankle over his knee. “Chief wants me to get outside help and I thought of you.”
Smiling, Sara turned her attention to Dagger and said, “Mick.”
“Mick?” Padre asked.
With a wave of his hand, Dagger said, “The less you know, the better.”
“Fine with me. Just stop by some time tonight when it’s less crowded and do what ya gotta do.” Padre then told them about the homicide this morning.
“She was a cop?” Sara asked.
Padre nodded. “Really bizarre. She was wedged between the branches about twenty feet up in the air. Gun was still in her holster, safety on.”
Dagger’s eyebrows hunched in thought. “Any suspects? What about the boyfriend?”
“Looks clean to me. We’re going to focus now on any collars she’s put away, someone recently released with vengeance on his brain.”
“Miss me?” Sheila was all smiles as she returned from the restroom.
“Nah, we’re done.” Padre’s gaze swept the room, force of habit. “Who you having lunch with?”
Sheila nodded to a table by the window. “My new assistant, Caroline.”
A frail looking young woman with mousy brown hair and a cocoa-brown suit, sat perusing the menu and checking her watch.
“Guess I should go eat.” She gave Dagger a quick peck on the cheek and to Padre she said, “Nice seeing you.” Again, she said nothing to Sara.
“Probably college age,” Padre said about the mousy looking assistant. “Dulls herself up so she doesn’t shine in front of her boss but all the while gleaning tips and ways to get her job.”
“Probably right.” Dagger watched Sheila take her seat at the table.
“I’ll give her five seconds to check her purse.” Padre smiled as Sheila unlatched her purse and slid her hand inside, leaned across the table toward her assistant, smiling in victory. “Come to papa, now.”
They watched as Sheila placed her hand to her ear, the tiny recorder hidden in her grasp.
“Oh, yeah. Hope the acoustics in this place are good.” Padre chuckled, shaking his head.
The look of triumph on Sheila’s face slowly faded as she listened to Padre’s recording. Her head turned sharply. Padre smiled broadly and raised a hand, fingers wiggling like a parent waving at a toddler.
“Damn, I hate reporters,” Padre grumbled.
CHAPTER 6
October 9, 1:20 p.m.
“How are you feeling?”
The young woman’s eyes opened and she smiled. “I just had a wonderful dream.”
“Really?” He sat down on the bed next to her. The scent of the afternoon rain swept in through the opened window of the two-bedroom home they rented. It had been built in the 1950s and still had a coal bin down in the basement and a creaky attic above.
She rubbed her hands across her stomach. “I dreamed we were hiking through a beautiful forest. It had blossoming trees and a huge waterfall.” Her eyes blinked groggily.
He kissed her forehead, then her lips. “One day soon. The doctor says you just have to stay in bed for a little while longer.”
Josie had always been shy, that was one of the qualities that had attracted Brian. Very unassuming, a patch of freckles across her nose and cheeks, chin length brown hair that had a sheen to it. They had met on the Internet in a singles chat room. Her entire family had been killed in a plane crash, as was his, so he told her. Neither had any relatives. Alone in the world, two lost souls. She had been putty in his hands.
And that was good because she never questioned the erratic hours he worked or how he made his money. She never got nosy or wandered into his locked workroom downstairs where he kept a
ll the weapons he had stolen from various police departments.
He hated to sweat so he didn’t have a weightlifter’s build but Josie had thought he looked like some soap actor. Josie knew she was damn lucky to have someone like Brian and was more than willing to do whatever he wanted to satisfy his needs.
“Want something to eat?” He brushed her hair from her face. “How about a grilled cheese? Lots of protein.”
She smiled and shoved herself to a sitting position. “Want help?”
“You stay.” He flashed a dimpled smile and kissed her again. Brian moved to the kitchen which the owners had upgraded. Before and after pictures had been left in the cabinet above the counter as proof, Brian thought, as to why they were charging $750 a month rent. It was a dump, but living in the ritzy part of town would be too high profile.
He grabbed the package off the butcher-block kitchen table and made his way down the creaking stairs to the basement. Decades-old watermarks stained the battleship-gray walls contributing to the musty odor. Nothing would erase the smell. The house was just too damn old. The foundation had seeped over the years and patchwork attempts could be seen in the corners. The washer and dryer were set on concrete stands one foot off the floor. Clotheslines hugged the low ceiling as reminders of pre-automatic dryer years.
The only thing new in the basement was the padlock Brian had placed on the door, not that he didn’t trust Josie. He just knew human nature and soon she would be curious. The workroom was the old coal bin and it had taken Brian two months to clean it up and air it out. The house was now heated by a gas furnace, so there wasn’t a need for the bin or the duct that led to the furnace room. The duct had been blocked off on the other side.
Brian opened the envelope, took out the stacks of bills and shoved them into their hiding place in the unused duct. The only piece of furniture in the ten-by-fifteen-foot room was a twin-sized bed shoved against the wall. He sat down and contemplated his next move. If only he could get his hands on the cache of weapons confiscated last night. But those wouldn’t be in the Evidence Room. ATF probably had them by now. Doesn’t matter, he thought, because he had seen several Heckler & Koch UMP45 submachine guns during his last visit to the room. Those alone should net him a pretty penny.