by Lee Driver
It climbed fast and headed toward Camden Parkway where the body of Tex Miller had been found. Sara wasn’t sure what she would find but the hawk would have a better perspective than the human eye, especially from these heights.
The crime scene area was well-marked, the yellow and black tape like a bright beacon highlighting the gruesome crime scene. The hawk lighted on a tall oak tree, which seemed to be the central point. Sara had heard Dagger and Padre talking on the phone about the case. The grisly details of both the Cambridge and Miller cases coupled with the shapeshifter theory had her mind reeling. Not knowing what to expect and who or what was behind it was intriguing her.
The metallic, pungent odor of blood was carried on the wind, wafting through the branches. Cautiously the hawk made its way down, limb to limb, pausing to search. Sunlight was fading, hovering close to the horizon. There was only an hour’s worth of daylight left.
It was obvious where the head of Tex Miller had been impaled. It would take a good rain for nature to rid the stain of death. The scent of blood was becoming too unsettling, so the hawk flew to a large maple tree across the road.
“Not mine.” The tall man with ferret features pulled his glasses off and pointed toward the lot. “Add ‘um up. I’ve got twenty-three vans and they are all out there. I service the Northwest Indiana area, lot of government agencies, schools.” Eric Volkman had a military buzz cut which was so gray and close-cut he looked bald. He was the owner of AAA Vending in Munster, Indiana.
The van in the picture looked identical to the ones in the lot, same color, same emblem. Padre showed him the picture of the man who had gained access to the Evidence Room.
Eric studied it but shook his head. “He might just as well wear a mask but what little there is to see doesn’t look familiar.” He handed the picture back saying, “Ain’t hard to get a brown van and paint yellow lettering on it. But Leroy Ambrose has serviced the Cedar Point police and fire departments for the past five years. He’s African American.” Pointing to the picture, Eric added, “That ain’t Leroy Ambrose.”
Dagger looked over his shoulder at Padre and Volkman, then back to the window. He jammed his sunglasses into the pocket of his corduroy shirt and looked down at the waiting area littered with today’s papers and empty coffee cups. Ashtrays on two-foot-high chrome stands were filled with cigarette butts. The place reeked of tobacco overload.
Padre asked, “When is the last time you saw Ambrose?”
“Today.”
“How many uniforms does each of the drivers get?”
“Three. It’s up to them to deposit them in the laundry bin.”
“And where is that kept?”
Eric jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Back room. We use State Line Laundry. Drop off the uniforms every other day. They deliver, like clockwork.”
Dagger digested what Volkman had told Padre. No reason not to believe him. The property was secure, surrounded by cyclone fencing and a sliding gate. One thing was certain...the Evidence Room thief wasn’t just flying by the seat of his pants. He was methodical and very well-rehearsed.
The breeze shook the maple tree. Although it only weighed two pounds, the hawk felt safer moving down to a sturdier branch. It was at least fifty feet from the crime scene and upwind yet the odor of death was still strong.
A movement caught the hawk’s eye and it watched as a ground squirrel scurried for shelter in a hollowed out log. Getting close to dark and it seemed as if the forest’s creatures were running for cover. Their instincts were far greater than a human’s. Tex Miller didn’t know it wasn’t safe to be out after dark.
The metallic odor was not diminishing and the hawk was beginning to wonder if there was a dead animal nearby. It cocked its head, its gaze darting. Shafts of late afternoon sun sprayed bands of sunlight and as the breeze parted the branches, the hawk caught site of the source of the odor.
“What do you think?” Padre asked as he and Dagger walked to their vehicles.
“Check someone in your building. They should be familiar with the regular AAA vendor and immediately question when two show up in the same week. And it might be worth checking out State Line Laundry. Maybe your guy works there, drives the truck.”
Dagger?
Dagger’s body jerked and he came to an abrupt stop.
You are going to give me…
Sorry. Knock knock, Sara said coyly.
Dagger detected apprehension in Sara’s voice.
“Hey? You okay.” Padre grabbed his arm to steady him.
“Yeah, fine. My beeper just went off. Wasn’t expecting it.”
This was new to him. Dagger had always been alone before when he and Sara communicated this way. “Hang on a sec.”
What’s up and what are you doing out this late? Dagger demanded.
Have I got a curfew?
You should. Get home.
First, I think you should know something. After a brief pause, Sara said, Tex Miller had a passenger.
Dagger had to think quick—how to talk to Sara and not let Padre know. He checked his beeper as if it were going to show him a number. Then he flipped open the watch face on his wrist which revealed a keypad. It seemed strange to see such a small phone and Dagger wasn’t particularly fond of its size but Skizzy wanted him to try it out. Unfortunately, this wasn’t one he pressed to his ear. It was all speaker, more like a walkie-talkie. Not something he could use now. So he reached inside the Navigator and pulled out his cell phone to dial home, trying to avoid Padre’s curious eyes.
Give me the details, he said in thought only.
Sara told him where she was and how she found the gruesome remains of a woman high on a branch fifty feet from Tex Miller’s remains.
Dagger jammed an elbow against the hood of the Navigator and raked a hand through his curly hair. These killings were getting more bizarre by the minute.
“What’s up?” Padre’s cop nose sensed something amiss.
Dagger slowly pressed the OFF button on the phone. Promise me you’ll go home, Sara. I don’t want you out after dark.
She promised she would leave now.
Turning to Padre, Dagger asked, “Anyone in your office ever locate Miller’s wife?”
“Not yet. Why?”
“She may have been riding with him.”
CHAPTER 17
October 10, 6:10 p.m.
Brian stood over the bed watching Josie sleep.
His baseball cap was rolled up in one hand, his duffel bag gripped in the other. The lunch he had prepared for her was still sitting in the tray. She had lost her appetite and that wasn’t a good sign. He picked up the tray and quietly left the room.
After depositing the tray on the kitchen counter, he went to his workroom. He tossed the cap on the cot and unzipped the duffel bag. Josie never questioned where he got his money. When he told her he worked for a vending machine company, he wasn’t exactly lying. He did wear the employee uniform, he just never reported to work. And he only serviced the area police departments. With the new-fangled security systems they were setting up, he had to get creative. He didn’t mean to kill the cop, but he had something he needed—his index finger.
Within the hour work crews, fire department trucks, lighting, crime techs, and Luther appeared at the third crime scene area. Camden Parkway was again blocked off to traffic. Around the same time a dark blue Buick LaSabre was found in the farthest remote parking lot at O’Hare Airport. The deteriorated remains of Officer Lou Riley, minus one index finger, was found in the trunk. Cause of death was not immediately determined.
Dagger stayed close to his Lincoln Navigator and waited with Padre by the wooden horses since the Crime Lab was using the snorkel again to examine the area where Paula Miller’s body had been found.
“How the hell did your informant find out? Even the news helicopters didn’t report seeing anything,” Padre said, referring to knowing there was a second rider.
“Trees are still too thick here. My informant,” Dagger grinned,
“well, let’s just say my informant has unique methods. And if you are really patient, I might be able to tell you where the Evidence Room thief lives.”
“I don’t like it when you have that look on your face.” Padre played with the buttons on the Navigator’s console.
“What look?”
“I don’t know. That look of something sinister and borderline illegal and if I find out too much, you’ll kill me.”
Dagger laughed. “Nothing sinister. Just one of my bugs from the Evidence Room happened to attach itself to the suspect.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No. It’s just in a dark place right now so we can’t get a good picture. But we will.”
“We?” Padre pressed a button and the grid on the dashboard lit up. “What the hell is this?”
“City map.”
The console glowed gray and a red blip beeped like a heart monitor.
“What’s the red light?”
“Home base,” Dagger replied, then turned the monitor off. Padre played with another latch on his door panel and a gun storage compartment popped open.
“Damn, I gotta get me one of these vehicles.”
Surprisingly, very few onlookers were there although several reporters and news crews had heard the report on police scanners and arrived right after the police. Dagger wondered where Sheila was, seeing that this might be a big story. The road ahead was lit up like some UFO had just landed, bright lights glowing, turning the dark road and forest into daylight. Dagger doubted the killer would show his fangs in this area tonight.
Dagger turned to Padre. “I don’t think I’m going to stick around for these festivities. I want to get home and eat dinner while I still have an appetite.”
“Don’t blame you. But I sure hate getting out of this plushy batmobile.”
As Padre placed his hand on the doorknob, Dagger asked, “What about the tapes your man took at the crime scenes? See anyone familiar?”
“There were a couple suspicious looking guys but we haven’t been able to identify any of them.” Padre stifled a yawn. “I have to go over to the hotel later and check on Sherlock and Marty. Sherlock is really getting antsy the closer it gets.”
“May as well come to my place. They will be there later.” After a few beats, Dagger asked, “What’s your take on Sherlock, really?”
“If this were the movies, I would say he would be my number one suspect. But this ain’t the movies.”
Dagger thought about the detailed information Sherlock had on the Addison family and the reams of reports. He turned his gaze to Padre and said, “This isn’t exactly real life either.”
They were silent for a while, each lost in his own thoughts, trying to decipher the last thirty hours.
Finally Dagger said, “If, and it’s a big IF, Sherlock is right about the killer, then we have to come up with a plan pretty quick. I think Sherlock mentioned the only way to kill it is in its human form and preferably by fire. So put your thinking cap on. We have to come up with a fire-proof structure, like an abandoned concrete building.”
“What are you going to use? Napalm?”
Dagger thought about it for a second, mentally going over his cache of weapons in his walk-in vault. “Not a bad idea.”
CHAPTER 18
October 10, 8:45 p.m.
Caroline Kirby struggled with her purse, laptop, and overnight bag. She felt honored that Sheila would give her a story to write and could see her by-line now. Sheila had asked that she work on it at her penthouse and she would join her after eating dinner at her parents’ house. Just as well. It would give Caroline time to write a preliminary draft of the interview she had conducted earlier with several City Hall workers.
She stared at the marble floor. The hallway had to be at least ten feet wide and she couldn’t begin to estimate how much a penthouse overlooking Lake Michigan cost. Sheila’s, according to office gossip, was at least three thousand square feet and cost half a million bucks. Caroline couldn’t fathom that kind of money. And now she gets to actually see the place.
There were mailboxes downstairs by the doorman. A doorman. She actually had walked into a building that had a doorman. He had raised his eyebrows at her appearance but Sheila had said to dress casual. Caroline’s most comfortable clothes were her torn jeans and UCLA sweatshirt. Her gym shoes were hot pink with matching shoelaces.
She set her overnight bag down and blew a strand of hair from her face. Fumbling with the keys, she finally found the one that fit the lock. Sheila’s father had brought in an expensive designer to decorate her office. Caroline expected no less from the penthouse. The door swung open and she was met with darkness. The drapes were open and sheers billowed in the breeze which sifted through an opened balcony door. The light from the hallway revealed an eggshell-colored carpeting beyond the marble foyer. Caroline closed the door and placed her bags on the floor. Her hand swiped at the wall searching for a switch. With as modern as this place was, she wondered if she had to speak to a computer that controlled all the appliances and lights. She giggled at the thought.
Her eyes detected the image of a lamp on an end table and she moved cautiously toward it. It suddenly dawned on Caroline that she should have asked Sheila if she owned any pets. A dog would have made its presence known by now, but not a cat.
Her hand located the lamp and she fumbled around for the switch. Relieved, she pressed the button several times. Nothing. “Great.” She stood and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Maybe the wall switch was near another doorway.
A long sigh cut through the silence. Caroline stopped short of stepping further into the room. Was Sheila home? But wouldn’t she have turned the lights on? Did she own a fish tank? Room humidifier? Some other appliance that was making that strange hissing sound? Holding her breath, she shut her eyes, then opened them hoping it would make them adjust to the darkness quicker. She strained to listen for sounds.
She felt wisps of hair lift from the back of her head as if by a cool breeze. Feeling her heart pound in her chest, she tried to convince herself there was a heating vent on the ceiling or perhaps a ceiling fan causing the breeze. Then she felt it again. Instinctively she ran her hand down the back of her head. She never was fond of dark unfamiliar territory and laughed nervously to ease the tension. What happened next literally turned her blood icy—she felt someone’s warm breath on the back of her neck. And worse yet, she heard the sound of a breath being expelled.
Turning quickly, she stared into a set of eyes so eerie and appalling she couldn’t get her vocal cords to respond, to rip out a blood curdling scream. She had heard of people being so frightened they couldn’t move much less speak and never believed it was possible. His eyes glowed like smoldering coals and his breath was as hot as an Arizona desert.
She heard someone whimper, a soft cat-like whimper, and realized it was coming from her. Something sharp was pressed against her throat. Slowly it trailed down the front of her. This was not the way she ever pictured herself dying, quivering under someone’s power, and she was damned if she was going to let it happen now. With all the strength she could muster, she shoved hard against her attacker and ran for the door. But she no sooner reached the foyer, then he materialized in front of her. Those eerie eyes smiling, a sardonic laugh in his throat. How did he get there so quickly? She turned and ran, bumping against an ottoman, hearing herself scream, feeling herself being pulled down, feeling her fists strike out helplessly. He was too strong. When the fight was all gone and she felt herself fading, a crazy thought came to her head—who would write her obituary?
Padre pressed his cell phone to his ear as he lay on Dagger’s couch. When he hung up, he announced to the three men, “Luther said Mrs. Miller was probably thrown at impact. Had a fractured skull. Fragments of tree bark in her head match the tree the motorcycle had hit. Died on impact. Lucky thing she wasn’t awake when…” His voice trailed off. There was no need to describe in full detail how Paula Miller’s body looked like some dis
carded, dismembered doll some child had cast aside. “I don’t understand.” He turned to Sherlock. “You said he wasn’t brutal until he fully shifted on the thirteenth.”
Leaning over his laptop, hands clasped in prayer style, Sherlock paused in thought. Finally, he admitted, “I’m not sure. Maybe it has to do with it being the thirteenth such occurrence. Maybe the accumulation of power over the generations that it…he keeps getting stronger and stronger. I can only assume he won’t be fully shifted until the thirteenth. But that doesn’t mean his thirst for destruction in human form isn’t stronger.”
Dagger was sitting at his desk, legs propped on the corner, hands behind his head. His visitors grew silent. Everyone had declined Dagger’s offer of a beer or something stronger, so Sara had made coffee instead. Even Einstein was quiet. Nighttime had fallen and he had taken up his vigil in front of the windows in the aviary. The prescription was working its magic and the macaw was starting to dose off.
Sara stood in front of the aviary watching Einstein. Sherlock was watching her. Dagger couldn’t help noticing the gauze tape still wrapped around the professor’s hand. Was it admiration in Sherlock’s eyes or was he stalking his next victim? Was Simon right? Was Dagger suspicious of any male who cast an admiring glance Sara’s way? Or was he just being cautious?
Sara had done something different with her hair. Tiny braids ran down each side of her head. She was trying different things, experimenting, like a curious teenager. He just hoped she wasn’t ready to try green hair much less short hair. And how she could go from seeing the gruesome remains of Paula Miller to playing with her hair baffled him. Maybe that was her way of keeping her mind occupied. Any normal eighteen-year-old would have been a basket case. But that was the operative word—normal.