Full Moon Bloody Moon

by Lee Driver

  “Those collars didn’t look promising to me either,” J.D. admitted as he slid onto the seat across from Padre.

  There was never a hint of new growth on his head and Padre imagined J.D. shaved his head twice a day to keep it that way.

  “I never did thank you.”

  Padre cast a quizzical glance over the rim of his glass. “For what?”

  “Not coming at me like I was the number one suspect. Not being quick to judge me. Black dude, white woman. Had to be the nigger.”

  Padre shook his head. “No. You’re a good cop and a decent guy. I knew your dad. John Senior taught his boys well.”

  J.D.’s father had been a preacher, founder of the First Ministry of David Church in Cedar Point. The elder Draper had died of a heart attack at the age of fifty-three. The night he died, he had clasped his younger son’s hand and told him, “No father could be prouder.”

  “He taught by example,” J.D. replied pensively.

  J.D. remained silent and Padre knew he was reminiscing. Padre finished his tea and looked over at the Doberman who seemed at ease in J.D.’s presence, certainly not the image of a dog in the presence of the killer of its master. But then, Padre never suspected J.D. for one second.

  He studied the handsome black man seated across from him. His was an agonizing waiting game. To sit and do nothing had to be the worst, especially for a cop. And now Padre had to deliver more bad news. That was the problem with being a seminary dropout. Other cops managed to dump the tough jobs into Padre’s lap.

  “J.D.” Padre’s voice was soft, understanding, even before the full message crossed his lips. And the look in J.D.’s eyes was that of puzzlement and then the realization that Padre wasn’t here just to socialize. Finally, Padre asked, “Did you know Lisa was pregnant?”

  “I need to talk to you, Josie.”

  Josie scooted to a sitting position. “You sound so serious.” Her chin length hair was stringy and lifeless. Just washing her hair was a chore.

  He pulled a chair up to the bed. “It is.” A suitcase was propped against the nightstand. “Remember I told you one day I would tell you a secret?” She nodded. “I don’t want you to get upset, okay?” She nodded again. “I am in the witness protection program and I may have to take off at any given moment.”

  “Brian, I don’t understand.” She blinked lazily, her mind too fatigued to think straight.

  He pointed to the suitcase. “In that case is money. I’ve been saving it just in case you would need to pick up and run.”

  “Brian, what do you mean you may have to take off?” She tried to force herself to sit up straighter as she blinked away tears.

  “Calm down, Sweetheart. I can’t go into the details just yet.” He carefully sat on the bed next to her and held her hand, brushed the matted hair from her forehead. The television and radio were filled with news about the body of the cop found at the airport. As far as he knew, the cameras had been taken out of the Evidence Room, but he couldn’t try to access it any more. Now he wondered how good of a composite picture of him they had. It might be a good time to change his hair color. They knew about the finger. And it left him no choice but to be ready to run. Josie would only slow him down.

  Brian forced a boyish grin. “I will find you. I promise. The money should last you for quite some time. Just make sure, if there is any time that I don’t come home, that you don’t hear from me, if I don’t call, you take off. Because they will be after you.”

  “You’re scaring me, Brian.” She clenched his hand and pulled him closer.

  “No, Sweetheart. Look at this as an adventure. Do as I say. Promise me?” He kissed her forehead. “Promise?”

  Josie nodded.

  CHAPTER 22

  October 11, 1:20 p.m.

  The best aerial view maps were in the Building Department. This was Commissioner Roperson’s golf day so Dagger was assured of uninterrupted time with the files. The building inspectors were out on job sites so it was just Dagger and Lucy, an auburn-haired, full-figured woman who was an outrageous flirt. Lucy was just putting a final coat of iridescent green polish onto her sculptured nails so she was more than happy to have Dagger help himself to the rolled up city maps.

  “You are just a sight for sore eyes, Dagger. Got a new inspector started couple weeks ago, big guy, all muscle. Like those damn info commercials on cable, you know?” She looked up from her painting job to admire Dagger’s physique, the muscular forearms pressing against the rolled up sleeves of his black shirt. “Unfortunately, he’s got a body by Fisher and brains by Mattel. Know what I mean.”

  Dagger smiled. “I know a few women like that, too.”

  “How do you like the color?” She held her hand out for Dagger to see.

  The detective winced. “Might need to put my sunglasses on.”

  “Think so?” She admired her handiwork. “Good, that’s the effect I was looking for.”

  The phone rang and Lucy used a pencil to push the speaker button. “Cedar Point Building Department. May I help you?”

  While Lucy instructed the caller what forms to fill out for a request for inspection, Dagger pushed one map to the end of the long conference table and unrolled another. He was looking for unincorporated areas, possibly forest preserves. If they had to kill Sherlock’s mythical creature, they needed it to be in some obscure corner, preferably the forest preserves which are closed to the public at sunset.

  “What are you searching for, Honey? Maybe I can help,” Lucy offered after finishing the phone call.

  “Two things: A resident living in an unincorporated area and locations of forest preserve property.”

  “Why didn’t you say so.” She pointed a day-glo nail toward the wall where a metal roll hung. It looked like the rolled up screen used with a projector. “Just pull on one of the tabs. I think the second and fourth ones are unincorporated areas. The fifth shows all the preserve properties.”

  He had no doubt that the reason the department ran so smoothly was Lucy. After the men in the department left the office in shambles, Lucy didn’t leave until everything was put back in its rightful place.

  The maps were detailed and current, especially since heated debates had been going on for the past eight years regarding the location of a third airport for the Chicago and Northwest Indiana area.

  Lucy trudged over to where Dagger stood, her floral moo-moo swaying with her hips. He noticed her feet in beach-type flip flops with wads of pink cotton between her toes. Her toe nails had been painted the same green color.

  She got up close to him and sniffed. “Damn, you always smell good.”

  Dagger smiled at the forty-something woman with the auburn hair pinned on top of her head like a Flintstones character.

  Lucy blew on her wet nails. “Once these babies are dry, Sweetie, you can have your way with me.”

  “Why have I been summoned?” Sheila stood in front of Detective Spagnola’s desk, fists jammed onto the waistline of her linen suit. The skirt hit mid-thigh and every cop in the room had craned his neck when she walked in.

  “Did I interrupt your shopping?” Spagnola grabbed a folder off of his desk and stood. “Follow me.”

  He led her down a hallway and stood in the doorway to a cramped room. She winced at the tackiness of the marred table and stained carpeting, and was reluctant to sit down in the chair. Pulling a tissue from her purse, she wiped the chair before sitting down.

  “I answered all of your questions earlier.” She sat down gingerly and wiped the arms of the chair with the same tissue before placing her elbows on them.

  Spagnola took a seat across from her and opened up the folder. Pages of notes were clipped to the left side. Without looking up from his notes, he said, “I’m sure those are wear and toss clothes so I don’t know why you are concerned with getting your suit dirty.”

  “I have no idea what pervert was sitting in this chair last.” She cocked her head to view the edge of the table and caught him staring at her, a dark scowl forming.
“Well, at least you’ll be happy to know I didn’t hunt down Caroline’s parents.”

  “I’m sure they appreciate that. They will be flying in from Baltimore tonight.”

  He held up three sets of fingerprints and showed them to her. “Yours, the victim’s, and your maid’s prints have been confirmed. But there is still a fourth set not yet identified, and these prints were all over the damn place. AFIS didn’t come back with anything so our killer seems to be non-existent, or at least he doesn’t have a record.”

  “What makes you think it might be a he? That’s pretty sexist, isn’t it?” She pulled a cigarette from a gold case and held it up.

  Spagnola waited a few seconds, then pulled out a lighter. Her gaze held his and she inhaled deeply. His eyes weren’t on her, they were on her left hand.

  “I noticed your ring this morning, Miss Monroe. Looks like an engagement ring.”

  Sheila held her hand out as if wondering how the thing got there. “Oh, this?”

  He flipped several pages in his notes. “According to undisclosed sources, you were engaged to a Chase Dagger. Why didn’t you mention him?”

  “Am, not were.” She took another long drag from her cigarette and let the smoke drift out slowly. “We are very close.”

  “Close enough to give him a key, I take it?”

  “I don’t remember. He had one at one time, then left it at my place, then took it again. Hard to keep track.”

  “Very close,” he repeated, leaning back in his seat, his eyes hardened, unmoved by her batting eyelashes and hiked skirt. He tossed a glossy eight-by-ten at her. Someone had snapped a picture yesterday near the scene of the hit-and-run. In the photo Dagger was jabbing a finger in the air toward her and both of their mouths were open in what looked to be an unfriendly exchange.

  “My occupation sometimes gets in the way,” she replied simply, tossing the picture back at him.

  Spagnola made a cursory examination of the man in black, dark eyes, long hair, earring. A man that size could very easily over power a woman. But the victim hadn’t been overpowered. She had been surprised and just about any size person could have done it.

  “Who would want to see you dead, Miss Monroe?” He fondled the photo now, turning it, spinning it slowly to face her and back toward him. “I’m sure your investigative work might have pissed off quite a few people.” He watched her gaze rest on the photo, a look of forlorn, or was it longing, in her eyes. “Do you know the percentage of homicides that are crimes of passion?”

  “Dagger would never harm me. He loves me.” Her eyes flashed and she tilted her chin in defiance. “There is one person who has access to Dagger’s set of my keys. And she definitely isn’t fond of me.”

  While Sheila was left smoking her pack of cigarettes in one of the conference rooms, two patrolmen were escorting Sara through the doorway. The men in the room were getting whiplash. First it was the classy blonde, now a young woman with waist length hair, flawless skin, and exotic eyes that seemed to glow like turquoise gems. No flashy clothes or jewelry. Just down-to-earth corduroys, cropped yellow sweater and a cropped leather jacket the color of butter.

  If Spagnola thought Sheila’s eyes flashed defiance, this one’s were downright hostile.

  “Miss Morningsky?” Spagnola held out a chair but the young woman stood her ground.

  “What is the meaning of this?”

  “Is the Crime Unit doing a thorough search of the property?” Spagnola asked one of the uniformed officers.

  “We couldn’t get on the property,” he replied.

  “What?” Spagnola turned to Sara.

  “That is reservation property. Your search warrants are worthless.” When it came to protecting her home, Einstein, and Dagger, Sara was an absolute pit bull.

  “Well, well.” Spagnola hung one hip on a corner of his desk. “Didn’t know the address we had was reservation land. My apologies.” He pointed to the chair. “Please sit. I just have a few questions.”

  Sara looked at the chair but remained standing. “Where is Sergeant Martinez?”

  “Busy.” He had to smile. No wonder Sheila Monroe was an ex-fiancée. Sara Morningsky looked ready and willing to fight for her man. Question was: Just how far was she willing to go?

  “What is this about?”

  “A murder.”

  Sara wondered why she would be called in. Had Padre mentioned her name during any conversations regarding the strange homicides lately? How could she possibly help? She waited, stared blankly at him until he offered more information.

  “Do you know Sheila Monroe?”

  She had heard about the murder in Sheila’s penthouse. Dagger told her about it this morning. “She is my…” she searched for the right word, “associate’s ex-fiancée.”

  “Associate?” Spagnola smiled.

  Sara heard chuckling behind her and her eyes darted to the faces at the desks. Although it wasn’t like shopping at a crowded mall, she was still around strangers, standing alone, all eyes on her. She was supposed to feel safe in a police station but for some reason she felt like the accused.

  All she could think of to say was what she had heard people say on television. “I would like to speak to my attorney.”

  CHAPTER 23

  October 11, 2:55 p.m.

  Spagnola watched the two women’s reactions as Sheila was led into the squad room. He didn’t know where the term green with envy came from. If jealousy had a color, it had to be fire engine red. Flames seemed to be shooting from Sheila’s eyes.

  But the younger girl was passive, no flames there. Indifferent or confident would be a better word. According to Sheila, Chase Dagger lived and worked in the same house with the young, downright gorgeous woman. If looks could kill, he would have another homicide on his hands right in front of his desk.

  “Well, did you arrest her?” Sheila demanded, marching up to Spagnola’s desk, her eyes glaring at Sara. “Take her fingerprints?”

  Sara looked at her hands, wondering if something she touched here might have had a sensor that already had her prints in some database somewhere. Skizzy had a way of making even her second-guess the authority. Instinctively she balled her hands into fists, half expecting someone to pull her hand over to a black ink pad.

  The double doors to the room burst open and Dagger charged in. Hell and spit-fire dressed in black from head to toe, swept in on a dark cloud that had cops edging back, hands reaching for their weapons.

  He was an impressive figure in a long black trench coat, not what Spagnola had expected. Usually some short shit guy with baby face good looks, or someone ugly as sin but dripping in money have women fighting over them. But this guy filled the doorway, not fat, but tall and solid, an edge of danger, the kind that casts a shadow and makes you move out of his way.

  Spagnola watched the mysterious man enter. Unlisted in any telephone directory. Little odd for someone running a business. No rap sheet, no fingerprint record. Another odd tidbit seeing that he used to be a Marine and attended the police academy. Chase Dagger’s eyes, cold and accusing, riveted on Spagnola and the cop felt the hint of a chill up his spine. Then Dagger’s eyes jerked to Sara.

  “Are you all right?”

  Sheila ran to him, flinging her arms around his neck. “No, Sweetheart. It’s been awful.” She clung to him, but may as well have been hugging a piece of plywood. He didn’t even wrap a consoling arm around her, just kept staring at Sara.

  “They want my fingerprints,” Sara said.

  “What?” He pushed Sheila away and crossed the distance to Sara in three long strides, then leveled a glare at Spagnola. “What’s going on?”

  Spagnola moved to the chair behind his desk.

  “I didn’t want to tell him you still had a key to my place, but he forced it out of me,” Sheila said.

  Dagger looked from Sheila to Spagnola. He glared and waited, hands jammed at his waist.

  “You’re a hard man to pin down, Mr…” Spagnola checked his notes. “Is it Charles Da
gger?”

  Skizzy had filled the database with sketchy information on him so Dagger wasn’t too worried about what the cops did or didn’t know.

  “No,” Dagger replied, offering little else.

  “We need yours and Miss Morningsky’s fingerprints.”

  “Why? She’s not involved,” Dagger said, tossing a nod toward Sara. “I was just at Sheila’s place a couple days ago. Of course my prints would be there.”

  Sheila grabbed his arm. “And that’s what I told him.”

  “No you didn’t,” Spagnola countered. “All you said was that Miss Morningsky had access to your boyfriend’s keys.”

  Dagger turned on Sheila, he wanted to grab her and shake her. She could do whatever she wanted to him but once too often Sheila had targeted Sara. “You have crossed the line, this time.”

  “You have no idea what she is capable of,” Sheila argued. She peered around him, pointing. “Look at her, all smug, knowing you’ll come to her rescue. She could probably slit your throat while you’re sleep...”

  Dagger grabbed her. “STOP IT!” He wanted to squeeze the living life out of her but suddenly realized this was what the cop wanted. Provoke them into a fight. He released his grip and looked at the smug grin on the cop’s face. “Have any doubts now why she is an EX-fiancée?”

  He grabbed Sara’s hand. “Come on, we’re getting out of here.”

  “No you aren’t.” Spagnola stood.

  Padre barged into the room. “What’s going on here?”

  “Not your case, Martinez.” Spagnola had had his own share of run-ins with Padre. Padre was from the old school of police work. Spagnola liked to cut corners, get to the truth no matter what methods.

  Padre looked at Sheila and Sara and it didn’t take him long to size up the situation once he remembered the homicide earlier in the day at Sheila’s penthouse.

  “Chief and I need to talk to Dagger.”