Footprints of a Dancer (Detective Elliot Mystery)

by Bob Avey

  Wayne came around the front of the rig, a tall but slender man flanking him, his hand on Wayne’s shoulder.

  Elliot quickened his pace, an approach that would put him on the right side of the man, away from Wayne. He’d already chosen his strategy. A body shot would put him down, and from there Elliot would destroy him.

  Wayne broke free and ran toward Elliot. “I had it all wrong, Mr. Elliot. Jim wasn’t trying to hurt me.”

  Elliot stroked Wayne’s head then fell to one knee and pulled him close, taking in the scent of his hair and the feel of his heartbeat. “Are you all right? You don’t have to be afraid now. Tell me the truth.”

  “I’m okay, honest.”

  Elliot turned his attention to the trucker and rose to his feet. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but you need to start explaining yourself, and you need to do it fast.”

  The trucker took a step back. “Now hold on, mister. I was just trying to teach the boy a lesson. I ran away myself when I was about his age. Really messed up my life. When I saw the boy walking along the highway, I knew something wasn’t right, so I picked him up. We got to talking and I realized I’d pegged the problem on the head. Like I said, I was a kid once. If I’d started preaching to him, it wouldn’t have done any good. I figured I’d drive him around, give him time to think about it. Later, I’d drop him off with the cops, or have him call his folks or something. I admit it sounds crazy, now that I hear myself saying it, but it’s the honest to God truth.”

  Elliot studied the man’s face then looked at Wayne.

  He nodded his agreement.

  Elliot tried to look stern, but he couldn’t pull it off. He was too happy to see the boy. “Why didn’t you call and tell me everything was all right?”

  Wayne shrugged. “When the truck stopped, I did what you said. I got the side door open and ran for it.” He pulled the remains of his phone from his pocket. “I dropped it and it busted on the concrete.”

  “You could have used the phone inside the store, or borrowed the driver’s.”

  Wayne looked at the ground, a flash of red coming across his face. “Mom programmed my numbers a long time ago. Without the phone, I couldn’t remember any of them.”

  Elliot pulled his phone and clicked on Carmen’s number. As soon as she answered, he said, “I found Wayne. I’m bringing him home.”

  He handed the phone to Wayne then returned his attention to the driver. “I hope you realize something like this could end your career and ruin your life.”

  The driver nodded. “I can be real stupid at times.”

  “You might not want my advice, but don’t do anything like this again.”

  “You got my word on that.”

  “Heaven forbid there should be a next time,” Elliot said, “but if there is, call the authorities.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll do that, for sure.”

  Wayne was still talking on the phone.

  Elliot helped the boy into the pickup. After getting inside, he pulled onto highway 69 and headed south toward Porter.

  Wayne stopped talking and handed the phone back, his head drooped, ready for another lecture.

  A menagerie of words and phrases tumbled inside of Elliot’s head, but what came out was, “I love you, Wayne.”

  Wayne shot a glance at Elliot then fixed his gaze on the floorboard.

  Fumbling for his footing, Elliot continued with, “You scared your mother. She’s going to be pretty upset for a few days.”

  Wayne looked up, his eyes flicking back and forth. “It seemed to make sense at the time. But all I did was make things worse.”

  Elliot thought about trying to explain the divorce—It’s not your fault, people change and grow apart—but he figured he’d bungle it, so he settled for, “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  “Thanks, but it was a dumb thing to do. I know that now.”

  A few hundred feet ahead, a black, horse-drawn buggy left the safety of a side road, its Amish driver coaxing the horse into a fast trot across the highway.

  Elliot wondered what it might be like, living inside such a subculture, and if their clinging to the past and simple ways effectively insulated them from the problems of the world. In some ways, he suspected, it might, but like any society they were bound to have their share of insanity. “Let’s just say you’re extremely lucky it turned out the way it did.”

  “Mom’s gonna kill me.”

  “Most likely,” Elliot said. A smile turned the corners of his mouth. “I’d try to smooth things out for you, soften the blow, but I’m not exactly in good graces with your mother either.”

  “You got it all wrong,” Wayne said, “She likes you a lot. She never says as much, but I can tell. She wants you to be my….”

  Wayne stopped short of finishing the sentence.

  A few seconds later, Elliot said, “You’re a good boy, Wayne.”

  “I’m glad somebody thinks so.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Yes, your mother is upset with you, but only because she loves you. Anyway, I’m proud of you.”

  He looked up, his eyes reflecting the question before he spoke it. “For running away?”

  “No, not for that, but for the reason you did it. And just for being you.”

  Wayne shook his head. “I’m not sure I understand, but thanks. And I got it all wrong. I was so scared back there in that sleeper. I’ve done some dumb things before, but I really iced the cake this time.”

  “The next time you get some wild idea,” Elliot said, “give me a call before you do anything. I have a lot of experience with the consequences of doing dumb things.”

  Wrinkles formed briefly across Wayne’s forehead. After thinking it over, he smiled. “Thanks for coming to get me. How did you know where I was, anyway?”

  Elliot tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Just lucky, I guess.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  After taking Wayne home and visiting with Carmen, Elliot resumed the investigation. His suspicion turned out to be right. He found Angela Gardner in a semi-private room at St. Francis, an IV feeding clear liquid into her arm. Even though her eyes were half closed and her movements sluggish, she appeared cognizant.

  Elliot approached the bed and asked Angela what she’d undoubtedly already been asked several times. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said.

  “You probably don’t remember me, but the name’s Kenny Elliot. We met briefly in college.”

  A puzzled expression crossed her face. “I do know you. You were the one in the truck at the library. I saw you, but you couldn’t see me. At least that’s the way it seemed. I’d thought it was a dream.”

  Perspiration formed on Elliot’s hands and he wiped them against his pant legs. He could rule out insanity now. Angela had just confirmed that she, at least in some form, had been inside his truck when he’d sensed her presence.

  The doctor came into the room. She brushed past Elliot and smiled at Angela. “How are we doing today?”

  Angela didn’t answer.

  The doctor took some readings. Later, she motioned for Elliot to follow her into the hallway. Stopping a few feet outside the room she said, “I’m Doctor Shaffer. Are you related to the patient?”

  “No. Name’s Elliot. I’m a friend of the family.”

  A quizzical expression formed on the doctor’s face. “I called you out here because you seemed to be communicating with the patient.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Not at all, but she hasn’t talked to anyone since she got here, except for you.”

  Elliot rubbed his temples. “We met a few years ago, but it was brief and informal. I guess a bit of recognition was all she needed. If you don’t mind my asking, how did she get here, to the hospital I mean?”

  Doctor Shaffer raised one eyebrow. “What exactly are you doing here, Mr. Elliot?”

  “Angela and her parents had a falling out a few years ago. They haven’t seen
her in a while, and they asked me to find her. Looks like I did.”

  The doctor stuffed something into her pocket. “She walked in and passed out in our waiting room. We almost lost her.”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She had high levels of Valium and Chlorpromazine in her system.”

  Elliot ran the name through his memory but nothing came up. “I’m not familiar with the last one. Could you explain?”

  “Certainly, but I’d like to know who I’m talking with. Are you a police officer?”

  Elliot leaned against the wall. Why did everyone seem to know he was a cop? Had his association with the business changed his appearance, or did his actions give him away? He showed his badge. “I’m a detective with the Tulsa Police Department. But I’m here unofficially. It’s a private matter.”

  Again Doctor Shaffer analyzed Elliot. “Chlorpromazine is a drug used to treat the symptoms of schizophrenia.”

  “Are you saying Angela is schizophrenic?”

  The doctor shook her head. “We don’t know. She didn’t have any identification, and no additional medication or a prescription with her. We’ve been calling the local psychiatrists, but no one’s claimed her as a patient. I’ve scheduled a neurological. Doctor Van Zandt, one of our resident psychiatrists, said he’d visit with her tonight.”

  Elliot watched a nurse roll someone past. The wheels of the gurney squeaked against the tiled floor. Schizophrenic behavior might explain a few things. “Her name is Angela Gardner.”

  The doctor jotted the information down. “Could you help us get in touch with a family member, or a relative?”

  Elliot recalled the conversation he’d had with George and Emma Gardner. They’d be delighted he had found their daughter. “Her parents live here in town. It won’t be a problem.”

  Doctor Shaffer smiled. “Now let’s see if you can get the patient to talk again.”

  Elliot walked into Angela’s room, the doctor following close behind.

  Angela’s eyelids fluttered open. “Are you an angel?” She asked, directing the question toward Elliot.

  “We met in college,” Elliot said. “Your memory is just a little foggy. It’ll come back to you.”

  “Why are you here? What do you want with me?”

  Elliot glanced at the wrinkled sheets of Angela’s bed. He didn’t wish to cause her any more stress, but she needed to know. “I met with your parents earlier today. They want to see you. They want you to come home, Angela.”

  Angela said nothing, but her arm slid from beneath the covers and when she found Elliot’s hand her cold fingers wrapped around it. “If you think I should.”

  The doctor put a hand on Elliot’s shoulder and nodded.

  Elliot pulled his notepad and jotted down the address and phone number for Mr. and Mrs. Gardner. He tore off the page and handed it to Doctor Shaffer.

  “I appreciate your help, Detective.”

  “No problem.”

  “Angela,” Doctor Shaffer asked, “Are you under the care of a doctor?”

  “Am I going to die?”

  “I’d say you have a good chance of walking out of here soon. You need to take it easy on the Valium, though, and whatever else you’ve been taking. You might not be so lucky next time.”

  Angela seemed to ignore the doctor, but again spoke to Elliot. “What did you say your name was again?”

  “Detective Kenny Elliot.”

  “You’re a cop?”

  “I’m here as a friend, but I would like to ask you some questions.”

  “All right, but if it’s about college, I don’t remember much about those days.”

  “Do you remember meeting me?”

  “My roommate, Amy, got us involved with the spiritualism stuff. It was okay at first, but it turned ugly and dark.”

  “What about Professor David Stephens?”

  A smile found its way across her face. “How is David?”

  “He’s not with the school anymore. Do you know where I can find him?”

  “He was so nice. It didn’t work out, though.”

  Elliot glanced at Doctor Shaffer. “What did you mean when you said it got dark and ugly?”

  “They talk to me, try to make me do things.”

  “Who talks to you, Angela?”

  She put a finger to her lips and shook her head.

  Elliot rubbed his temples. From what little he knew about paranoid schizophrenia, Angela certainly seemed to be exhibiting the symptoms. And, if she’d had the affliction a few years, it would explain her behavior on campus back then as well.

  Again Angela reached out and grasped Elliot’s hand. “When I saw you earlier today, I wasn’t dreaming, Kenny. I was dead. I know because I’ve experienced it before, with the voices, more than a lack of light, even an opposition to it. Do you have relatives, Kenny?”

  “Sure,” Elliot said, though a real family was something he’d never had. “Why do you ask?”

  “When I was young, I stayed with my Aunt Kathryn one summer. I don’t know why, but she found a church and she asked me to go with her. It was my only experience with church. I think it might have been that way for her as well. Anyway, we went every Sunday, until I went back home. Whenever the darkness came, I would think about Aunt Kathy, and the church. I don’t want it to take me. Can someone like me be saved?”

  Elliot squeezed Angela’s hand, and though he wondered how he might explain what he barely understood, the words came out easily. “Yes. Of course you can.”

  “There’s a lot missing, chunks of time that I can’t remember. I don’t know what all I’ve done, but I think it has something to do with your friend, the one with the dark eyes and black hair.”

  Elliot tore his gaze from Angela and visually swept the room.

  There was no one except for Doctor Shaffer, who had stayed in the room but had remained silent.

  He released Angela’s hand and went to the door.

  The hallway was busy with people, but none who fit the description of the person Angela was talking about.

  She was referring to Laura. Elliot went back to Angela’s bedside. “I don’t see anyone. When was she here?”

  “Just seconds ago.”

  Elliot strolled to the window and stared at the cars below.

  A grey colored Infinity, one similar to the car he’d seen cruising past George and Emma Gardner’s house, glided across the parking lot and pulled onto the roadway.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Elliot flipped on the lamp beside the bed, and though he saw no one, the notion lingered, unwilling to be dispelled by mere visual verification.

  Someone had been in the room, hovering over the bed, just inches from his face.

  After leaving Angela at the hospital, Elliot had driven home with the intention of grabbing a shower and a quick nap. Carmen had planned on an evening together, but a glance at the clock showed he’d slept through the night. It was 6:00 AM.

  Something clanked against the house, followed by footsteps thudding across the backyard.

  Elliot scrambled from the bed and struggled into a pair of pants. He grabbed the .38, a secondary weapon he kept in the drawer of the nightstand, and stepped quickly from the bedroom. When he reached the breakfast area behind the kitchen, he unlatched the patio door and stepped outside.

  The footsteps continued on the west side of the house.

  The prowler was on the run and moving fast. Elliot followed the sound, but when he reached the area, the gate swung open and banged against the fence.

  A black silhouette ran through it and across the front yard.

  By the time Elliot reached the driveway, the distinctive sound of an automobile pulling away from the curb sent a shiver up his spine. It was the roar of the Infinity.

  Elliot turned and ran toward his pickup, digging into his pockets for the keys, reprimanding himself for leaving them in the house. But the truck wasn’t going to be the way he caught the intruder.

  As if it had been crip
pled from overuse, the truck leaned lower on one side.

  Elliot ran his hand across the fender of the truck, a curious understanding playing around the edges of his consciousness. Someone had let the air out of the tires, and he had a pretty good idea who it was. Angela indicated someone fitting Laura’s description had been in her room. He’d watched someone leave the parking lot of the hospital, driving the grey Infiniti. Even more curious, Elliot connected the incident to a story Terri Benson had told him. She’d once followed Gerald to find out where he’d been going at night. He’d driven to a small house located a few miles from the university, where he met with his new love. If Laura Bradford had indeed been resurrected, he would find her at the small house in Stillwater.

  A few minutes later, Elliot fired up the Harley and drove out of the neighborhood. He took Highway 169 to 412 and headed west.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Terri Benson had remembered the incident in detail. Not only had she given Elliot the address, but directions as well. Elliot had caught her at the trailer court, where she lived with Mr. Tattoo.

  The old sandstone structure Terri had described occupied a piece of ground among a clump of maple trees.

  Elliot shut off the bike and leaned it against the kickstand. In the front yard of the nearest house, a man sat on an overturned bucket, working on a black 1959 Chevrolet, a bumper jack holding up the driver’s side wheel.

  Hoping to get some information, Elliot strolled over to the neighbor. The name on the mailbox read Walter Shelby.

  He stopped working and looked up. “Something I can do for you, son?”

  “I hope so,” Elliot said. “Do you know who owns the property next door?”

  The man, who wore striped bib overalls, glanced at the old house. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I’m looking for a friend who used to live there.”

  He shook his head. “That old place has been empty for a long time, son.”

  “She was a Native American girl,” Elliot said, “about eighteen or nineteen at the time.”

  He put a four-way lug wrench on the last nut, spun it loose and dropped the nut into a hubcap. After that, he removed the wheel.