The Good Die Twice

by Lee Driver

  “No.” Sheila settled both cheeks on the desk, crossing one leg over the other, exposing her shapely legs. “Love and great sex is the answer to everything.”

  “You can get both anywhere, can even buy it if you pay the right price.”

  Sheila held up her hand, admiring her engagement ring. “Only a man that truly loves me would buy me an exquisite ring like this.”

  “My point exactly.” Dagger stood up in an attempt to maneuver Sheila to the door. “I didn’t spend a penny on it. A client who had a cash shortfall paid me with that ring.”

  Dagger chalked it up to his swollen cheek that he was unable to see Sheila’s hand before it connected with his face.

  “She must have had some right hook.” Simon handed Dagger a brown envelope as he watched Sara dab an alcohol gauze onto Dagger’s bleeding cut.

  “Maybe you need stitches.” Sara grimaced at the fresh blood oozing from Dagger’s wound. Sheila had managed to reopen it when she slapped him.

  “WICKED WITCH, WICKED WITCH, AWK.” Einstein flapped his wings.

  “Your fiancee did this?”

  “Ex-fiancee. And let’s not talk about her. Is this from Skizzy?” Dagger pulled out the pictures and printouts on the men believed to have killed Rachel and broken into Sara’s house.

  “Those are them, huh?” Simon peered over Dagger’s shoulder at the pictures.

  Dagger read from the computer printouts. “Luke Gabriel, aka John Gage, John Galloway. Suspected arms smuggler, kidnapping. Also suspected of passing counterfeit bills. Never served time. Was arrested once for driving without a valid license.” Dagger held up the second picture and report. “Maury Genova, aka Manny Genteel, nickname Mince.”

  Simon chuckled. “I can understand the nickname. His face looks like he’s been in a fire. It looks like head cheese.”

  “I think he was the trigger man. He has a list of misdemeanors as long as my arm. Been in trouble since the age of thirteen. Served three years in a correctional institution for petty theft, destruction of public property. Then nothing for several years. He changed his line of expertise to armed robbery.” Dagger flung his picture on the desk in disgust. He picked up the last of the papers. “Joseph Callahan, aka Joe Keller. Another rotten youth sob story with a string of misdemeanors. He graduated to deviate sexual assault. Unfortunately, the women refused to press charges. He met Manny in the correctional institution. I’m sure they blame society.” He lined up the pictures on his desk. “The question is, how did they get involved with Rachel?”

  CHAPTER 23

  Padre finished his coffee and studied his notes. The verandah outside the lobby of the Dunes Resort was spacious and ornate displaying large urns of potted plants. A couple walked past dressed to the nines. Her brimmed hat matched her floral dress and his suit was a cross between a tuxedo and a Park Avenue power suit. They glanced at Padre long enough to run their gaze slowly down his pane-checked shirt, khaki pants, and deck shoes.

  As they turned to leave, he looked down at his attire and shrugged. All day he had run into people dressed to the teeth, even if just for sunbathing. Many recoiled from him as though he were some derelict begging for money, until he showed them his business card. He had tried to remain as discreet as possible, but hotel security soon latched onto him. It was bad publicity for someone to be questioning their guests about an alleged murder on the grounds of the Dunes Resort, especially since he was out of his jurisdiction. So Padre accepted their offer of a free dinner and a hasty check-out. But he wasn’t quite ready to go.

  “You stay with Papa. I’ll be right back.” The young mother kissed her son and walked back into the lobby. The boy, about four years old, pulled away from his father and walked over to the railing, captivated by the workmen in the courtyard who were cutting the evergreens into the shape of animals.

  “What are they doing?”

  Padre looked over to see the boy standing a foot from him, his tiny finger pointing toward the courtyard, his dark eyes round and wide in fascination.

  “They just carved that evergreen into the shape of an elephant. Do you see its big trunk?”

  The boy turned and shook his head. “An elephant?” he repeated.

  “Are you on vacation?” Padre asked. The sergeant had two boys of his own but it had been years since they were this boy’s age. When the youngster nodded again, he asked, “What did you like best about your vacation? The water? The boats? Or maybe you built a sand castle on the beach?”

  The boy handed a small green truck to Padre. “The snowplow.”

  “Snowplow?” Padre examined the truck. It looked more like a piece of farm machinery. Even his boys when they were young liked trucks. “I don’t think we have snowplows here yet. It doesn’t snow until November.”

  “There.” He pointed off in the distance.

  Padre could barely see the yellow metal roof through the trees. He could only assume it was a maintenance shed. Thoughts clicked in his head. Maybe the killers didn’t have to go far to hide the rug.

  “Anybody here?” Dagger ducked under a sign hanging low over the doorway of Harbor Rentals, a Lake Michigan icon for the past eighty years. The owner had refused to sell his property to the neighboring Cedar Point Yacht Club. But over the years, the Yacht Club had come to rely on the many resources Harbor Rentals had to offer.

  Wood flooring creaked under Dagger’s feet. Through the large picture window he could see the sun setting, casting a streak of light across Lake Michigan.

  A gray-haired man straightened up from his sanding bench and cast an eye in Dagger’s direction. A gleaming pipe fit snugly in the side of his mouth, spouting puffs of smoke. He wore a navy blue sweater with patches on the elbows even though the July temperatures were still hovering around eighty-five degrees. The sparkle in his eyes and the sunburned face reminded Dagger of The Old Man and the Sea. The office was located on a converted houseboat and docked right at the entrance to Cedar Point Harbor. The odors of fish and fuel fought for dominance.

  Sailboats, motor boats, and charter fishing vessels dodged the jet skis at the entrance to the marina. Boaters walked the piers carrying coolers, fishing gear, and clothing.

  “Howdy,” the old man said. “What can I get ya?”

  Dagger handed him a business card. “I was hoping to speak to any of the crew on board Rachel’s Dream about five years ago.”

  “That’s a long time.”

  “I know. But you look like a man who keeps halfway decent records.” Dagger examined the old wheel the man was sanding. Its smooth lines and texture testified to the old man’s patience and attention to detail. The sign above the showcase of antique boat wheels and fishing poles said Salty’s Antiques. “Are you Salty?” The old man nodded, pulling a file folder from a cabinet behind the desk.

  “I remember that day,” Salty offered. “Beautiful woman. Never did find her body, though, did they?”

  “No.”

  “Why the interest now?” Pleats of flesh rested on his eyelids as he peered at Dagger inquisitively.

  “You know bureaucrats.”

  “Ahhh, and the insurance company wants to make sure she’s not cooling her heels on some beach somewhere. But I would think that her life insurance would be a drop in the bucket for Tyler.”

  “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

  “Here we go.” Salty’s leathery hands ran down the rental agreement to the crew names. “We have a lot of turnover in this business, I hope you realize.” He puffed vigorously on his pipe in thought. “Grant Oakley quit about two years ago. I think he went off to one of those islands in the Caribbean to work on a cruise ship. But Pete Foster, he’s still here.” Salty took his pipe out of his mouth and pointed it toward the picture window. “That’s him putting Calcutta to bed.”

  Dagger walked along a shaky pier and past several slips until he came to the forty-foot sailboat. “Can I come aboard?” he called out. “Salty said I could find you here.”

  “Who’s asking?” Pet
e peered out from behind dark sunglasses tethered to his head by a neon green strap. His torso was bronzed and muscular and his hair bleached blonde by the sun.

  “Chase Dagger.” Dagger handed him his business card. “I need to speak to you about the disappearance of Rachel Tyler.”

  Pete checked his watch and popped a beer can. “Off duty,” he announced. “Do you want one?”

  Dagger declined and sat down on one of the bench seats. He tucked his sunglasses in his shirt pocket and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He found his ribs and stomach felt better in this position.

  “I read the police report so I won’t take up too much of your time.” Dagger waited until Pete finished tossing the bagged garbage on the pier and took a seat across from him. “According to the police report, neither you nor your fellow crew member heard Rachel call for help.”

  “That’s right.” He took a long swig from his beer, his gaze turning briefly to the cut on Dagger’s cheek.

  “Is it customary for you to not radio for help when you run out of gas?”

  Pete took another long swallow of beer. “Sure. Especially when the person hiring you tells you not to.”

  “So you had no wind and no gas and you decided to anchor for the night.”

  “Mrs. Tyler said her husband would be taking a small boat out to meet us.”

  “So everyone fell asleep and when you woke up, Mrs. Tyler was missing. What did you think?”

  Pete shrugged, crumpled up his empty can and tossed it into a five-gallon bucket nearby. “Old man Tyler picked her up in the middle of the night. We didn’t know anything was wrong until the Coast Guard showed up the next morning.”

  “That was around six o’clock?”

  Pete nodded.

  Dagger studied his hands, picking at a sliver of wood on his index finger. “Can I tell you my scenario?”

  Pete stared at Dagger with his baby blues blinking slowly.

  “I think the crew had a few too many beers and passed out. That’s why you didn’t hear the splash. That’s why you didn’t hear her call out for help.” Dagger studied the man’s Nordic features, a sure attraction for any woman with a heartbeat. “Or maybe,” Dagger suggested, “you gave your buddy enough booze to pass out and you and Mrs. Tyler had a party of your own.”

  Pete flashed a quick grin, winky winky. “Now, that wouldn’t be nice, would it?”

  “It certainly would be difficult to admit to the police much less to Robert Tyler. And maybe you had a little bit of decency in not wanting to smear the reputation of a dead woman.” But Dagger was certain it would take more than decency for Pete to keep a secret. “Or maybe the price was right.”

  “Never know.”

  Dagger pulled out his wallet and counted out a thousand dollars. “Let me know when I’ve hit the right price.” When Pete didn’t respond, Dagger kept counting.

  Once Dagger’s offer totaled five thousand dollars, Pete picked up the money and recounted it. “It wouldn’t be the first time I was hired to take care of more than just the sails.”

  “Hired?” Dagger pushed a stray hair away from the open wound on his cheek.

  “She gave me a thousand dollars. Those nails left marks on my back for a week.” He grinned broadly again, and rubbed himself. “She was hot.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Padre grabbed a flashlight from his car and made his way on foot down a dirt path to the maintenance shed. He kept thinking of the story Dagger told him about the witness. Padre had a hard time swallowing that story. From Padre’s perspective after surveying the townhouse yesterday, there was no way anyone could have seen the murder through the patio windows unless he were standing right on the deck or hanging from a mast in Lake Michigan. But, as in the past, Dagger would let him know only as much as he wanted him to know.

  Padre followed the flashlight beam to the maintenance shed. Broken pottery, bricks, and logs cluttered the area. He shone the flashlight through a dingy windowpane and could barely make out the outline of two snowplows. The boy had been right. He had seen snowplows in the summer.

  He fumbled his way to a barn-type door. A large, rusting padlock held the door shut. After knocking it a few times, the rusting padlock snapped open.

  “Gee, someone left the door open,” Padre laughed.

  Gravel littered the floor. The smell of gasoline hung in the air mingled with a musty odor. The warehouse was crammed with maintenance equipment strewn about without any sense of order.

  He followed footprints which dotted the dust and grime in a path from the door to a side room. A large cabinet hung on the wall with a sign saying SNOW SHOVELS.

  He opened the cabinet and found more than snow shovels. He found a rolled up carpet. Laying the flashlight on a shelf, Padre dragged the rug from its hiding place and dropped it on the floor. Starting at one end, he kicked at the rug and it started to unroll. Grabbing the flashlight, he shined it on the white rug, which was stained with what looked like blood. Bending down, he pulled at some of the stained fibers and held them in front of the beam.

  “Damn.” He flipped open his phone and called Dagger.

  “I don’t know why the hell we have to do all the drudge work while Luke sits back at the hotel making phone calls.” Mince pulled onto the gravel road leading to the maintenance shed. He pressed a hand to his right shoulder and winced. “Goddamn flesh wound hurts worse than if the damn bullet went through me. It should be Luke out here lifting up this heavy rug.”

  “He said we left the loose ends so we have to get rid of them,” Joey reminded him. “And the rug is one big loose end.”

  “Any idea what we’re supposed to do with it? We can’t burn it.”

  “Bury it. I brought shovels and there are a lot of woods south of here. We don’t need to dig a trench too deep.”

  Mince jammed the brake pedal. “Hey, did you see that?”

  “What?”

  “I thought I saw a light on in the shed.”

  Mince turned the headlights off and killed the engine. Quietly, they exited the truck and made their way down the path.

  “TELEPHONE, TELEPHONE, AWWWKK.” Einstein poked his beak between the bars of the grated door.

  “You are just dying to answer it, too, aren’t you, Einstein?” Sara located the portable phone. It was Padre.

  “Dagger went to the marina,” Sara told Padre.

  “I think I found the rug.”

  “You did?”

  “Well, it’s A rug, and it’s blood-stained, so I’m assuming it’s THE rug.”

  “Do you have Dagger’s cellular number?”

  “Wait a minute,” Padre whispered. “I hear something.”

  “Padre?” Sara thought she heard a moan and then a thud. The phone was disconnected. “Padre?” Sara hung up the phone, her heart pounding. The Dunes Resort was an hour’s drive away. She dialed information for the Michigan City Police Department while she ran up the stairs to her bedroom. Stripping out of her clothes, she explained to the dispatcher that a Cedar Point police officer might be in danger and gave them the name of the resort. She didn’t have time to call Dagger. It would be easier and quicker to communicate with him telepathically.

  Sara stepped nude onto the balcony and leaped into the air. The hawk’s rapid wing beats helped it reach an altitude above the trees almost instantly.

  Dagger?

  Dagger almost lost control of his motorcycle. “Sonofabitch!” He careened around a corner and down a sidewalk near an outdoor café sending dinner patrons running for cover.

  I’m sorry. I did it again?

  I’ll get used to it, eventually.

  Padre’s in trouble.

  Where is he?

  Sara explained Padre’s phone call and how it sounded as if someone had surprised him.

  We can’t get there in time, Sara. I’ll place another call to their police department. Make sure they realize the urgency. Where are you now?

  I’m not sure. I’m following the shoreline so it shouldn’t take too lo
ng. Once I get there, the wolf will have a better sense of smell.

  Be careful, Sara. Remember what we talked about. After his call to the police, Dagger described to Sara his meeting with Pete Foster.

  And this was never revealed in the police report?

  No.

  Dagger, have you tried calling Padre’s cellular phone?

  Yes. There’s no answer.

  After a few moments of silence, Sara said, I can see the resort. I’m going in for a closer look. The hawk glided over the resort, seeing the lights around the pool, courtyard, and the streets outlining the property. It searched for police cars and spotted them parked in front of the hotel. Then it looked for the maintenance shed where Padre had said he’d found the rug.

  I’m here, Dagger. I don’t see an ambulance, only police cars parked by the entrance.

  I’m about twenty minutes away.

  Dagger prayed nothing serious happened to Padre. Mile markers flew by and he passed several unmanned police cars, parked for the sheer purpose of slowing traffic. The helmet was hot but it was a necessity when driving at night. Bugs were too numerous and some too large to leave one’s face unprotected.

  It wasn’t until his fingers started aching that he realized he had a vice grip on the handlebar. Subconsciously he was thinking the worst about Padre. He approached the exit for the Dunes Resort. He was ten minutes away.

  Gliding over the maintenance shed the hawk searched for movement. Its acute eyesight made the area below look bathed in daylight, every detail illuminated. It circled the shed twice. Convinced it was unseen, it swooped down and shifted into a gray wolf.

  Immediately, its sense of smell detected danger. Lifting its head, the wolf listened, trying to block out distant sounds from the pool, the squirrels and cicadas, the four-legged creatures, and the horns from offshore boats.