The Shark (Forgotten Files Book 1)

by Mary Burton

  He had lost.

  Rising now, Kevin stared into his glass of scotch, then gulped the contents. He savored the familiar burn as it trickled down his throat.

  The image of Vicky’s face flashed in his mind. Her blue eyes were desperate and pleading as she gasped for the air he was slowly cutting off.

  He thought once he placed her in the field as instructed with the cards tucked in her pocket that he could move on with his life. He’d lost considerable fortunes at poker plenty of times but had recovered. He had enough money to vanish. He should cut his losses.

  He rose, grimacing as his bruised ribs pinched. So why was he still in town? Why couldn’t he forget that girl? And why did losing to the old man continue to dig at his pride?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Wednesday, September 14, 6:00 p.m.

  Clay Bowman’s computer dinged, signaling a message from his boss, Joshua Shield. He reached for the fresh cup of coffee and sipped as he read the e-mail’s subject line: Riley Tatum. His interest sharpened as he scanned the details of a murder scene she’d responded to yesterday.

  “Have you had a chance to read the e-mail?”

  Bowman looked up to see Shield standing in his doorway. The man had been an FBI agent for twenty-five years, joining at age twenty-seven after five years in the marines. Over the years, the challenge of the investigative work crumbled under the bureau’s politics, so ten years ago, when he was on the verge of a huge promotion, he walked away and founded Shield Security. The company quickly earned a solid reputation and proved to all he’d not lost his mind but had made a solid choice. He’d grown the company to twenty-five employees in the last few years.

  Shield, like Bowman’s father, Zeb, had graduated from the Virginia Military Institute and had always had an interest in the younger Bowman’s career. When Bowman left the bureau last month, Shield had been ready with this job offer.

  Bowman rose. “You sent it less than a minute ago.”

  “And your point is?”

  Bowman smiled. “Why don’t you fill me in on the details?”

  “Riley Tatum is an accomplished Virginia state trooper. She’s one of the best trackers in the region.”

  “That’s not what caught your eye, is it? It has something to do with this murder scene she responded to yesterday.”

  Shield moved into Bowman’s bare office that had yet to reflect any personality and sat in one of the matching chairs in front of the desk. There were boxes filled with diplomas lined along the wall, two mugs, and a group picture of five men who’d graduated from the Virginia Military Institute with Bowman seventeen years ago. But he’d yet to put anything up. He had been on the move for six years, not settling anywhere since his wife died. Joining Shield Security was a big move for him. It meant learning new patterns. New habits. Accepting that he was home.

  “Remember when we worked the Shark case together in the New Orleans bureau twelve years ago?”

  Bowman sat. He remembered the case. He had been in New Orleans about eighteen months when bodies of young runaways were discovered strangled with playing cards in their pockets. He and Karen had loved the city and were making a lot of good memories. He and Shield were about six months into the case when Bowman had been relocated to the LA bureau office. A few years later, Karen had gotten sick with pancreatic cancer and he’d transferred to Hostage Rescue Team. The Shark fell off his radar. “How does the Shark relate to Riley Tatum?”

  “A buddy of mine at the Virginia State Police sent me a file on a body found yesterday,” Shield said. “Young runaway, strangled, with playing cards in her back pocket. Just like the Shark.”

  Interest stirred in Bowman. “That’s an FBI case; I thought you left the bureau behind.”

  “I left the bureau, but I don’t leave any unsolved cases behind. And neither will you.”

  Bowman tapped an impatient finger on the arm of his chair as he summoned the old case details. “The Shark strangled four girls, as I remember. Five custom playing cards left with each victim. The word Loser was written on each card.”

  “Correct. All the victims were runaways. They had long dark hair, were Caucasian, and wore a yellow dress. After four victims, he went dark. He didn’t try to hide the bodies. Simply left them sitting up under trees.

  “Later, after you were transferred to LA, I developed an informant for another case completely unrelated. The informant worked in one of the casinos as a singer and sometimes a dealer. She and I got to be close, and one night she told me she heard the girls who had been strangled months earlier were prizes in a high-stakes poker game. The winner had the privilege of choosing if the girls lived or died.”

  “How’d she know this?”

  “She was sleeping with a guy who worked security for several of the gamblers who were the casino’s biggest customers. She saw that I was interested and said she’d find more if I helped her beat a cocaine bust. I agreed. Two days later she was found dead. She’d been badly beaten and then shot point-blank in the head.”

  “How do you know her death was related to the Shark? An informant asking questions can make all kinds of people nervous.”

  “I didn’t associate her death with the Shark until a couple of days after her funeral when I received an envelope in the mail. It contained pictures of the informant plus images of five young girls. Four matched the victims we’d found strangled by the Shark. The fifth girl didn’t match any homicides, and we never identified her. We suspected she was also a runaway who he killed, but we just never found the body.”

  Bowman glanced at the e-mail header. “How does this relate to Riley Tatum? She’s a cop who responded to a murder scene.”

  Shield twisted his 1975 class ring on his finger. In answer, he said, “Have a look at the e-mail attachment. It’s the image of the fifth girl.”

  Bowman opened the attachment and studied the young girl’s picture. She had long, thick dark hair, and her face was turned partly away. “You might be right that it’s Riley Tatum.”

  “I am.”

  “And she just happened to respond to a murder scene that is reminiscent of the Shark.”

  “You make it sound like a coincidence. And you know this old man doesn’t believe in coincidences.”

  “Has the Shark been active in the last twelve years?”

  “Not according to any of my sources.”

  “And you think he’s back? Here?”

  Shield grinned. “He’s got a perfect mix before him: the victim that got away and the man who’s been hunting him—me.”

  “What about the player who beat him in the game twelve years ago?”

  “I’ve never identified him, but I’d bet money the Shark has kept tabs on him over the years and knows his identity.”

  Bowman studied the pictures again. “Who gave you the current case details?”

  “I’ve a hit list of ten cold cases I want solved. The Shark is right at the top. I’ve made inroads with law enforcement all over the country. Without boring you by details, my friend has seen the list and notified me.”

  Shield had been a master at recruiting informants when he was at the bureau. “Why would this person share?”

  “We have a mutual interest in solving cold cases.”

  “If Riley Tatum was taken, how much do you think she remembers? As I recall, large traces of Rohypnol were found in the victims.”

  “I don’t know. But I find it interesting that she’d made it her mission to work with runaways. Look how motivated she was to catch Jax Carter.”

  “She’s good. I had to hustle to catch up to her. She’s smart and would’ve caught Carter without my help.”

  “Did you get a good look at her?”

  “Sure. In fact, I know Tatum. She and her dog trained at Quantico five years ago.”

  Shield studied him. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Small world.”

  Shield removed four pictures from the breast pocket of his suit and laid them out like they were playing cards. Bowman r
ecognized the faces of the four murdered girls in New Orleans. “These are the Shark’s confirmed victims.”

  “Yes.” Shield laid down a fifth picture next to the others. “One thing to see this picture of the fifth victim alone, but another to see it next to the other victims. They all look so much alike.”

  Bowman studied the pictures. “Number five’s face is slightly turned.” His gut knotted. “It could be a younger version of Tatum.”

  “That’s what I thought when I saw her on television four years ago. She and her canine were featured after they found a crashed helicopter that was carrying key state politicians to a fund-raiser. They were in critical condition when she found them.”

  Bowman flicked the edge of the paper with his index finger. “Did you ever talk to her?”

  “No. But I did some digging. Tatum’s originally from New Orleans. She moved to Virginia alone weeks after she turned eighteen. Her stepfather, William Charles, has been known to gamble heavily.”

  Bowman didn’t speak but waited for Shield to continue. “She ran away from home at seventeen,” Shield said. “She fell off the radar for a solid month, and then she emerges again working in a restaurant in Ashland. She worked odd jobs and went to community college until she turned twenty-one, then joined the state police. She’s sharp and dedicated.”

  “Why didn’t you ever ask her about the Shark?”

  “That’s your job now. Meet with her. Find out what you can about this murder. Help her find this killer. Keep her safe. She’s in deeper waters than she realizes.”

  “You didn’t ask her about the Shark because you didn’t want to spook her.”

  “I always suspected the Shark would come back for her. This killer has an obsession with poker and winning. We know that. And evidence suggests she’s the one that got away.”

  “You’ve been using her as bait.” Annoyance accentuated the last words.

  “Is that a problem?”

  “I’m not crazy about the idea.”

  “What would you do in my shoes?”

  Bowman slowly shook his head. “It’s a logical call.”

  “She’s my only link to this killer.”

  “And you’re hoping she wasn’t as juiced as the others and there are some memories?”

  “I don’t know. But now that there’s a new victim, it’s time to find out,” Shield said.

  Bowman dug into his memory. “You never found any of the other gamblers?”

  “No. But I did hear of a couple of gamblers that vanished in Las Vegas over a four-month period, months after my informant was murdered. That could have been the Shark cleaning up all loose ends.”

  “Those gamblers could also have been men who owed money to the wrong men. It’s a high-risk business, especially when you’re losing.”

  “You’re right. I have nothing linking the dead players to my informant or the girls. But again, I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  Bowman also sensed these random pieces were connected. “If your informant was right, there’s one player running the games.”

  “That’s my guess. And I believe the placement of this latest body in Riley’s patrol area suggests he knows who she is and he’s returned for her.”

  Bowman again studied the image of the fifth victim. The only thing he was sure of now was that he wanted back in the trooper’s life.

  “Protect her,” Shield said.

  “Consider it done.”

  Kevin held the disposable phone in his hand with his thumb hovering over the “Send” button. His stomach remained knotted after the killing, and no matter how much he tried to push the girl’s face from his mind, to exorcise the feel of the rope cutting into her neck, to shut out the sound of her last choking breaths, he could not. She haunted him. Chased him in his dreams. He’d thought killing her would be easy. She was a hopeless runaway who was selling her body on the streets. Her death shouldn’t have mattered. But it did.

  Closing his eyes, he hit “Send” and slowly raised the phone to his ear. The phone rang five times, and he thought for a moment it would simply go unanswered, but then he heard a curt, “Why are you calling?”

  Kevin closed his eyes. “I’m turning myself in to the cops.”

  “You’re doing what?”

  “I’m going to the cops. I can’t do this. I can’t live with the guilt of choking that girl to death.”

  A long pause. “We made a deal. You swore secrecy.”

  “I never understood why the girl had to die.”

  “It’s important that I won. But it’s more important that someone else lost.”

  Still light-headed from too much booze, Kevin opened his eyes and cleared his throat. He wanted these words to be clear. “I won’t bring you into this. I won’t tell.”

  “That’s comforting.”

  “I mean it. I won’t tell them about you.”

  “You also said you would never go to the cops.”

  “I won’t bring you into this. You have my word.”

  “Why are you telling me this? You could have just gone to the cops.”

  “To give you fair warning. To give you a chance to flee. I owe you that.”

  “Why would I have to flee if you don’t tell anyone about me?”

  “You know how it goes with cops. Some are smart, and events can go sideways. I don’t want you caught up in this.”

  “Sideways. Like now. Like you crumbling. Do you really think talking to the cops is going to give you absolution?”

  “I don’t know. But I deserve to be punished.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that you did that girl a favor? Can you imagine what she would look like in five years? Ten years? She’s a whore. The streets eat up kids like her.”

  “She was so young.”

  “Her beauty was on the verge of fading. It was a mercy killing.”

  “Mercy killing?”

  “You do believe in an afterlife, correct?”

  “What does that have to do with her?”

  “She’s in a better place now. Besides, if the Almighty wanted her to live, then the cards would’ve turned differently. You would’ve won and she would still be alive. It wasn’t meant to be.”

  Kevin pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the tightness in his chest to dissipate. “I don’t know . . .”

  “What’re you really asking?”

  Unshed tears choked his throat. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you want a second chance?”

  “What?”

  “A second chance. Another game and another chance to save a poor girl from the streets. You can give her your winnings and a better life. That’s part of the reason you took the last one.”

  “I wanted to help her.”

  “Don’t feed me any of your noble bullshit. You wanted to win. To beat me.” The Shark pulled in a deep breath. “You and I aren’t that different. We’re addicted to the game. Knowing the turn of the cards could mean life or death is too much of a thrill for people like us to pass up.”

  Kevin rose, glancing at his trembling hand. As much as the idea of killing repelled him, playing again excited him more. Trying to contain his excitement, he said, “Would the same rules apply?”

  “They would. You win and I’ll see that the girl lives a long, full life. I’ve let a girl free once before. I can do it again.”

  Kevin hesitated, disgusted with addiction and fading remorse.

  “Think what you can do for that other girl’s family. You can help them with some of your winnings. Ease their pain. Your pain.”

  “I can atone for her death.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay.” A calmness washed over him.

  “I’ll find the girl this time.”

  “Where?”

  “I have a source.”

  Kevin was relieved. Trolling for the other girl had created a connection between them. This time it would be more impersonal. It was the edge he needed to beat the Shark. “Okay.”

  “Meet me a
t the same place in twenty-four hours. Lady Luck does owe you, doesn’t she?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Thursday, September 15, 4:30 a.m.

  Riley rose early, her eyes opening minutes before her alarm. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and willed herself to stand and get moving. After she dressed in running clothes, she passed Hanna’s door and peeked inside. She found the girl sprawled on her stomach across her bed, her hair draped over her face and both arms tucked under her pillow.

  As she moved into the kitchen, Cooper rose in his crate, his tail thumping. She grabbed his red tracking line and, opening the crate, hooked his collar. “Ready, Coop?”

  She strapped on her headlight as the two headed out the back door. Their initial pace was always slow, but it quickly sped up.

  After they looped around the track for four miles’ worth of laps, she tied his line to a fence and then did a set of fast sprints. By the time she was finished, sweat dripped from her body.

  As she collected the dog’s leash she stood for a moment, staring at the nearby woods. A sense of unease crept up her spine. Cooper raised his head and sniffed, forcing air from his nose as he did when he picked up a scent. Cooper had also picked up on her tension.

  Five years together had taught her to never doubt Cooper. His body, when it tensed, sent a message up the line, vibrating up her sinew and bone. She stared toward the park, wishing now she’d brought her gun.

  Feeling exposed, she tugged him. “Let’s get out of here, Coop.”

  The dog barked and glared at the woods for another tense second before turning. They jogged across the lot to the street toward her house. She looked over her shoulder several times, expecting to see trouble, but the area around her remained still. But there was no doubt Cooper had picked up something.

  Inside the back door she fed Cooper and then hustled into the shower.

  Fifteen minutes later, her still-moist hair was twisted into a bun at the base of her head and she’d dressed in slim brown slacks, a white shirt, and a blazer. She was cooking eggs and toast when she heard Hanna stumble out of her room and into the shower.

  “Shake a leg, kid,” she shouted as she glanced at the clock on the stove. “Your ride will be here in twenty minutes.”