She arrived at the squad room shortly before eleven in the morning. Rupert Levac was waiting for her when she walked into the squad room, a file tucked under his arm, a leaking jelly donut dripping raspberry into the palm of his hand.
“G’morning, detective,” he said, licking raspberry jelly from his hand. “I’ve got some news for you.”
“You’ve seen the light and you’re going to wash that suit?” Raven asked with mock seriousness. “That’s a relief; that thing is taking on a life of its own!”
Levac frowned and smoothed the lapels of his slept-in jacket, which served more to smear one side with a light coating of raspberry than smooth it down.
“Very funny,” he replied. “It’s better than that. Believe it or not, the lab boys were able to get a hit on that partial latent print from your admirers last night. Get this; it belonged to one Tobias Boone, a hitter for hire. I pulled his file for you. He has an impressive history.”
Levac handed the file to Raven, who dropped her purse on her desk and sat to review the contents.
“Wow,” she said after a few moments. “This guy has had a hell of a career, hasn’t he? He had three tours as a Navy SEAL that earned him a purple heart and a stack of medals, a year with CIA and then freelance. I think I should be flattered that whoever sent him went to so much trouble.”
“You should be glad to be alive,” Levac snorted. “This guy doesn’t miss. You got very lucky last night, Storm.”
“Maybe I’m just that good,” Raven retorted with more bravado than she felt. “I hit what I aim at and it stays down!”
Levac shrugged and pulled another file from the haphazard pile on his desk. “This was waiting for us last night,” he said. “The contents of that voodoo bag you asked about. Most of the items were pretty uninteresting, but the herbs come up as something called goldenseal mixed with ginger, hellebore and fennel seed. Does that mean anything to you?”
Raven shrugged and flipped through the file, glancing at the toxicology reports.
“They’re generally supposed to be medicinal herbs,” she said. “I know goldenseal is an antibiotic…but I think some of these are poisons. I have some friends who deal in Wicca and herbs; I’ll ask around and see what these are good for."
“We also finally got that appointment with that guy Drake Anderson you wanted to talk to,” Levac said. “He'll meet with us today at noon.”
Raven glanced at her watch and asked, “Then what are we waiting for? I’ll drive!”
II
Anderson, Richards and Symone, one of the largest accounting firms in the country, located their headquarters on Wacker Drive, downtown Chi-town. They held the top three floors of a high-rise tower with their name emblazoned in red letters across the side. Though some thought this denoted power, Raven simply thought it looked tacky. She had little use for accountants, and her mother still insisted they were just another type of vampire that should answer to her and the Court.
She parked the Shelby in the underground garage that served the building, and Raven and Levac took the express elevator to the penthouse office. They were greeted by a very attractive receptionist who introduced herself as Lita. After checking their credentials, she ushered them into a plush waiting room decorated in a modern style with lots of leather and chrome furniture and abstract paintings that looked like they had fallen out of a music video from the eighties.
The two detectives waited, listening to the tick of a large black clock that stood in the corner. The clock had clearly been designed to turn the human brain to mush, as the tick was irregular, uncomfortably clicking at odd intervals when least expected and then again twice in a row. Raven was ready to shoot the clock and put it out of her misery when the receptionist finally returned.
“Mister Anderson will see you now,” she said. “Please come with me.”
Raven and Levac followed the receptionist down a short hall and into Drake Anderson’s office. The large room was decorated with a nautical theme, including paneling made from salvaged wood, antique furniture, and a ship’s wheel standing before the large picture window that looked down on the city.
Seated behind the office’s large antique desk was a middle-aged gentleman with close-cropped grey hair brushed back from the temples and piercing brown eyes. He was in the process of lighting a large pipe of the Churchwarden style and he raised the pipe to beckon the detectives closer.
“Good afternoon,” he said in a rich baritone. “I’m Drake Anderson. Please, have a seat. Lita tells me you would like to discuss one of our employees, Nathan King? I believe he was found dead in the garage of his apartment building, if the news was correct.”
Raven waited for Levac to take a seat and then sat next to him, pulling a thin file from her purse.
“That’s correct,” she said. “We’re investigating Mr. King’s death. What was your relationship with Mr. King?”
Anderson puffed on the pipe for a moment before replying, “Nathan was a junior vice president in this firm, as well as my personal accountant. I knew him quite well.”
Raven made a few notes while Levac asked, “When was the last time you saw Mr. King?”
“Mm…a few weeks ago,” Anderson replied. “We went fishing as a team-building exercise one Thursday afternoon; I believe it was a day or so before he disappeared. He caught a swordfish he planned to have mounted for his office.”
Raven looked up, her green eyes locking on Anderson’s brown ones, her senses searching for something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “How did you know Mr. King was missing?”
Anderson frowned and tapped his pipe on his ashtray, loosening a bit of tobacco stuck in the chimney.
“We had a golf game scheduled with a client on a Monday a few weeks ago,” he said. “It was a very important client and Nathan failed to show. That wasn’t like him, so I started calling. I even sent one of my staff round to knock on the door, but he didn’t answer. I tried several times after that, as did our human resources department. When no one could reach him, I knew he was missing.”
“Did you call the police about your suspicion that Mr. King was missing?” Raven asked.
“I didn’t," Anderson replied. “I asked my receptionist to do it. I assume she did, and you can check with her on your way out. Where are these questions going? Shall I alert my team of attorneys?”
Levac smiled and waved a hand. “That would be up to you, Mr. Anderson. We’re trying to establish a timeline and narrow down suspects. Can you tell us who else was on the fishing trip with you?”
Anderson tapped his fingers on his desk for a moment. After a few seconds of thought, he replied, “Cade Symone and his son Brand, John Richards and his partner Andre, and the crew of the boat. I don’t know their names, unfortunately.”
“I am assuming Richards and Symone are your partners in the firm?” Raven asked.
“Yes. Brand isn’t yet a partner; he’s a senior account executive, but Cade and John are my partners. We founded this company in 1974.”
Levac leaned forward and asked, “Do you remember if anything strange happened that day?”
“Strange? I’m not sure what you mean,” Anderson asked.
“You know, anything out of the ordinary?” Levac pressed.
Anderson frowned and replied, “You’re asking if I can perhaps incriminate any of my friends. I can’t. If anything happened that might have contributed to Nathan’s death, I am not aware of it.”
“Can you remember the name of the boat you went fishing on?” Raven asked, interrupting Levac’s retort.
Anderson glanced at Raven and smiled. “Yes, it's the same one we always use; the Witchcraft, owned by Witchcraft Charters. I’m familiar with Captain Kyle and recommend him highly.”
“Thank you, Mr. Anderson,” Raven said. “I think that’s all for now.”
Levac took his cue and stood, extending a hand to the older man. “I am sorry if my question upset you, Mr. Anderson. Thank you for your time,” he said politely.
Anderson shook the offered hand. “You are welcome, detective. I know you’re just doing your job. Please feel free to call on me if I can be of any further assistance.”
The two detectives returned to the penthouse lobby, where they found Lita, waiting for them.
“I hope everything went well,” she said. “Mr. Anderson asked that I give you a copy of the missing person’s report I filed for Mr. King.”
She opened a file and offered Levac the report. He accepted it with a smile and glanced over the front page. He showed the date to Raven, which confirmed it was filed as Mr. Anderson had stated.
“Thank you,” he said. “Lita…did you think it was unusual for Mr. Anderson to ask you to complete the report instead of doing it himself?”
Lita replied, "I'm not sure what you mean, detective. I am Mr. Anderson’s assistant; I do whatever he asks of me.”
Levac shrugged and spread his hands as if he was not sure how to proceed. An act, Raven was sure, to put Lita at ease.
“It just seems odd that he wouldn’t do it himself. It was his concern, after all. It didn’t strike you as out of the ordinary?” Levac sounded a lot like the television detective who was the source of his derogatory nickname.
Lita shook her head, her smile faltering only slightly. “No, not really. You have to understand Mr. Anderson. I do quite a few day-to-day things that could be considered personal, from buying gifts for birthdays and holidays to sending thank-you notes. Aside from it being a call to the police, this was nothing unusual.”
“Ah, I see. Thank you, Lita.” Levac turned away. He half turned back and said, “Ah…one more thing: Could I have your last name for the file?”
“Tello,” Lita replied. “Lita Tello.”
“Thank you, Ms. Tello,” Raven said. “You've been most helpful.”
Back in the Shelby, Levac scrolled through his Blackberry as Raven threaded the car through traffic on the way downtown.
“What do you think?” Raven asked after several minutes of silence.
“If Lita smiled any more, I think the top of her head would fall off. I also think Anderson's hiding something,” Levac replied without hesitation. “Something we need to know about happened on that boat.”
“Agreed,” Raven said. “Do you want to head down to the marina?”
“Not yet.” Levac waved his Blackberry. “We got a message from Frost. Our Ford has been located in an abandoned airfield outside the city. A kid with a scanner heard the all-points bulletin go out and called it in. The lieutenant has some locals sitting on it until we can get there.”
Raven nodded and downshifted, swerving the Mustang across three lanes of traffic and onto the Loop, accelerating as she did and putting the car’s strobe lights into action.
III
The drive to Ravenwood Airfield was short and the two detectives found a local black-and-white patrol car waiting for them at the gate to the long-abandoned airfield. The officer inside climbed out and approached the driver’s side of the Shelby, his hat pulled low and a toothpick hanging from his lips.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he said to Raven, nodding to Levac in turn. “What can I do for you?”
Raven pulled her ID from her purse and held it open for the officer. “Detectives Raven Storm and Rupert Levac. You found a shot-up Ford pickup we were looking for?”
“Yes, ma’am, we did,” the officer replied. “It’s sitting down by the hangar where you can’t see it from the road. A couple local kids were playing some game on the field and spotted it.”
“Have you checked it out at all?” Raven asked.
The officer shook his head. “No, ma’am, your lieutenant said not to approach the vehicle and just keep an eye on it. After I confirmed it was there, I parked my cruiser and waited for you. I admit I'm dying of curiosity, though.”
“Thank you, officer,” Raven said. “I appreciate your help. If you don’t mind, please stay here and keep anyone from getting in or out.”
The officer chewed on his toothpick for a heartbeat and then said, “Right you are, ma’am. I’ll get the gate for you.”
He opened the gate a few moments later and pushed it aside with a squeal of rust that could have awakened the dead. He then stood aside and watched Raven guide the Shelby down the cracked blacktop that led to the airfield.
Ravenwood had started out as a training facility for United States Army Air Force pilots on their way to the European Theater in World War II. It had been abandoned in the early sixties after changing hands several times and it was now technically state-owned property, but no one bothered to do anything with it. Like many of the old factories, airfields and boatyards leftover from the ’40s, the airfield had been forgotten and left to rot. Now it was little more than a pair of cracked asphalt runways, three hangars and a crumbling tower with a few unserviceable airplanes scattered around for good measure.
The access road from the state highway led around the outside perimeter of the airport before emptying into a small parking lot behind the old control tower. Raven parked the Shelby near the tower and she and Levac picked their way through the debris toward the fence opening next to the decrepit building.
All of the windows in the tower had been shot out long ago, leaving only jagged pieces of glass jutting like broken teeth from the gaping holes. The door to the tower was hanging askew, leaving the old padlock still in place while the hinges had rusted through. Raven peeked through the opening, but thought it unlikely anyone had passed through the glass-choked doorway in some time. She glanced at Levac, who nodded and led the way through the fence toward the nearest of the hangars, a military-style Quonset hut made of galvanized steel. The building that had once stood shining and proud in the afternoon now sagged to the side and was covered with a layer of rust and dirt. The Ford was parked in the shadows next to it, hidden where it was visible only from this side of the airfield. Not even Google Earth would have been able find it in the shadow of the tower.
Once the location of the truck was confirmed, both detectives drew their weapons and moved cautiously through the debris to the vehicle. Raven jerked the door open and scanned inside, confirming that there was no one inside.
Raven placed one hand on the hood and established the truck was cold and hadn’t been driven recently before moving toward the door to the hangar, which held a shiny, new, and very expensive padlock. She tapped it with one nail and matched eyes with Levac, who nodded. Obviously someone had been using the hangar and could still be around.
Using Levac as cover from any prying eyes, Raven produced her lock picks and worked the tumblers, taking several minutes to bypass the supposedly pick-proof lock. After the lock popped open, she tapped Levac’s knee to get his attention and pushed the door gently with the tips of her fingers. The door opened easily on recently lubricated hinges and bumped against the wall.
The room beyond was large and dimly lit by light filtering in from high windows. The air was heavy with the smell of incense, but even that smell paled in comparison to the underlying and unmistakable pall of death.
Part of the large room had been cleaned; the floor was covered in a large piece of red felt surrounded by the remains of black candles and several tarnished bronze braziers, likely the source of the incense smell.
In the middle of the cleared area lay the remains of Victoria Laveau, her body covered by a bloodstained shroud, her sunken eyes wide and staring.
Raven and Levac approached cautiously, searching the far corners of the room for any sign of the Ford driver. Once they were certain the room was secure, Raven knelt next to Victoria and peeled back the shroud to reveal what she already suspected, a gaping and rotting hole where the woman’s stomach and chest should be, the jagged wound filled with pieces of bone, torn flesh and pieces of incense to keep the smell of death at bay.
IV
Levac was on the phone with Frost, requesting a coroner and crime scene unit while Raven searched the truck. By the smell of Hoppe’s cleaner, gun oil and leather, sh
e was certain Tobias Boone or one of his cronies had used the truck and was likely the party who tried to run her and her partner down the day before. He had probably stolen the truck and used it to recover Victoria’s body. It was a sure bet that her body had been in the back of the truck when she and Levac had been nearly run down. The question was why had he recovered the body, and who had hired him to do it?
There was very little of interest in the vehicle. Most everything belonged to the true owner, one Erick Bates of West Bend, Wisconsin. After a few minutes of fishing beneath the seat, however, Raven retrieved a small leather bag: a gris-gris almost identical to the one that had been found with King’s body. Raven held the bag in her hand for a moment, debating if she should open it or wait for the forensic team. Making a face at doing something she knew was wrong, she pocketed the gris-gris bag to show Marie later. Perhaps the Mambo would be able to tell her something about the contents of the bag and the houngan who had filled it. The possibility was worth the risk; it might turn up a lead that would otherwise be missed.
Finding nothing else in the vehicle, Raven returned to Levac, who was still studying the corpse. He looked up when Raven approached. “Hey, Raven…listen, do you think anything about this is weird?”
Raven stopped and looked at the scene, then looked at Levac. “You mean you don’t?” she asked, deadpan. “A high-paid psychopathic killer steals a dead body and lays her out all ritual-like in the middle of an abandoned airport? No, there’s nothing weird about that at all.”
Levac frowned and picked at the red felt with two fingers. “That’s what I mean. It’s weird…like someone staged it weird. It has everything you’d expect to find at a ritualistic crime scene. Dead body, red felt, black candles, some incense tossed around for good measure… something about this screams ‘set up’ to me, like someone was trying to make it look like a ritual killing.”
Raven looked around again, rocking one foot back and forth on the stiletto heel. She took in the partially melted candles, the cheap incense, the red felt, and the carefully positioned body and paused.
Stormrise Page 6