Twistered

by J. L. Wilson

Leo smoothly interposed himself between Mina and me. "Did you know Wade left everything to Dorothy?"

  "Everything?" Mina barked a harsh laugh. "He was broke."

  "How do you know? Have you been in contact with him lately?" I glimpsed the door opening behind Mandy and saw the matronly form of Miranda Tolliver bustle from the back room and into the little foyer. She was a plump, round middle-aged woman with steel gray hair, a crisp khaki uniform shirt and dark brown skirt with matching sensible dark brown shoes.

  In the glass of Mandy's booth I saw a reflected image of Mina take a step back, appearing to be flustered. "Of course not," she stammered. "I haven't talked to Wade in years. But you know how he was. He was always broke."

  A door to the right of Mandy buzzed then opened. Miranda poked her head through the opening. "Come on in, Dorothy. This will just take a minute."

  I started toward the door, Leo beside me. "Can I watch?" he asked. "I've never seen anybody fingerprinted."

  Miranda hesitated then shrugged, plump shoulders rising and falling. "I don't see why not. Come on." She regarded Mina. "You too?"

  Mina held up a manicured hand. "Not me." She headed for the front door, saying over her shoulder, "If I'm needed, you know where to find me."

  "Needed?" Miranda muttered. "What for?"

  "Does she have to identify the body?" Leo crowded behind me as we filed into the small foyer. We queued up behind Miranda while she tapped numbers on the keypad then we followed her through the ominous metal door behind Mandy.

  "Chief Strawn can do the identification," Miranda said. "It's not like Wade was a stranger in these parts." She led the way through an open room with a large wooden oval table in the middle. At various points around the table sat computer terminals, the monitors embedded into a wooden dome in the center of the table. "This way. We'll do the prints over here."

  "What's that?" Leo asked as we passed the oval computer stations and headed for a desk and a small table that was about boob height to me.

  "This is where the officers fill in their reports. They're all out now, of course, checking for tornado damage." Miranda took a paper from a tray on the desk. "Let me get information about that," and she nodded toward the postcard I still held.

  She jotted my name, the approximate date I received the card and my address. Next she had me put it on a copy machine and she made a copy of it, front and back, which she handed to me. I slipped the original into a brown envelope she held open. "I don't want to get any prints on it," Miranda explained as she peeled off the backing on the form and stuck it to the envelope, sealing it shut. "Okay, now let's get your prints. Put your arm there, Dorothy." Miranda opened a cupboard with a key and removed a tray full of vials and paper.

  I rested my arm on the table top and watched in fascination as she dabbed my fingers with a cotton pad dipped in alcohol then dried them briskly with a paper towel, all the while maintaining a steady patter of conversation. "It's ridiculous. As though Dorothy would have anything to do with Wade after all these years. But I suppose it's the FBI's doing. They like to throw their weight around. Now relax, Dorothy. Stare out the window and ignore me."

  Ignore her? That sounded suspiciously like my dentist when he said, "'you'll feel a little pinch" before the crushing pain of a Novocain shot. Miranda grasped my right hand at the base of the thumb and cupped her hand over my fingers, tucking over them so that my thumb was exposed.

  Next Miranda rolled my thumb on a pad, deftly inking it from the first joint to the tip and rocking it slightly so the area was covered, nail to nail. "Relax, Dorothy," she said briskly. "If you're tense, it makes it tough to get a good impression. Why don't you tell me why Wade was in town? Do you have any ideas?" As she talked, Miranda moved my hand, thumb attached, to the paper pad on the table and put the thumb into the little square, rotating it so the print transferred cleanly.

  "That FBI guy said something about drugs. Is there a drug problem in town?"

  Leo nodded gravely. "I hear about it all the time at the shop."

  Miranda glanced at him, her hazel eyes shrewd and assessing. "You do?" She busily inked and dabbed my fingers then pulled all of my digits close to each other. "Group impressions," she murmured as she pressed the bunch onto a space at the bottom of the card.

  "Nothing concrete, of course," he hastened to say. "Only rumor and gossip. I know of more than one parent who's worried about their teenager."

  I thought of Baby Dot. She was at that awkward, early teen age where she felt she knew everything and actually knew very little. "I can't believe Wade would get tangled up in drugs," I said thoughtfully. "He was dumb but not that stupid."

  Miranda moved on to my left hand, nudging Leo out of the way so I could be repositioned in front of the table. "Wade always struck me as someone who went for the easy way around things," she said as she manipulated my fingers. "No offense, Dorothy, but marrying you was easy for him." I stiffened but relaxed again when she said, "Hold still now. We don't want to go through this procedure all over again."

  "Why does the FBI think he's involved?" Leo asked, one hand inching toward the tray holding the inks and papers.

  "Get away from that, Leo." Miranda briskly pressed my fingers onto the page. "According to the report Chief Strawn got, a major drug operation is moving their product through here on the way to the bigger cities up north. They talked about it at the last City Council meeting. Chief Strawn reported to the mayor and the Council about it. There we go, all done." She handed me a bottle of pink lotion and gestured toward a sink on the far wall. "That'll clean off the ink. Help yourself."

  I took the bottle and made a beeline for the sink, saying over my shoulder, "What kind of evidence does the FBI have that drugs are moving through town?"

  "I'm not privy to the details," Miranda said as she jotted notes on the two cards holding my fingerprints. "But as a matter of public record, the Chief said different Federal agencies were involved in tracking the movements of several gangs. They seem to be involved with the drugs."

  "What kind of gangs?" I scrubbed the ink, which came off easily with the pink goo.

  Leo peered at my fingerprint cards, frowning. "You've got a scar on your thumb. What's that from?"

  "I was mad at Wade one night and didn't pay attention to my chopping when I was making chili. I almost whacked off my thumb." I dried my hands and checked my reflection in the mirror over the sink. I sighed when I saw that my curls were even curlier than usual thanks to the May humidity. Maybe Leo was right. Maybe I needed a new hairdo.

  "Motorcycle gangs," Miranda said as she went to a copier-like machine and put my fingerprint cards on the glass surface. "You've heard about the Wickeds?" Leo nodded affirmatively while I shook my head negatively. "They're a motorcycle gang. The K.C. branch claim to be a social group, but they're pretty wild." She frowned as she pressed a button and a light appeared under my fingerprint cards. "They're coming through here on Saturday for AMRAK."

  The Annual Motorcycle Ride Across Kansas was a yearly event in which motorcyclists paid to be housed at small towns as they did a 'lap' around the state. Many citizens opened their homes as impromptu B&Bs, and those cyclists who wanted an outdoor experience could camp at the fairground. This year Broomfield was one of the towns chosen as a nightly stop, which meant a boost of income for the restaurants and bars. "Seriously? A gang is coming? I thought AMRAK was just a bunch of Sunday bikers who ride across the state and raise money for charity."

  "Ninety-nine percent of them are peaceful, law-abiding accountants and lawyers and grocery clerks. It's the other one percent that has us worried."

  I watched as Miranda tapped a few keys on the keyboard attached to the copier device. I realized it was a scanner. "Are you sending my prints someplace?"

  She nodded. "The computer will compare them to prints on file."

  "I'm pretty sure my prints aren't on file anywhere," I pointed out.

  Miranda smiled. "It's routine."

  "If the police think the Wickeds are involved
in drug smuggling, why are they allowing them to stay at the fairgrounds on Saturday night with the other motorcycle groups?" Leo asked.

  "Maybe it's a trap," I suggested, leaning back against the counter as Miranda typed something on the computer and a paper spat out of the printer. She peeled off the back of that paper and affixed two labels to my fingerprint cards.

  "If it's a trap, it's pretty obvious." Leo stared over Miranda's shoulder at the computer.

  "Oh, I don't know," I said, thinking aloud. "I guess it all depends on whether the gang knows the Feds are on to them."

  "And it all depends on who in town is in cahoots with them," Leo added. He regarded me thoughtfully. "If the druggies are using Broomfield as a staging ground for moving drugs, it has to be someone who can provide them with storage or a place to stash the stuff." He turned to Miranda. "What kind of drugs?"

  "Heroin." She shook her head regretfully. "Awful stuff."

  "And worth a lot of money." I remembered several novels I had read about drug trafficking. "Are they processing it here? Is that what the Feds think?"

  "Why don't you ask me yourself, Miss Gaylord?"

  I whirled. Jack Tinsley stood in the doorway, watching us.

  Chapter 6

  "Oops," Leo murmured. "I think we should go, Dorothy."

  Tinsley shot Miranda a disgusted look. She absorbed it with imperturbable calm as she tucked the fingerprint equipment back into the cupboard from which it came. Deprived of a victim for his ire, Tinsley turned his baby blue glare on me. "Did you bring the letter you received from your husband as we requested?" he asked haughtily.

  I straightened to my full five-feet-five and fixed him with my own icy stare, honed through years of hushing noisemakers in the library. "It wasn't a letter, it was a postcard. He wasn't my husband. He was my ex-husband. And yes, I brought it." I turned to Leo. "We were just leaving."

  "So I see," Tinsley snapped. "I'd like to speak with you." His icy gaze settled on Leo briefly. "Alone."

  "I don't think that's wise, Dorothy," Leo said, his long face creasing with a worried frown. "It might be better if Drew or--"

  "It won't take long." Tinsley gestured to the other side of the room, beyond the oval desk replete with computer terminals. "We can chat here." He walked away, not checking to see if I followed.

  "I'm sorry if I got you in trouble, Miranda," I said softly.

  "I'm not in trouble," she said placidly. "And you don't have to talk to him unless you want to. He doesn't have jurisdiction here."

  I peeked across the room. Tinsley stood in the far corner, watching us over the top of the humped oval table. "Oh, what the hell," I muttered.

  "Dorothy, I think you need to have someone with you."

  I put a hand on Leo's arm, silencing him. "Not to worry. I'll watch what I say." I moved away before Leo could muster another argument.

  Tinsley watched me with a calm expression as though a mask covered any emotion. As soon as I got near, he said, "I don't think you realize how important this investigation is, Miss Gaylord."

  I crossed my arms and stared at him. "To who?"

  He straightened, surprised. "What do you mean?"

  "Is this some kind of career builder for you? Why didn't they send an FBI team here? I thought that's what was always done."

  "Why did you think that?"

  I shrugged. "That's what you always see on TV."

  "Don't believe everything you see. But in this case, it's true. They did send a team. My partner is joining me later." His gaze went past me and I turned slightly to follow it. Leo watched us, concern evident in the tense lines of his body. "Mr. Burt is a good friend of yours?"

  I nodded. "I've known him since high school. And I've known Drew that long." I decided to get it out in the open and air any grievances the G-man might have.

  "It might be awkward for Chief Strawn if your relationship to him hinders his investigation." Tinsley said this in a low, non-accusatory voice but his words still irked me.

  "Drew is one of the most honest men I know." Anger made my voice tremble and my hands, tucked near my armpits, clenched and unclenched. "It's offensive to me to think you might accuse him of favoritism."

  Tinsley stared at the floor then raised his eyes. I was surprised at the non-critical, sympathetic expression I saw there. His formerly icy blue eyes were now hazy, like a summer sky in the morning. "Love can make a man do unusual things."

  I blushed, from anger not embarrassment. "Drew and I are good friends. That's all. You didn't answer my question. Why is this investigation so important? Surely the FBI..." I had a sudden thought. "Wait a minute. The FBI doesn't investigate drug gangs, do they? Isn't that the ATF's responsibility? Or is it the FDA? Don't they deal with drugs? Why is the FBI here?"

  "The ATF handles alcohol and tobacco issues. The FDA is more concerned with legal, not illegal, drugs." He turned slightly away from me, his eyes roaming around the room. His face was rectangular with a square jaw below a straight, inflexible mouth and dark eyebrows that cut a swatch across his face in a firm line. His gaze flicked from one side of the room to the next. I suppose as law enforcement equipment goes, Broomfield's was low-tech. I imagined he was evaluating our facility and finding it wanting.

  His broad shoulders flinched and I wondered if his pale grey suit coat itched. When he turned his attention back to me, his face relaxed as though he'd come to a decision. "I've been tracking this gang for a long time. I guess you could say this is personal for me."

  Hmm. This was interesting. I didn't think FBI agents thought that way. Of course, what did I know? Tinsley was the first one I ever met. "You're not from here, are you?"

  His eyes widened slightly. "How did you know that?"

  "Your accent."

  "What accent?"

  "It's not much of one, but you have one. I'm guessing the East Coast somewhere." I waited, wondering if he'd volunteer any information.

  Tinsley nodded reluctantly. "Baltimore. I've been in Kansas City less than a year."

  "They're a Kansas gang, aren't they? The Wickeds, I mean."

  "They have ties to gangs out East. These are vicious, predatory people, Miss Gaylord. They don't care who they hurt."

  I nodded, barely hearing his words. How did Wade get mixed up with a motorcycle gang? When I knew him, he was always seeking a shortcut to happiness, wealth, and status. When his mother married William Wickman, Wade automatically came into money and some social standing, but all of that was relative, of course. Broomfield was such a small place, no one was really High Society and I think that always irked Wade.

  Poor Wade, to die like that. "How did Wade die?" I asked, remembering the blood on Wade's chest. "Was he shot?"

  Tinsley's face stilled. "No."

  "It looked bad," I said. "Was his leg broken?" I was surprised when Tinsley shifted his gaze away, as though uncomfortable.

  "Dorothy, I think we should be going." Leo had approached and now stood behind me. "I need to get back to the shop."

  "What was it? What happened to Wade?" I kept my eyes fixed on Tinsley. What had him so edgy?

  "He was tortured."

  The flat, emotionless words made me take a step back, almost treading on Leo. "Tortured?"

  "Tortured?" Leo repeated. "Wade was tortured?" His face paled and he swayed slightly. "Good heavens, what do you mean?"

  I put a hand on Leo's arm, giving him physical as well as moral support. "I don't understand. Who would do that?"

  "I told you that this gang is vicious. We found evidence at an abandoned farm north of town."

  "The Fleming place," Leo murmured. "Old man Fleming died last year and the farm hasn't sold."

  I nodded, watching as Tinsley's hands flexed. I shivered, imaging them grabbing a bad guy--or a good guy, for that matter--and shaking the miscreant. "The neighbors reported seeing lights there," he said. "Strawn sent a man to check and he found indications it was used. Whoever did this cut the victim before they broke his leg and his fingers." Tinsley pause
d, his lips tightening. "The victim was in shock when he drove into your street. That weakened him enough so when the RV flipped over, he had a heart attack and died."

  "Oh my God." Leo's choked whisper summed up the nauseating feeling that engulfed me. "Who would do such a thing? Why?"

  "We have our ideas."

  "What do you mean, 'we'?" I demanded. "I have a right to know. Wade was my husband. He was family." I had a sudden horrifying thought. "Do I have to plan his funeral?" I turned to Leo, who I was certain would know the rules about such social niceties.

  Leo nodded emphatically. "Of course. You and Mina need to coordinate that." He leveled a grim gaze at Tinsley. "Dorothy isn't in danger, is she?"

  Tinsley paused before answering, a hesitation that made me gulp with anxiety. "You need to be careful, Miss Gaylord. If your ex-husband left you something, it's possible the people who tortured him could come after you."

  "Oh my God! Dorothy, you'll need police protection until they catch these people. You don't dare be alone, what if--"

  I held up a hand, stopping Leo's flow of anguished speculation. "Wade didn't leave me anything."

  "What about that safety deposit box?" Tinsley asked.

  I nervously tucked a curl behind my left ear. "As soon as you find out where it is, I'll be glad to go there with you and Drew and see what's inside. The sooner I can turn it over to the authorities, the happier I'll be." I gestured toward the door. "Let's go, Leo."

  "Miss Gaylord."

  Tinsley's quiet, deep voice stopped both Leo and me in the doorway. I turned.

  "Is there someone who can stay with you at your house?"

  I stared at him in amazement. "You expect me to put somebody in danger?"

  "You can stay with me," Leo said immediately. "There's the guest suite upstairs, you can stay there. Or you could stay with Mel. I'm sure she'd be glad to have you."

  I shook my head. "I won't put my friends in danger."

  Tinsley's jaw tightened. "Chief Strawn and I have already discussed it."

  "Drew can talk all he wants but I'm not going to endanger my friends." I reached for the door knob.