Blood Games

by Lee Killough

  Greenstreet stared. “Why can’t you?”

  “Because--” She lifted her head, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. The smeared mascara made her eyes look like a raccoon’s. A rather touching effect, Greenstreet reflected, and suddenly realized that she was much younger than he first thought. A little lost waif. Eyes brimming, she said, “Can--can I talk to you?”

  “Yes, of course, child.” He pulled another chair over to face hers and sat down.

  She drew a long, trembling breath. “My mother died when I was ten. I don’t have any brothers or sisters so then it was just Daddy and me. Until last year, when he married...Raegene.” Valerie spat the name. “I’d been cooking and cleaning for Daddy but according to Raegene I didn’t know anything about cleaning or cooking. And my clothes were too tomboy, not feminine. And--well, it doesn’t matter what else. We fought all the time and she had him so pussywhipped that he always took her side. So I ran away, leaving a note saying that as long as he stayed married to her he’d never see me again. So now I can’t go home again.”

  Greenstreet sighed. “Why? Because it would hurt your pride to back down?” How much unhappiness pride caused Humanity, and how like a child to think in black-and-white absolutes. “What’s more important to you, your pride or your father?”

  She hesitated, biting her lip. “Daddy, of course, but...after the way I acted he won’t want anything to do with me. She probably won’t allow it.”

  “If you really want to go home again, why don’t you call your father and find out? I think you’ll find he misses you, too, and you can work something out.”

  She stared at him, uncertainly at first, then with hope lighting her face. “You think so? Please, can I use your phone right now? I’ll reverse the charges.”

  He handed her the phone. “Don’t worry about the charges; just call.”

  “No, I’ll reverse the charges.” She straightened in the chair. “I won’t impose on you. But...” Her eyes begged. “...do you mind stepping outside while I call?”

  He left the room while she dialed, and as the door closed behind him he heard her say, “Daddy? Daddy, it’s Valerie.” Then a few minutes later she opened the door, face shining. “He wants to talk to you.”

  Greenstreet picked up the receiver.

  “Mr. Greenstreet?” The voice coming over the line sounded shaky but joyous. “This is Richard Daniels. I don’t know how I can ever express my gratitude to you for talking Valerie into calling. I’ve been hunting her from the day she ran away and I was beginning to be afraid I’d never see my little girl again. Could I possibly ask you for a very large favor? If you buy her a bus ticket to Douglas--that’s the closest the bus comes to Kaffley and I’ll meet it there--and give me your address, I’ll send the money to reimburse you.”

  Greenstreet glanced back at the doorway, at the girl hovering there, holding her breath. So, it had worked out just as he thought it would. He winked at her. “Of course I’ll buy her a ticket, but don’t worry about reimbursing me.”

  “Praise the Lord there are still men like you in the world.”

  He drove her to the bus station and bought the ticket, but the departure time worried him, 2:00 am. “I hate to have you sitting down here until then.”

  “No, that’s good,” she said. “That gives me time to walk home to pick up my things and say goodbye to my roommate.”

  “Walk? At this time of night? I’ll take you home and bring you back.”

  She bit her lip. “But you’ve already done so much.”

  “We don’t want you mugged again...or worse. Where do you live?”

  She gave him directions.

  Seeing the Niobrara Hotel, it shocked him to think of the girl living in a place like this. While not dirty, it reeked of sleaze, with questionable-looking people occupying the sagging chairs of its vaguely Art Deco lobby. One tall, rawboned woman with a thigh-high skirt and a mound of red hair that had to be a wig showed a decided adams apple.

  “Why are you living here?” Greenstreet asked.

  She shrugged. “It’s all Billie and I can afford, but it isn’t so bad. The owners keep it clean because they like to be able to kick out everyone but the geriatric residents during Frontier Days and rent to tourists. The hookers--.”

  “Hook--”

  The rawboned woman looked around.

  Greenstreet lowered his voice to a whisper. “Hookers?”

  For a moment he thought she might laugh...but decided he was mistaken. Her eyes widened innocently. “That’s what Billie tells me they are. They seem like girls nice to me, though. They found a place for Billie and me to crash until the hotel gave us our room back. It’s better than living on the street or in an abandoned house like some kids have to do. Would--would you please come up while I pack? Billie’s boyfriend Shawn runs in and out as he likes, even when Billie’s away working, like now, and I don’t like being alone with him.”

  Greenstreet could not refuse her, but he slunk through the lobby hoping no one he knew would see him.

  She unlocked the door and opened it cautiously. “Shawn? Are you here?” When no one answered she grinned with relief. “Come on in. Packing won’t take me a minute.”

  Following her, Greenstreet peered around and shuddered. This might be better than living on the street, but only just. The decor could best be described as fade-to-grey and while not threadbare, the two easy chairs, kitchenette table and chairs, drapes, and double bed had all clearly seen better days. He perched gingerly on the arm of an easy chair while she scooped the contents of a dresser drawer into a large denim tote.

  He found himself eyeing the bed. “Where do you sleep when Shawn and Billie are...”

  She grimaced. “In one of the chairs...and try to pretend I don’t hear them, or if he’s drunk and wanting me to make it a threesome I go sit in the hall.” She shuddered, then tossed her head, laughing. “But now I won’t have to worry about that anymore. I’m going home, going home, going home!” She danced around the room. “And did I tell you Daddy divorced Raegene? After I left she started trying to keep him from seeing all his old friends and not only them but his sister and parents in Gillette. So he kicked her out. This is the happiest day of my whole life! We need to celebrate!” Almost before Greenstreet realized what she was doing, she pulled two beers from a little refrigerator and presented one bottle to him.

  He frowned. “You’re too young to drink.”

  She laughed. “It’s just beer. Come on, let’s toast that mugger. If he hadn’t stolen my purse--no, no, better yet, I want to toast you.” She held her bottle toward him, beaming. “To Mr. Gerald Greenstreet, a modern knight in shining armor and next to my father, the most wonderful man I have ever known.”

  Her joy infected him. He found himself chuckling, and politely taking several swallows before putting down the beer. It tasted flat.

  Valerie set hers down, too, and to his amazement, threw her arms around him. “Thank you for rescuing me.” Standing on her tip-toes, she kissed him lightly. A surprised expression crossed her face. “Oh...that’s nice.” She smiled, then kissed him again, harder this time. “That’s very nice.” Her arms tightened, and she kissed him once more, this time parting her lips to tickle his with her tongue. “You taste good.” She rubbed against him. “You feel good, too.”

  So did she. She wore no bra under her sweatshirt, he discovered. The hard points of her nipples pressed into his chest. He found his breathing and pulse quickening. A part of him said this was wrong...she was just a child...but his head swam and his body felt out of his control, as if it belonged to someone else. She laughed softly against his mouth and guided his hands up under her sweatshirt to her breasts. Then she reached for his belt.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Greenstreet wiped sweat from his upper lip with his napkin, swallowing hard. “I just don’t know how it all happened. I never thought about doing anything like that until she--”

  “Unfortunately that doesn’t wash with the courts,” Brad
shaw said. “Being a minor, she was legally unable to consent to sex. Which makes you, the adult, responsible for anything that happened...if we were to pursue the matter. What happened afterward?”

  Greenstreet stared down into his coffee cup. “I fell asleep. The next thing I knew it was after midnight. She’d gone, just leaving a note on the pillow saying thank you for everything, she would remember me in her prayers the rest of her life, and she’d left for the bus station because she didn’t want to take the chance of missing her bus. I--uh--have to admit I was relieved. I couldn’t have faced her. I couldn’t believe I’d let that happen. I still can’t.” Greenstreet frowned at Bradshaw. “And I can’t believe she’d kill anyone. She was a sweet child.”

  “A sweet child who maybe drugged your beer and while you were asleep stole your checks,” Bradshaw said.

  And who drank blood.

  “God, what a fool I was!”

  No shit.

  Bradshaw’s bland expression had to be hiding the same opinion. “I’m surprise she didn’t take credit cards, too. Or did she?” Bradshaw raised his brows.

  Greenstreet hesitated. “For a while I wondered if she copied off the numbers. Some mail order purchases turned up on them from places I didn’t recognize and when I called to find what they sold I knew they weren’t orders either my wife or I placed.”

  “What kind of mail order purchases?” Garreth asked.

  Greenstreet frowned. “Nothing I can see any reason for her to be ordering either. So I think there was a computer glitch and someone else’s order ended up charged to my card.”

  “Still...what kind of things?”

  “Theatrical supplies...wigs and make-up.”

  Wigs and make-up. Disguises...such as the black hair the albino had in Colby, or the “unkempt hair” of the “mugger.” If they were doing disguises, finding them just became a hell of a lot harder.

  Greenstreet stumbled away looking ten years older. Watching him, Bradshaw rolled his eyes. “‘I just don’t know how it all happened,’ the man says.”

  Garreth shrugged, torn between contempt and pity. “I really think he doesn’t.”

  Bradshaw snorted. “Well of course he’s clueless. Even if he realized he had this taste for jail bait he’d never admit it even to himself. But she sussed him out and...played...him...like...a...violin. It’s a slick scam. By the time the marks realize they’ve been victimized, and figure out the when and who, they’re not going to report it and admit they’ve bonked a minor.”

  Garreth finished his tea. A slick scam, yes, but... “This isn’t something they can pull on just any man. They have to pick their victim...make sure he’s vulnerable, learn his schedule. It seems a lot of trouble for no more than Valerie and the albino took Greenstreet for.”

  “Maybe he was practice for a bigger score.”

  Possibly. “Which they haven’t pulled it off yet. Because I think a big hit would be reported. Someone like Greenstreet won’t complain when the sex offense looms larger than the monetary loss, but if he learned they got his PIN or wrote a check emptying his bank account, you know he’d be screaming bloody murder...though not before thinking up some story to finger sweet Valerie without ever mentioning the Niobrara. Like...she passed his table in Rusty’s and dropped her bag, and while he helped her pick up everything, he noticed her close to his coat, where he had his checkbook.”

  Bradshaw nodded. “We’re lucky he was feeling too guilty to think of something like that yesterday. You know, the way he rolled over for you like that, you’re wasted in a rural department.

  But getting back to our perps...maybe there is no big score. Pull the scam often enough and the total could add up.” He raised a brow. “They must have been working it a while since so many details are right, including the senior citizens living at the hotel and the bit about renting to tourists during Frontier Days.”

  “Is it worth asking the desk clerks how often Valerie brought men in with her?”

  Bradshaw shook his head. “As long as there’s no trouble and the rent is paid, they look the other way. Still...” He forked the last piece of Danish into his mouth. “Management knows who’s living there and who’s just using it for business, because it’s only the hookers they kick out. So if they really included Valerie...”

  “Then they considered her one of the working girls.” That gave Garreth a thought. “I wonder how much of the rest of her story was true.” Learning who Valerie was might point him toward the albino. “She told Greenstreet she’s a runaway. I’d gamble she is.”

  Bradshaw’s brows arched. “So you’re wondering if there’s a Kaffley near Douglas?”

  They headed to Bradshaw’s office. In his cubicle they Googled Kaffley, WY .

  The drive light flickered, then: No matches found.

  Bradshaw backspaced to erase the Wyoming abbreviation and hit Search again.

  This time the computer came up with one match...in North Dakota.

  “Shall we give it a try?”

  Garreth called the Kaffley PD while Bradshaw ran Valerie through his department records.

  The dispatcher in Kaffley had no record of a juvenile female of Valerie’s description missing in the last two years, nor any record of a juvenile named Valerie Daniels.

  Bradshaw’s search came up empty, too.

  “Let’s send an inquiry to the National Clearinghouse,” Garreth said. The Clearinghouse listed missing children from all over the country. When Bradshaw came back from sending the inquiry Garreth said, “There’s one other thing we can check. If they’ve run this scam anywhere else, maybe they haven’t scared all their marks into keeping quiet.”

  Bradshaw eyed Garreth. “Elsewhere such as?”

  Garreth told him about the dead girl in Billings.

  Bradshaw reached for the phone.

  Garreth’s phone warbled. As he flipped it open a Feeling ran like current through him...surging even higher as he read the number on the screen. The Bellamy SO.

  On the other end Emma said, “We’ve found the van.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  During the trip home, Garreth recalled Irina’s suggestion he take flying lessons. Did this count? These speeds must qualify the Porsche for status as some kind of low-flying aircraft. Since he had to travel by daylight this time, he abandoned I-80 to push control limits on rural roads, zigzagging cross country...navigating as his Grandpa Doyle used to do, by heading “the right general direction.” Slowing to pass through towns let him periodically call home.

  “Found the van where?” he had asked Emma in Cheyenne.

  “Behind A-1 Auto Repairs.”

  “A-1...” He stared at the phone. “In Baumen?”

  “Yes.” Emma sounded amused. “You should have heard Reichert when your Chief Danzig called him with the news. ‘Son of a bitch! They dumped it right under our noses and we didn’t notice for three frigging days?’”

  Yet what better place to abandon it than among other damaged vehicles. If the albino had left it in a salvage yard, they might never have spotted it. Which made Garreth wonder why the albino had not done so. Almost as soon as he asked, he answered his own question; salvage yards had no vehicles one could drive away. “So do we know what vehicle they stole out of A-1's lot?”

  “Your office says it’s probably a blue ‘97 Ford F-150 with a topper, tag number King Boy Adam five four six. It has a dented passenger door and missing side mirror.”

  Damage that did not affect its drivability. Why abandon the van in Baumen, though? True, Baumen lay closest to the crash site, but Bellamy, just a little farther away, had several body shops, most larger than A-1, which could have delayed discovery even longer. Bringing the van to Baumen, presumably at night, meant they had to hide somewhere the rest of the day, risking discovery. Why take that chance?

  Unless the albino specifically wanted to leave the van on the doorstep of the police department whose officers he had attacked. A mocking gesture like the one he gave them on I-70.

  “I
take it we have an ATL out on the pickup?”

  “All across the center of the country. Your Sergeant Toews and Officer Melanie Hayes, a Bellamy PD evidence tech we use, are processing the van.”

  Garreth used Bradshaw’s phone to call Baumen, putting the call on the speaker phone for Bradshaw’s benefit, and asked what, if anything yet, they had learned from the van.

  Wendy Bessler, the Day dispatcher, said “They’re searching the area around the van first. Ed Duncan’s the only one who’s been near it so far, and that just long enough to get the VIN. The VIN comes back negative from NCIC.”

  The van’s description had not given them a hit from NCIC, so it did not surprise Garreth that the vehicle identification number failed to either. The albino must have acquired the van legally. But had he registered it anywhere? Garreth never doubted Danzig and Reichert were trying to find out. “Any luck running the VIN through the state DMV’s?”

  “Not so far.”

  “And we’re confident the suspects are driving that pickup?”

  “That’s the only vehicle missing from A-1's lot.” Her voice went wry. “Which is the whole reason we even found the van. The mechanic Kyle Hague assigned to work on the pickup couldn’t find it when he went to bring it into the shop. Hague had a look and couldn’t find it either so he called in here asking for his good buddy Ed. He wanted Ed to tell him how much trouble he was in for losing the pickup. It never crossed his mind anyone would steal it. Twenty minutes later Ed calls in asking if we have any wants on a tan Dodge van. He’s spotted this one without any tags. Two seconds later I can hear brakes squealing in his head. ‘Holy shit!’, he says...going soprano. Then, of course, it turned into a circus here.”

  Garreth imagined so. After thanking Bradshaw for the courtesy and help, and giving Bradshaw his cell phone number for when the Clearinghouse reported back, he had headed home to join the circus.

  Wendy updated him each time he called. “The van isn’t currently registered anywhere. The VIN check came back negative from every state.”