Footprints of the Dead (Tom Gabriel #1)

by Tim Ellis

  “Hey, you’re not bad at this.”

  “I’ve had better days. Ya think Mercy discovered the same?”

  “I’m beginning to think so.”

  “Well, supposin’ she did, so what? All it tells us is that it might be someone in St. Augustine who’s takin’ these children – St. Augustine’s a big place.”

  “She obviously had more information than we do. Mercy was working on this for months; we’ve been chasing our tails for a day.”

  Rae emptied her rucksack out onto the coffee table. “We’ve been through all the papers, found out who the photos are of, and we don’t need the business cards any more. We’ve synthesized the missing-persons reports and the posters, so all we’ve got left is the address book, the encrypted files, and the code on the Post-it Note.”

  “Listen, I’ve got to show my face around the hotel as on-site security . . .”

  “You’re gonna leave me here on my own?”

  “You’ve got a gun.”

  “It’s not loaded.”

  “You’ve got a gun, and it isn’t loaded?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Have you got bullets for it?”

  “Back at my apartment, I forgot to collect them.”

  “Great. Do you really know how to use a gun, or was that just another take on the truth?”

  “Yes, I know how to use a gun.”

  He walked to the bedroom, took his Smith & Wesson from under the pillow, and made sure the safety catch was on.

  “There,” he said, placing the gun on the coffee table. “It has only one bullet in it, which is two chambers away from the hammer. That means, you have to pull the trigger three times before . . .”

  “I understand how a gun works.”

  “Good. Try not to kill yourself, or me when I come back.”

  “Why is there only one bullet in the gun?”

  “That’s another story. Right, lock the door after me. When I come back, I’ll knock three times and tell you it’s me.”

  He picked up his flashlight before he went out into the darkness and then waited until he heard Rae lock the door before setting off on his rounds. Allegre was right; she didn’t ask much of him in return for the room and other perks. All he had to do was show his face around the place now and again. She didn’t mind him going out, but not all day. He hadn’t given it much thought, but now he needed to make a decision.

  If he wanted to stay in the room for free, then he had to give up on the idea of being a PI. Did he want to be a PI? Hadn’t he retired? He was quite happy as on-site security, keeping himself to himself, and waiting to join Carrie. The favor for Gretchen Hebb had messed up his plans. Now he didn’t know whether he was staying or going.

  Before Gretchen Hebb came to see him, he’d had nobody who relied on him. He was his own man, could do exactly how he pleased. Yes, he had two daughters with some annoying and noisy grandchildren, but they lived in different parts of the country. They didn’t need him, wouldn’t even notice if he checked out. Sara had rung on Thanksgiving and was on the phone for less than five minutes. He hadn’t heard from Misty in at least six months. Admittedly, he didn’t ring them either. Cassie was the one who had made the phone calls, talked to their daughters and grandchildren, and then passed on the news to him. He hated talking on the phone, felt like it was an inconvenience. Not that he had anything better to do, but they had their lives and he had his. They didn’t want him around, and he didn’t want them around. It had all worked out quite well.

  He didn’t want to be a PI. Why would he want all that hassle again? And it was hassle. The first day of searching for Mercy Hebb had brought him a whole shopping list of hassle . . .

  “Well, if’n it ain’t Mister on-site-security-with-a-hooker-in-his-room Gabriel, come to pay old Allegre a visit.”

  Allegre was sitting in the rocking chair on the veranda outside her own rooms, smoking her old clay pipe. Rattlesnake, her grey shih-tzu dog that she’d rescued from death row in the dog pound, was lying at her feet.

  “You know damn well Rae is no hooker. You just say things like that to get a reaction.”

  She gave a cracked laugh. “You been here too long, Mister know-it-all Gabriel.”

  “Long enough to know that you’re all bark, Allegre Gabbamonde.”

  He carried on around the back of the hotel to the strains of her laughter.

  It wasn’t as if he could just drop what he was doing and walk away. He’d promised Gretchen he’d ask some questions, and that’s what he’d done. The trouble was, those questions had cost Harry Hall his life, and Tom Gabriel his peace and quiet. What was he doing bringing a twenty-one-year-old, tattooed woman home with him? He was going crazy. Maybe his brain was riddled with dementia and was making him do things only a crazy person would do. If it were, he’d be the last person to know about it.

  The sound of a gunshot made his stomach do a back flip, not least because he was at the back of the hotel, which was the furthest place he could possibly be from his room. He began running, but he and running had never been the best of friends. Within the space of fifty feet, he had to stop to catch his breath, and so he decided to simply walk fast.

  He should never have left her on her own. She’d be swimming in a pool of blood, dead on his hotel room floor. Mona would arrive, and he’d be at the station all night answering her questions over and over again. He’d have to tell her about the two men he’d seen at Harry Hall’s place, and then she’d want to know why he’d kept it to himself. Senator Raeburn would appear and, after hearing what had happened, would blame him for his daughter’s death. What the hell was he doing up to his neck in this shit again?

  By the time he got there, at least three minutes had passed. A small crowd had gathered on the veranda outside the splintered door of his room.

  He pushed his way through. Rae was sitting in a chair aiming his gun along the hallway. The smaller of the two men they’d seen earlier – in a blood-drenched linen suit – was lying on the hallway floor, his black doctor’s bag and club hammer next to him.

  After inching past the corpse, he reached Rae and took the gun out of her hands. Her face was bloodless, and her eyes were glazed. He put his arm around her shoulders; and pulled her to him.

  She began to cry. “That fucking bastard,” she said.

  “What happened to the other one?”

  “That fucking bastard,” she repeated.

  Chapter Six

  The one thing he had always been good at was thinking clearly under pressure. Now he realized that Mona would arrive at any moment. He’d then spend his time explaining what had happened, and she’d made it quite clear that he was not to get involved in the investigation.

  He slipped the gun into a side pocket of his shorts, went to the man lying on the floor, and checked the pulse in his neck – dead as a doornail. Next, he looked in all the pockets and found a wallet.

  According to the man’s driver’s license, his name was Osip Lemontov. Tom wondered if the Russian mafia was involved in some way. There were some fives and tens, a picture of a dark-haired woman who resembled the back end of a cow, and a telephone number.

  He heard Mona’s voice approaching from outside. There wasn’t enough time to memorize the number, or copy it, so he screwed the paper up and pushed it into the same pocket as that containing the gun.

  What the hell was he doing? Tampering with evidence was a serious crime. He stuffed the wallet back in Lemontov’s inside pocket and stood up just as Mona and a new guy he’d never seen before arrived.

  “It was like this when you were a detective,” Mona said. “Wherever you go, dead bodies start piling up. I should throw you in a cell and drop the key down a storm drain. And don’t tell me it wasn’t your fault – it’s always your fault.”

  “Hello, Mona. It’s great to see you as well.”

  “Tell me what happened?”

  “I was out on a security check. I left Rae here with my gun. The guy broke the door down. Rae shot him. It�
��s that simple.”

  She put on a pair of nitrile gloves, squatted, and touched the club hammer with her index finger. “I take it this is the man who killed Billy Hall?”

  “Seems likely. I’m sure when you cross-reference DNA samples taken from the hammer and inside the bag, you’ll be able to clear up a number of murders.”

  Next, she peered in the half-open black bag. He’d already looked inside. It was empty. Lemontov must have used it merely to carry his hammer. It certainly would have been difficult carrying a club hammer around unobtrusively – the bag was a good idea.

  She checked all his pockets, found his wallet, and rifled through it.

  “Nothing you do is ever that simple, Tom Gabriel. Okay, let’s go through your statement with a fine-toothed comb: First, who’s Rae?”

  “Senator Raeburn’s daughter – Butterfly.” He pointed to Rae still sitting on the chair in the living room.

  Rae held up a hand, but was still in shock.

  “Butterfly –” he started to say.

  “Butterfly! Is that really somebody’s name?”

  “I’m in here listening, ya know,” Rae called.

  Mona glanced along the hallway, but didn’t acknowledge Rae.

  “That’s why everyone calls her Rae,” he said.

  Mona rolled her eyes. “So, how’s she involved in all of this?”

  “She came with me to Billy’s –.”

  “You never mentioned that.”

  “It wasn’t –”

  “I hope you’re not going to tell me it wasn’t relevant?”

  That’s exactly what he was going to say. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Why did she go with you to Billy’s?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “We’d better go down to the station and make it less complicated then, hadn’t we?”

  Mona had certainly been a good understudy.

  “I went to the Record to ask about Mercy Hebb, and the editor – Franchetti – palmed her off on me . . .”

  “Still here listening,” Rae said again.

  “. . . Franchetti said that the paper would back me if I let Rae tag along for the story. Of course, I never knew it was going to get this dangerous…”

  “I see. So, this Butterfly works for the Record?”

  “Yes, a cub reporter.”

  “I guess it’s no coincidence that the Record has burnt to the ground today then?”

  “You know I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “Exactly. Now, the next question is, and listen carefully to this one, why did you leave the young lady here on her own with your gun?”

  “I should think that was obvious, Mona. After what happened to Billy . . . , well, I was worried they might come after us. And it looks like I was right.”

  “They?”

  “Rae said there were two of them.”

  “Okay, we’ll get to the second one later. Do you know this guy . . . Osip Lemontov?”

  “Never seen him before.”

  Allegre appeared in the doorway. “Well, Mister on-site-security-cowboy Gabriel. I might have known it’d be you who was shooting up my hotel like that gunslinger Oldie Murphy.”

  Tom sighed. “Uninvited guests, Allegre.”

  ‘Yeah well, don’t think old Allegre gonna be paying for any damage caused by those guests, ‘cause she ain’t.”

  Laura Jordan, the young, new medical examiner arrived with a couple of assistants and a body bag.

  “I suppose you can tell me all the details, seeing as he was shot here in your hotel room?”

  “Time of death was about twenty minutes ago, and he was shot once in the chest with a Smith & Wesson 686P handgun.”

  “Bag him up, men,” she said to her two assistants.

  Laura’s brow furrowed. “Have you come back to work, Mr. Gabriel? I only ask because it’s getting kinda busy all of a sudden.”

  Tom gave her a weak smile. He’d known Laura Jordan since she’d been five years old, the night she’d called the station to tell them that her father had killed her mother in a drunken rage.

  “No, I’m not back at work, Laura.”

  “Damn right, he’s not,” Mona said. “Right, I suppose we’d all better go down to the station. Mistress Butterfly can provide a statement and take a look at the mug shots.”

  Allegre’s cackle ricocheted down the hallway.

  “Still here listening to every word,” Rae’s voice came from the living room again.

  “It’s getting late, Mona. How would it be if I bring Rae into the station first thing tomorrow morning?”

  Mona looked at the other detective.

  He shrugged.

  She said, “Seeing as I don’t want to work all night I’m going to go with that plan, but make sure –”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be there,” Tom reassured her.

  After they’d all left, and Tom had rung the maintenance man – Mark Whitebrook – to ask him to come and fix the door, he said to Rae, “Are you all right?”

  She shrugged. “I suppose so.”

  “It’s late. Come on, let’s organize your bed.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep, and my legs have stopped working anyway.”

  He walked over to her.

  She clung onto him and cried. “I was so scared.”

  “Well, it’s all over now. Tomorrow, after we’ve been to the station, we’ll find somewhere safe to stash you.”

  “You ain’t stashing me anywhere. Nobody scares the living shit out of Butterfly Raeburn and goes around bragging about it. I’m gonna help you find out what this is all about.”

  “That decision might get you killed.”

  “I know, but if I’m going to be an investigative journalist, then running away to hide at the first sign of trouble ain’t gonna do me any favors, now is it?”

  “If you’re sure. I could certainly use your help.”

  “Even though Mr. Franchetti ‘palmed’ me off on you?”

  Tom smiled. “Well, he did. I didn’t plan on acquiring a partner today. If he hadn’t forced my hand, you’d still be tidying up the stock room.”

  Mark, the old maintenance guy, arrived – and began mumbling as he inspected the remains of the door. “Ha! What you expect me to do with this, Mr. Gabriel? It ain’t maintenance; it’s replacement – and I’m maintenance not replacement.”

  “But sometimes maintenance includes replacement,” Rae said.

  “You got yerself a lawyer, Mr. Gabriel?”

  “Yep, and she’s going to take you for every cent you’ve got unless you fix my door so that no one can get in.”

  Mark laughed. “I got all of five dollars twenty cents. You want I should hand it over now? A temporary hasp and lock on the inside tonight. Tomorrow, a full replacement . . . by someone who replaces doors, which ain’t me. That right, you paying?”

  “So it would seem.”

  “You want to get Miss Allegre to try running it through her insurance.”

  “That’s a good idea. I might just do that.”

  ***

  Friday, September 14

  He sat up in bed, slid the bullet into one of the chambers, and snapped the cylinder back into place. The smell of cordite wafted up his nostrils. He pressed the release catch and spun the cylinder. When it had come to a stop, he closed his eyes, jammed the muzzle under his chin, and pulled the trigger.

  There was no crack as the hammer landed on an empty chamber. Maybe . . . maybe that was because he was dead. Maybe today was the day he’d be with Carrie.

  He opened his eyes, and jumped.

  “Not today, Thomas,” Carrie said. She was sitting cross-legged on her side of the bed just like she used to, and was wearing the same yellow summer dress she’d been cremated in. Her index finger was preventing the hammer hitting the bullet in the chamber and ending his life. The gun fell from his hand, and she eased the hammer closed. He remembered that he’d once shown her how his gun worked, and then they’d
never spoken of it again. She hated guns. “You can close your mouth now, and you want to make an appointment with Mr. Rosen – the dentist.”

  Tears filled his eyes. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I know, but you still have work to do.”

  “But . . . I want to be with you.”

  “It’s not your time yet, Thomas. One day we’ll be together again, but not today.”

  “When?”

  ‘You know I can’t tell you that. There are rules.”

  “Since when do you and I care about rules?”

  “You’ve let yourself go.”

  He cast his eyes down. “Without you, what is there to live for?”

  “You have two daughters and three grandchildren.”

  “They don’t care about me. I’m on my own.”

  “And whose fault is that? You must ring Misty and Sara.”

  “They don’t ring me.”

  “Stop being childish. You’re their father.”

  “Five years it’s been! Why haven’t you been to see me in all that time?”

  “I couldn’t. Not until you needed me.”

  “I’ve needed you for every second of those five years.”

  “I know.” She held his hand. “You must protect the butterfly and find the children.”

  “Is that the best you can do? A location would be good. A name. A small clue to get me started. Cryptic clues are all I ever get.”

  She smiled and brushed his face with her lips.

  His heart ached for the love of her.

  “Still the same old grumpy Thomas.”

  And then she was gone.

  “Don’t leave me again, Carrie.”

  He cried and then drifted off to sleep again.

  The smell of burnt toast woke him.

  Was it a dream? He saw the gun on the quilt and picked it up. The hammer was resting on a full chamber.

  It wasn’t a dream. Carrie had been to see him.

  Mabel was standing in the corner staring at him. He was sure he could discern a faint smile on her face.

  “What are you smiling about, Mabel?”