Shadow Girl

by Gerry Schmitt

  “Maybe Terrell’s up to something,” Afton said in a quiet voice. “Or she really did run into the wrong people.”

  “Hang on a minute,” Max said to Sunny. He dropped the phone to his chest, took it off speaker mode, and said, “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m not entirely sure,” Afton said. “But these people we’ve been chasing, they’ve been picking off Sunny’s family and acquaintances like plaster ducks in a shooting gallery.”

  “True,” Max said.

  “The other thing is . . . do you remember how well-versed Terrell was when she talked about her stepfather’s business? About importing goods and ports of entry and those FTZ trade areas?” Afton asked.

  “I guess she knew a bit about it,” Max said.

  “What if Terrell had some involvement with those Thai people after all?” Afton asked. “Maybe not directly, but what if something happened and she got sucked in?”

  “It sounds a little shaky to me,” Max said. “It doesn’t seem like Terrell and Snell could muster up enough brain cells between the two of them to pull off a decent scheme. Maybe they just got lost on their way home from White Castle.”

  “Give me the phone,” Afton said.

  Max handed her the phone.

  “Mrs. Odin? This is Afton Tangler. You remember me?”

  “Yes, yes,” Sunny said.

  “What’s your daughter’s cell phone number?”

  Sunny rattled it off to her.

  “And who’s her carrier?”

  “Ah . . . I don’t know,” Sunny said.

  “If you want to find your daughter, you’re going to have to focus.”

  “Maybe . . . Verizon?”

  “Are you sure?” Afton asked.

  “Yes, yes, that’s it,” Sunny said. “I just remembered, we have the same carrier. Are you going to trace her phone? Can you do that?”

  “We’re going to try,” Afton said. “Just sit tight and you’ll hear back from us.” She hung up and said, “Do you think we can get Megan Crowley in the comm center to contact Verizon and have them ping Terrell’s phone?”

  “We can try,” Max said. “Better to give it a shot than have Sunny’s friends in high places breathing down our necks. Such as the governor and a couple of senators.”

  Afton made a quick call to the comm center to determine if Megan was even working today. Turns out she was. Once Afton was routed through, she said, “Megan? Yeah, it’s me, Afton. Can you get Verizon to ping a cell phone and see if they can locate the tower for the last call?” She listened and said, “Yes, it’s an ongoing investigation I’m working on with Montgomery, the Leland Odin thing. And yes, we can get you the paperwork ASAP. Okay, sure. Oh, you can? That’s great.” Afton gave Megan the phone number and carrier. Then she said, “Can you give me any kind of ETA? As you might imagine, this is fairly urgent.”

  On the other end of the line, Megan replied, “I’ll get right on it, but it could take a while.”

  “Okay,” Afton said. “I know you’ll do your best.” She hung up and said, “You think we should call Sunny back?”

  “No, let’s give this a little time,” Max said. “Assuming the battery hasn’t been pulled from Terrell’s phone, they might be able to use several towers and triangulate the signal. That’d get us in a lot closer.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Afton said. “Because the more I think about this, it’s a hell of a strange coincidence for Terrell to go off the grid so soon after her stepfather’s murder.”

  “You’re starting to convince me that something really is wrong,” Max said. “Here, give me that phone. I’m gonna call Snell’s name in so we can get his license and registration and get the squeal out on that BOLO.”

  • • •

  THEY were coasting toward downtown Minneapolis now, just passing the convention center. Some kind of event had just let out and traffic had slowed to a crawl.

  “Wouldn’t it be something,” Max said, “if Terrell and her scuzzy boyfriend were just holed up somewhere doing magic mushrooms?”

  “There’s always that,” Afton said. But she was feeling a tingle. An ominous foreboding that something was very wrong. The question was, could she trust her inner vibe? Did she have that sixth sense that veteran police officers and detectives so often developed? Huh, she thought. Probably too soon to tell.

  “This traffic sucks,” Max said. Now they were stuck behind a huge shiny black bus.

  “You got a flasher in your glove box?” Afton asked. She’d like nothing better than to stick that puppy on Max’s dashboard and zip through all this congestion.

  “Naw,” Max said. “It’s okay.” He glanced at his watch. “We still got time.”

  They bumped their way slowly down Marquette Avenue, finally making the turn onto Fifth Street, heading for the parking garage attached to the downtown precinct building. As soon as Max turned down the ramp, the phone rang.

  Afton grabbed up Max’s cell phone. “Hello?” She glanced over at Max. “It’s Megan.” Then, “Yeah, what have you got?” She grabbed a pen, riffled through the trash on the floor of the car, and found a Burger King receipt. “Okay, go.” Afton scratched out an approximation of an address. “And how long has the phone been pinging from that area? Okay, thanks. Thanks so much.”

  “What have you got?” Max asked, once Afton had hung up. He’d pulled his car into a spot that said RESERVED FOR PRISON VANS ONLY.

  “Not an address,” Afton said, “because it’s impossible to target a single phone that precisely. But a general area.”

  “And where is this area?”

  “Northeast Minneapolis. Best guess, somewhere in the vicinity of Seventeenth Avenue Northeast and Madison Northeast.”

  “Is that, like, the rail yards?” Max asked.

  “I don’t know. But I think we should check it out. Northeast Minneapolis is barely ten minutes away.”

  “Might be a crack house,” Max warned.

  “And Terrell and her boyfriend could be in serious danger,” Afton said.

  “We should probably let Thacker know what we’re up to.”

  “So we’ll call him on the fly,” Afton said. “Look, by the time we go upstairs, lay all this out for Thacker, and get an okay to set up the troops, Terrell and her friend could be dead.”

  And still Max hesitated. “The shit could hit the fan. I mean, there could be serious blowback . . . on us.”

  “Come on, Max,” Afton urged. “You’ve got kids. If one of them was in danger what would you do?”

  “Okay,” Max said, backing out of the parking space and wheeling his car around. “Pop open the glove box and stick that flasher on the dash.”

  “Now you’re talking sense.”

  49

  IT was late afternoon and everyone at the casket factory was getting antsy. Under Hack and Narong’s supervision, the three Thai men had transferred all the dope from Snell’s truck to the rented van. They would all drive to Detroit together, make the transfer, and collect the money.

  Hack would drive the van back to Minneapolis, while Mom Chao Cherry would deal with the logistics of getting the cash transferred to one of her overseas accounts. Then, she and her four men would fly back to Thailand. She in first class, the men riding in coach.

  “What about this pickup truck?” Narong asked, pointing to Snell’s old rust bucket.

  “We’ll park it a couple of blocks away,” Hack said. “Leave the keys in the ignition. With any luck it’ll magically disappear by morning.” He rubbed the back of his hand against his bristly chin. “And the people downstairs. They need to be dealt with, too.”

  Narong offered a thin smile. “Mom Chao Cherry has made her decision.”

  • • •

  DOWNSTAIRS, in the stifling darkness, Terrell’s eyes darted left and right. She had no idea where she was being held—probably no one else did either—so she was truly on her own. And dear God, she’d seen hooks in the ceiling. What were those for? She shuddered. Perhaps she really didn’t wa
nt to know.

  Snell was no help. Every couple of minutes he mewled like a baby, and every time he hiccupped, strings of snot streamed out his nose. He was no badass; he was just disgusting.

  Terrell had tried screaming, but that didn’t work. The walls down here were too thick, and every time she opened her mouth to let go a really good bellow, it seemed to just get swallowed up in the cottony darkness. Plus, her jaw was swollen and hurting. She’d been smacked around a lot and now it felt like a couple of teeth had been knocked loose.

  And now . . . oh, holy shit, now she heard footsteps creeping down the stairs.

  • • •

  A flashlight winked on in Terrell’s face, startling her and practically blinding her.

  “Don’t do that,” Terrell snapped as more flashlights came on, piercing the darkness like searchlights. “What do you want?” Her knees were shaking and her heart was hammering inside her chest. She was so afraid, she wanted to cower next to Snell, but what would that accomplish? Exactly nothing. Better to throw herself on their mercy. Or try to . . .

  “It’s time to relocate you folks,” Hack said. He sounded pleasant and almost matter-of-fact.

  Terrell felt a surge of hope run through her. “We’re going somewhere?” she asked. That was good, right? “Did you finally get in touch with my mother? Is she going to pay a ransom?” She prayed that her mother would be particularly generous to these people.

  “Not exactly,” Hack said.

  Overhead, a dim string of lights was turned on and Hack stepped back, watching carefully as Narong and the three men unlocked Terrell and Snell from the metal standpipe. The prisoners tried to struggle, but Narong and his men held on tight.

  “We’ve got orders to move you to a different room,” Hack said.

  “But you talked to my mother?” Terrell begged. “Please, if you haven’t yet, you’ve got to call her. She’ll pay you a lot of money, I promise!”

  “Sorry, kiddo,” Hack said. “No can do. That’s just not in the cards.” He was genuinely regretful. Maybe another time, another place . . . he and this chick could have really gotten it on together. But now . . . well, after all they’d put her through, she wasn’t exactly great looking anymore.

  Snell started his high, pathetic keening sound again as Narong and his men unceremoniously dragged him and Terrell across the rough concrete floor.

  “Wait,” Terrell screamed. “Where’s the old lady? I want to talk to the old lady. I thought we had a deal!”

  “No deal,” Narong spat at her.

  “If you talk to my mother, she’ll pay you to send me back home!”

  “Maybe in pieces,” Narong said as he grabbed Terrell’s arm and jerked her forward.

  “What are you doing? Where are you taking us?” Terrell quavered.

  It certainly didn’t look as if they were headed back upstairs. Instead, the whole lot of them struggled and punched and dragged their way across the expanse of the basement, a moving, writhing pig pile that suddenly converged upon a single narrow doorway.

  “Noooo!” Terrell wailed as she and Snell were pushed and shoved inside a small, stone-walled room.

  She’d just caught a glimpse of the room’s horrific interior.

  “Pleeease!” Terrell cried again, thrashing wildly, kicking at her captors, hissing and spitting like a deranged alley cat. And then, finally, going limp with fear.

  Three caskets lay inside the room. They were old, covered with an inch of dust, as if they’d been moldering there forever. As if they’d been dragged up from the bowels of Count Dracula’s castle.

  Terrell and Snell were both shaking so badly, they could barely walk. No matter—the men shoved and dragged them along awkwardly, herding them like cowering, bleating sheep to the abattoir.

  Terrell flailed out, practically knocking one of the men off his feet. She managed to touch Hack’s arm for just an instant and said in a piteous voice, “For god’s sake, no. Don’t let them do this to me.”

  One of the Asian men held up a hand and said, “Wait.”

  Their sad procession ground to a halt.

  “Please?” Terrell said in a small voice while Snell broke into a wet, burbling whimper.

  Then Narong smiled at Terrell, his even white teeth glowing like piano keys in the dark as he slammed a fist directly into her forehead. Her head snapped back, her eyes bulged, and she flew over backward as if buffeted by hurricane winds. From there it was just a matter of the men lifting the creaking lid on the casket and tossing the limp, moaning, barely conscious girl inside.

  Stars swam before Terrell’s eyes as she felt herself being dropped onto some sort of soft, damp, squishy material. And just before they slammed the lid, the putrid smell of mold rose up to engulf her senses.

  50

  NOT much to see around here,” Max said as they rolled up Seventeenth Avenue. “A few old factories, some depressed-looking homes.”

  “You’re right,” Afton said. “It doesn’t look like much of anything except maybe a neighborhood that’s desperately in need of gentrification.” It was a scruffy area. Afton could see that many homes were in need of repair or at least a decent coat of paint. Cars parked on the street were older models, too. Down the block, a blue beater Buick looked like it was terminally jacked up, both its front wheels missing.

  “So what do you want to do?” Max asked.

  “Maybe just make a couple of loops around the neighborhood and see if anything jumps out at us?”

  They drove up Seventeenth, circled left, and then ghosted past a large corrugated tin building surrounded by a high chicken-wire fence. Old sports cars, in various stages of rust and disrepair, sat inside the enclosure. An MGB, the remnants of an old Triumph, the skeleton of a motorbike.

  “If Terrell and Snell are hanging out over here,” Max said, “Snell’s pickup should be parked somewhere.”

  “You’re right. And I haven’t seen it.”

  “I think this is just a funky mix of residential, warehouse, and old-time manufacturing,” Max said.

  “Except the manufacturing seems to have picked up and cleared out,” Afton said. She continued to scan both sides of the street, then cranked her head to the right. “Take a look at that spooky old building over there. A lot of the windows are boarded up, so it must be deserted.”

  “Hmm?” Max said.

  The derelict redbrick building seemed to pull at Afton and hypnotically draw her in. It looked like a pseudo-ancient ruin, a place where a bunch of urban explorers would sneak in for some impromptu exploration.

  “What is that place anyway?” Afton asked.

  “Dunno,” Max said.

  “Take a right and swing in closer. I want to get a better look. Jeez, it’s huge. And see, there’s a painted sign at the top of an old smokestack.” Afton blinked as she craned her neck. “Kind of hard to see, though—the paint’s all chipped and faded.”

  Clouds had seeped across the sky, blotting out the sun and turning late afternoon into a gray miasma. The days were still pitifully short.

  “But the building itself is kind of interesting,” Max said. “Like one of those old breweries that they’ve turned into . . .”

  “Holy shit!” Afton yelped, interrupting Max. “You know what that sign says?”

  “No, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

  They were a half block away from the building now and closing in.

  “It says Callahan Casket Company,” Afton said.

  “Ah, that certainly does lend a creep factor to the neighborhood,” Max said.

  “But the place looks defunct now. Closed.”

  “Well, if it’s closed, then Terrell and her whacked-out boyfriend probably aren’t hanging out there.”

  “Probably not,” Afton said. She hated to admit it, but this errand felt like a bust. “We’re going to have to head back pretty soon.”

  “Got to.” Max peered ahead. “I’m gonna pull into that driveway up ahead and flip a . . .”

  �
�Whoa!” Afton said. She said it in a reverent tone that carried a sharp note of alarm.

  “What?” Max asked.

  “Stop the car.”

  Max slammed on his brakes, stopping the car in the middle of the narrow street. “What?” He was glancing around the neighborhood now with cool law enforcement eyes. “What do you see? Tell me.”

  Afton’s throat had gone bone-dry. “Just up ahead,” she choked out. “You see that dusty red car parked at the curb?”

  “You gotta be shittin’ me.” Max tapped the gas pedal and eased over to the curb. “You think it’s the same car? The one from the noodle factory? The one your asshole got away in today?”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Afton said. She was trying to tamp down her fear, already grappling for the door handle, ready to jump out and take a look.

  Max reached over and grabbed her shoulder. “No, no. If it’s your Asian guy, he knows what you look like. Let me go.” Max didn’t relax his grip on Afton because he didn’t trust her judgment right now. She was too hopped up. “Okay?”

  Afton thought it over for a couple of seconds, decided that Max was probably right. It was the prudent thing to do. “I guess . . .”

  “That means you stay here,” Max warned. “Don’t even try to roll down the window and stick your little head out. If it’s the same guy and he’s around here . . . well, this might be our only shot at apprehending him.”

  Max jumped out of the car, walked casually up the street and past the dusty red car. Then he turned around and headed back. Once he climbed back inside his car, he gripped the steering wheel hard and said, “Hot damn, Afton. There’s a Duluth Port Authority decal stuck on the back window.”

  “Oh, dear Lord.” Afton was rightfully stunned. “That means he’s got them. The Asian man and maybe the old woman he’s working with . . . they’ve got Terrell and Snell.”

  “We don’t know that for a fact,” Max said. “But it’s a very hinky coincidence. We gotta call it in. This is way too hot to handle by ourselves.” He was already punching in numbers on his phone, urgently telling the dispatcher to put him directly through to Thacker. Then Max was practically shouting into the phone, painting the scenario for Thacker, giving him the details as well as the address.