Angels in Disguise (29 page)

"Don't worry, I need more rest. But I plan on going in early tomorrow morning. There's a few things I've got to do."

"How bad does your office look. Are we going to have to replace the carpet?"

"Yeah, it soaked up a lot of blood. It's probably stained beyond repair."

"Why don't I go in with you and take care of whatever needs to be done."

He jerked his head around and glared into her eyes. “No way. You're not about to get involved in such a strenuous project. You need all your strength to handle the chemotherapy. I'll hire it done"

She folded her arms across her chest. “I feel so helpless."

He reached over and grabbed her wrist. “Honey, the most important thing in the world right now is for you to get well. The chemo is knocking down all the good stuff as well as the bad and we don't want you sicker. So the best thing is to keep you as healthy as possible through this ordeal and I'm going to help you accomplish this goal. This wound I've acquired will heal in no time, but you've got months to go."

She sighed. “You're right, but it sure gets to me when my activities are so limited."

"Time will pass quickly, and you'll be back to your normal self before you know it.” He directed his attention back to tugging on the cowboy boots with one hand, then placed the gun in the holster on his right ankle. “I need to get used to this rig again. Been a long time since I've used it."

The rest of the evening, Jennifer found herself chuckling as she watched Hawkman practice pulling the small Black Widow pistol from his boot. “You remind me of the hero in a cowboy movie."

He laughed. “Let's hope I can perfect a fast draw before I have to use it."

Early Sunday morning, Hawkman arose and left the house quietly. His arm ached like hell, but he wouldn't let it interfere. He'd learned many years ago how to deflect pain with his mind. Now it was time to bring the talent back into use.

When he arrived at his office, he called Howard's Carpets and set up an appointment for late Monday morning. They'd installed the current rug, so they were familiar with his location.

He then headed down the stairs to his vehicle. The bakery stood dark and quiet as they were closed on Sundays. When he stepped into the alley, he spotted a young boy about ten years old tossing a hard ball into the air and catching it in his gloved hand.

"Nice catch,” Hawkman said, smiling as he reached for the door handle.

The boy strolled over. “Thanks. Hey, I know you. My Dad told me your name's Hawkman and you used to be a spy.” Then he pointed to the bandaged shoulder. Wow, did that person hurt you bad?"

Hawkman gave the boy his full attention. “What person?"

"The one in the witch's cape."

He dropped his hand and stared at the boy. “Tell me about it."

"You know on Friday. I saw the ambulance come after the person left, so figured you got into a fight or something."

"Why weren't you in school?"

The boy frowned and ducked his head. “I had a stomachache and didn't feel good. So my Dad picked me up at lunchtime and brought me back to his workplace.” He dropped the mitt and ball to the ground, then pointed down the way. “He's a welder and works in the shop down there. I was sitting in his truck out back, cause I didn't feel like smelling all that burning stuff and it's hot in there too."

"So what'd you see?"

"At first, I didn't pay too much attention.” He pointed toward the opposite area off to Hawkman's right. “Because lots of people park their pickups behind the stores to load up heavy stuff."

"What kind of truck?"

The boy shrugged. “I don't know the make, but it looked old."

"Do you remember the color?"

"Dirty dark green"

"So what made you notice this particular vehicle?"

"When the person climbed out of the cab in a funny cloak, and the sun's rays bounced off something shiny in his fist, I just watched to see what he was going to do."

"What'd he have in his hand?"

"It looked like a long knife."

"So you're saying this was a man?"

The clenched his hands behind his back and screwed up his mouth. “Gee, not sure, I never saw the person's head, because with the hood up, it made a shadow."

"Could you see any clothing underneath the cloak?"

"No, because the cape, came clear down to here.” He bent over and touched his ankles. ‘But the person did have on some sort of boots. I could see those."

About that time, a loud whistle echoed through the air.

"Oh, that's my Dad. I gotta go."

"Jason, where the hell are you?"

Hawkman glanced down the alley to see a big, potbellied man, hands on hips, standing outside the back door of the welder's shop.

The lad snatched up his mitt and ball, then hightailed it down the asphalt.

Hawkman moved to the rear of the 4X4 and watched the boy run down to his father. He waved, and the man returned the gesture. Climbing into his SUV, Hawkman grimaced as he settled into the seat. Even though the doctors had bandaged and taped his arm to his body, any movement made it hurt like hell.

Backing out of his parking spot, he studied the area where the boy indicated the pickup had parked. He searched his mind for anyone with such a vehicle, but no one came to mind. At least now, he felt assured he'd actually heard the swishing sound of fabric.

He drove downtown and parked in a slot near the butcher shop. Taking his time, he exited the vehicle. It seemed if he moved too fast, it made him lightheaded. He strolled into the store and it surprised him to see Hank cutting meat behind the counter.

"Be right with you,” he called over his shoulder.

When Hank turned around, Hawkman thought he detected a trace of fear flash through the man's eyes.

"Uh, what can I sell you today?"

Hawkman leaned his right side against the cooler. “When did you return? Didn't expect to see you for another week or so."

Hank kept wiping his hands on the towel. “My brother took a turn for the better, so I flew back last Thursday night. I really hate to be away from the shop too long. But Tulip took good care of things."

"She seemed to manage both jobs fairly well."

The butcher gestured toward Hawkman's left side. “What happened?"

"Got into a little accident."

"Bad?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry to hear it."

Hawkman's gaze fanned the wall behind Hank. “Where are your freezers?"

The butcher pointed to a door leading into what looked like an office. “Back there. I have two: one big walk in where I keep sides of beef and pork, then a chest type where I keep small wild game, like birds and such. Sometimes, people want those types of meats for special guests."

"I've never seen a butcher's work place."

Hank motioned for him to come around the end of the counter. “Since there are no customers right now, I'll show you about."

He led Hawkman through the building, and pointed out the big cooler, then opened the freezer with the wild game, indicating the wrapped packages of quail, grouse, squirrel and rabbit.

The bell rang at the entry and they hurried to the front. “Thanks for the tour. Enjoyed it.” Hawkman said, as he stepped out the door.

Hank gave a wave and proceeded to wait on the shopper.

Climbing into his vehicle, Hawkman leaned his head back on the rest and closed his eyes for a moment. The tour around the shop had worn him out. His shoulder ached from the weight of his arm and bandages, he slid his right hand underneath the wounded limb and pushed up. It seemed to relieve the pressure. After he remained still for about ten minutes, and concentrated on ridding himself of the pain, he felt it ease and his energy return.

He drove by Tulip's complex and spotted her car at the apartment. But before confronting her, he wanted to drive out to her father's place. If the security guard caught him again, he'd have to think of some excuse.

Driving into Hank's exclusive neighborhood, Hawkman decided instead of parking in front of the house, he'd pull into the driveway and follow it around to the back. He stopped alongside the rear of the building, climbed out, and hurried to the small window in the garage. Using his right hand to shade the glass from the sun's glare, he found himself staring at a pickup which fitted the young boy's description.

Hawkman stepped away from the garage and glared at the house. His heart leaped when he spotted a white cat staring at him from the inside ledge of a curtained window. He hurried forward and placed his hand on the glass. The feline rubbed her head against the surface and Hawkman spotted the small gray circle of hair between her ears, glistening like a crown. “Princess", he said aloud. He snatched the cell phone from his belt and punched in Williams’ number.

"I think you better get a search warrant for Hank Withers’ house.” While Hawkman paced the back yard talking to the detective, the Security guard drove up, exited his vehicle and strolled toward him.

"You again?” he said, fist planted defiantly on his hips. “Mr. Withers is working."

Clipping his cell back into place, Hawkman faced the man. “Yes, I know, but you probably should contact him. His place is about to be searched by the police. He might want to come home, so they don't have to break down any doors."

"Who are you anyway?"

"I'm a private investigator looking into a murder. I've just called the authorities and they're on their way."

The man's face turned pale and he hastened back to his vehicle. Hawkman could see his gaze darting nervously toward the house as he talked on his car phone.

For the next thirty minutes, Hawkman conferred back and forth with Detective Williams.

"The cat will be our ace in the hole,” Williams said. “Are you sure it isn't Hank's."

"Hell, no, I'm not sure. I don't know what his animal looks like, but there aren't many cats with the markings like Princess. If Tiffany's in this house, she's probably drugged, and we need to find her fast. It's been over three days and you know how crucial time is. The pickup in the garage fits the description the kid gave me. I'd bet my bottom dollar it's the one driven to my place and Hank may have well been my attacker. There's definitely something fishy going on here."

"But I thought you said Withers was out of town for two or three weeks."

"I found out today, he got back Thursday night."

"He couldn't have kidnapped Tiffany."

"Have you ever thought he might have hired someone to snatch her to throw the blame off himself. This way he's got an airtight alibi."

"You've got a point. I'm going to the judge right now."

"Hurry up, or I'm going to knock down a door."

"Don't do it. You could ruin the whole case."

"Well, hang up the damn phone and get your butt in gear."

Hawkman hurried over to the window again, then circled the house trying to find an uncurtained window, but all were covered. He even called out Tiffany's name several times to no avail. When he heard tires squealing on concrete, he lurched around. Hank Withers screeched to a stop, jumped out of the car and barreled toward the private investigator.

"What the hell's going on?” he bellowed.

Hawkman had transferred his Black Widow from his boot into his right pocket, and his hand clutched the handle. “You've got some questions to answer, Hank."

"What about? The Security man acted scared to death. Said you were investigating a murder."

"That's right. Carlotta Ryan's. I understand you visited her on several occasions, bearing gifts of prime cuts of meat. But she turned your advances down, so you decided to get rid of her."

Hank glared at him. “You're crazy."

"Am I? Wouldn't you like to see Tulip married to Paul?"

"Not bad enough to kill his wife."

Hawkman pointed toward the garage. “When did you last use that pickup?"

"About two months ago."

"That's odd. Someone saw it in the alley behind my office two days ago."

"Whoever told you that is mistaken. It's got a flat tire."

"Show me."

Withers went to the front of the big garage, twisted a key into the padlock and swung open the doors. He caught his breath and stared in rigid silence at the truck.

Hawkman moved behind him. “Which tire's flat, Hank? The spare?"

The butcher turned slowly, his face drained of color. “I don't know what to say. The left rear was flat when I left."

About that time, Williams’ unmarked car followed by a black and white bounced into the driveway. Several other patrol cars surrounded the house. The officers jumped from their vehicles with brandished weapons pointed toward Hank Withers.

When the detective approached, Hawkman motioned for him to follow as he walked into the open garage. He moved toward the front of the truck and peered into the window of the passenger side, then pointed at a garment which lay crumpled on the floorboard along with a pair of brown leather work type boots. “I hope your lab guys are coming?"

"They're on the way."

"Have them hit this truck and garage.” Hawkman left the building and strode toward the back entry of the house. “Let's get inside."

Williams held out his hand in front of Withers. “You can make this easy or we'll break the door down. Head lowered, Hank rummaged in his pocket, then handed over the keys. Hawkman and the detective hurried through the door and into the kitchen. A large parrot in a cage squawked loudly, a small dog barked furiously until his master walked in, then two cats scurried toward other parts of the house.

Hawkman followed the white kitten to a closed room. The animal meowed and glanced up at him with a pleading look. He shoved open the door, and the feline bounced upon the bed, tread in a circle around the neatly spread comforter, then purred loudly while rubbing its head against the pillow. Hawkman dashed out of the bedroom and searched every room in the house. When he found nothing, he stormed back into the kitchen and grabbed Hank Withers by the collar of his jacket. “Where's Tiffany?” he spat, yanking the man toward him.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Like hell you don't!” He felt the man wilt under his grip and shoved him into a chair. Princess crept into the room and rubbed against Hawkman's leg. He pointed to her. “Where'd you get this cat?"