Charity Kills (A David Storm Mystery) (7 page)

Since this was the active season of the rodeo (the business was year round) people scurried back and forth and in and out, some already looking frazzled, while others appeared preoccupied with their radios and cell phones next to their ears. Activity would now be twenty-four hours a day; this was the beginning of the three-week period when the preparations of the previous year came to fruition, entertaining the throngs of patrons and garnering money for the scholarship fund. Storm didn’t envy these people or what they had to put up with over the next three weeks. The work of collecting donations for scholarships for Texas’ future leaders included soothing the never-ending complaints of spoiled patrons and members, covering up dropped balls that the public never saw, currying favors to keep donors happy, staving off various and sundry potential problems—and that was on a good day. No thank you, Storm smiled to himself. He didn’t like people that much, anyway, so God bless those who did, or could at least abide them without giving away their real thoughts.

Storm had not been waiting long when a very attractive blonde woman with impeccable hair and a cute figure hidden by a suave business suit appeared. She was followed by a tall man in a rumpled corporate suit of armor that gave him that slept-in look. The receptionist pointed out Storm, sitting on the overstuffed leather couch, next to a display case containing countless belt buckles, trophies and pictures from past decades of rodeos. He stood as they approached (his momma had always taught him good manners and Angie would never have forgiven him if he hadn’t—“You stand in the presence of a lady!”), the blond extended her hand and said, “Hello, I’m Dakota Taylor, head of marketing and the assistant general manager of Show, and I’m sure you’ve met Mr. Vern Nagel from the mayor’s office.”

Storm introduced himself, shook hands with Miss Taylor, and said, “No, I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Nagel.”

Nagel nodded and grunted, held out his hand for Storm to take and said, “Detective Storm, Vern Nagel, assistant to the mayor.”

Storm looked quickly at Nagel’s business card: “Second assistant to Mayor Richard Lemay,” it read. He must think “assistant” sounds better than “second assistant,” Storm reckoned.

Nagel looked like he had been pulled out of his nice warm bed early that morning by the mayor, probably given the lowdown, and told to report to the rodeo offices. Storm figured he was with Miss Taylor to be the eyes and ears of the mayor.

A flashing thought sped through Storm’s mind. Who the hell is this guy, really, and why does the mayor already have someone staked out with this Miss Taylor? Another question nagged at him: Why would the Show assign a marketing person to be the liaison in a murder case?

The reception area was cavernous and Storm was sure he would not be overheard when he asked, “I take it you’ve both heard about the girl that was found on the grounds this morning?”

Dakota Taylor responded, “Yes, it is a tragedy. How could anything like this have happened? Do you know who killed her or how she ended up in one of our dumpsters yet?”

Dakota took Storm’s elbow and directed him to a private glass conference room just off the reception area. She closed the massive door and they each took a seat around a small round table secure from any eavesdropping ears that might have wandered into the reception area. “Detective, I do not want us to be overheard,” she said.

“No, ma’am. We do have her name from her driver’s license. Her name is Leslie Phillips. Does that ring any bells for you?” asked Storm.

“The poor girl. No, Detective, it doesn’t. But I’ll be sure to make inquiries to see if any of the staff or management know of her.” Dakota added that promise almost as if an afterthought.

“Do you know where she was killed, Detective Storm?” asked Nagel, sounding as if he was trying to get his two cents in.

“No, sir.” Storm turned to face Nagel. “She was found in the dumpster outside the new stadium next to the exits leading away from the stadium and her clothing and purse were found near the loading docks in another.”

“Do you think she was dumped here because we have so many dumpsters on site this time of year?” Asked Dakota.

Storm’s mind focused for a second or two on the implications of her question. What does she mean “dumped here”? Why doesn’t this woman think she could have been killed here? What the hell is going on? And why is this guy from the mayor’s office getting involved?

“Miss Taylor, why would you think she was dumped here? Have there been previous incidents of this kind?” Storm asked, trying to see if Miss Taylor would admit to any other incidents of found dead girls on the grounds.

Storm noted the shock in Miss Taylor’s face, the frown, and a tightening of the lips before she answered. “Well, yes, there have been a few robberies and muggings, but I don’t believe we have ever had a
murder
.” Dakota stressed the last word and smiled, though the smile looked artificial, or maybe just practiced, to the detective.

“Will you be the information “go-to person” from Show for this investigation, Miss Taylor?” asked Storm.

“Yes. Please contact me first if we can be of any assistance,” said Dakota, still with the stiff smile creasing her lips.

“I will be back if I have more questions when we have more information.” Extending his hand, he ended his visit. “Thank you, Miss Taylor. I am sure I will be seeing you again.”

With that said, Storm rose from the table and turned to leave. Damn, this broad was as cold as a well digger’s ass—and why the hell was Nagel here? He asked himself. Again he had more questions than answers and he was beginning to feel a little like the line from
Best Little Whorehouse in Texas
about the country dog in the city: “If I stand still, they fuck me...if I run, they bite me in the ass.” It seemed to fit in this situation.

“I Know Nothing”

As Storm left the offices he realized again how big this place was. It was at least three hundred yards just to get to the escalators, then a two-story ride down and another one hundred yards to the doors to the parking lot. Then another two hundred yards past the stadium, a structure big enough to house half dozen Goodyear blimps or the 70,000 spectators watching a game. It dwarfed the Dome, which stood sadly empty, looking forlorn and falling apart.

After hurriedly walking across the expanse of the complex he was almost out of steam and needed a second to catch his breath when he got to where Hebert remained, still holding court over his minions.

“Well, office boy, I see you are back again. Did the boss send you back to see how real cops do their jobs?” Hebert asked with his usual coonass smirk. Storm was annoyed by Hebert’s attitude toward him but he checked his emotions and let the stones of verbal abuse roll off his back. Hebert would never get used to the fact that a cop didn’t have to wear a uniform to be a good cop. He was an old-school street cop and nobody was ever better then a street cop, not that Storm had ever insinuated he was.

Hebert pushed on. “I got some copies of the picture from the dead girl’s driver’s license and gave them to my officers so they can canvas the grounds and ask if anyone knew her or saw her last night. Did you know the kid was only twenty-five years old?”

This was a piece of the puzzle that had escaped Storm till Hebert said it. What had someone so young been mixed up in that would get her killed? Who the hell was she mixed up with?

“Didn’t know that, He-ee-bert,” he answered. “If any of the guys come up with something you let me know. I’m gonna talk to the cleaning crew supervisor. Maybe he can shed some light on what went down here.”

Storm found Ernie’s boss still there, timing out the men who had to stay late to clean up after the M.E. and forensics teams had finally left the scene. Henry Dillon had started out working for Manpower as a part-time worker himself not so many years ago. After proving himself a steady hand, he had been hired full-time as a work crew supervisor. He, too, had been a drunk with one or two felonies against him, but he had turned his life around and was now considered a responsible and respected man who could supervise others like himself. Dillon saw Storm coming and turned to meet him. He seemed to know who Storm was before Storm introduced himself.

“Hello, I am Detective David Storm. I’m in charge of investigating the murder of the girl who was found here this morning.”

“Yes, I know, Ernie told me who you were.”

“Good, then I would like to ask you some questions about last night. What time did your crew come on last night?”

“Actually, we had people here at 10:00 pm last night, but I didn’t come out until midnight. I was running another job across town and the men out here know what is to be done and what is expected of them. This group is pretty good at self supervision.”

“What were your people doing last night?”

“This time of year, during the rodeo, we make sure the stadium is cleaned up before the events of the next day begin. Sometimes that’s easy, sometimes it’s hard, depends on the function and circumstances.”

“What was it like last night?”

“Last night should have been easy. The only people allowed in the stadium during barbecue are the big wheels from the rodeo and security persons. The VIP club is open and they can go in to drink and party. But we also handle cleaning up the dumpsters from the barbecue. So, I have to spread my guys a little thinner and all over the tented area.”

“When you say the “big wheels” are allowed in the stadium, who would that consist of?”

“The people with the badges that say things like, ‘Vice President,’ ‘Director,’ etc. The cops working the gates keep an eye on who gets in or not.”

“Do they bring in husbands, wives, dates, or whatever with them?”

“Yeah, sure. Sometimes they bring both. There are always lots of girls that come in with them. You see it more often when the rodeo actually starts.”

“Did you see this girl last night?” Storm held out a copy of Leslie’s picture from her driver’s license that Hebert had given him.

Dillon looked at the copy of the picture and said, “No, never saw her ‘til this morning when Ernie came running up and said he found a body. Scared the beJesus out of him.”

“When you saw her this morning did you think you had seen her before?”

“No.” Dillon shook his head in the negative.

“The dumpster she was found in, could it have been one from the barbecue?”

“No, those dumpsters are only used for trash we take from the stadium. The dumpsters for the barbecue are mixed around the area inside the fences that cordon off the midway, the carnival and barbecue tents.”

Storm put the picture away and said “OK, thanks. If you think of anything else after I have gone, here is my card. Call me.”

With that Storm left and headed back to his car to go to the M.E.’s office to see if Alisha knew anything more about the exact cause of death.

* * * *

During his trip to the murder scene another meeting was taking place in the Show offices. Dakota Taylor had wasted no time in calling together the persons who needed to jump in to control the public spin. Seated around the ornate conference room besides Dakota were Vern Nagel; Leon Powers, the president and CEO of the Show; and the eleven-member executive committee. The late arriving HPD Sergeant Hebert appeared at the meeting as soon as he was free to leave the site of discovery of the dead girl.

Leon Powers started it off looking at Dakota, “OK, Dakota, what do we know?”

Inwardly checking her heart rate and composure and making sure to appear in control in front of the others, Dakota responded, “We know a young woman was found dead early this morning in a dumpster outside of the stadium. We know the manner in which she died from information supplied by Sergeant Hebert. Her throat was cut, severing her windpipe, and she bled to death. Further than that we only know she was found by one of the Manpower workers cleaning the stadium. I have already met with the HPD detective in charge of the case; his name is David Storm.”

She saw Leon was taking notes. “When we met with him earlier today he didn’t seem to know much, only that a young girl, Leslie Phillips was her name, was found murdered on the grounds.”

Powers asked, “Who else met with him besides you?”

Dakota quickly pointed to Vern sitting in the middle of table opposite herself. “Vern Nagel from the mayor’s office and I met with him, and of course, offered any help we can in the investigation. In the meeting with the detective, Vern and I both suggested that she could have been possibly dumped here because of the number of dumpsters we have on the property.”

Powers smiled at Dakota. He knows what I mean, she thought. The Show would not impede the investigation, but on the other hand, would also do nothing that would put the Show in a bad light.

Then Powell grunted, “What do we know about this Storm? What type of man is he?”

Sergeant Hebert took that question. “He’s a twice decorated officer, been on the force about twenty-five years. About five years ago his wife was murdered. Nobody was ever caught and he went off the deep end. He is a drunk and of late his friends in the department have covered for him, trying to keep him out of trouble until it’s time for him to retire. Given the last five years, he’s perfect for our needs. He will spin his wheels, file reports, and this will most likely become another of those unsolved cases that disappear after a few months.”

“Will he buy the proposition that the girl could have been dumped here?” asked Powers.

“In the old days, no, but now I think he is just counting days and doesn’t want to rock the boat,” answered Hebert.

Nagel then spoke up. “The mayor’s office and the chief of police are aware of the situation and are in agreement that the public’s attention should not be focused on this tragic event, as this is nothing more than a random incident.”

Powers questioned, “What about the press, have we heard from them yet?”

Dakota replied, “No news vans have shown up and nothing has been released at this time, as I was waiting for your permission to give out a statement of regret for this unfortunate young woman’s death and how the Show wishes her family our deepest sympathies for their loss. The good news is it’s Sunday, so when it is picked up, it will make only the evening news and Sundays are the least watched.”