Dreamscape (13 page)

“About time,” Sam called out, like Jackson might have missed him. “Here I am boring this poor girl to death.”

The woman blushed. She threw her hands down in mock offense. “No, Agent Caldwell, you know I enjoy your stories better than anyone.”

Sam laughed as Jackson walked up beside him. He slapped Jackson on the back. He turned to his mentor.

“You know, Sam, I could have found you outside.”

“And you know, Jackson, I’m not a patient person.” Sam glanced back over his shoulder, winking. “We’ll be seeing you, little lady.”

He turned back to Jackson, who shook his head. Sam’s manner transformed for the task ahead. “We have a lot to do and we’re on a time schedule. No luggage, I hope.”

Jackson nodded. He had his overnight bag and briefcase in hand.

“Good. Let’s get going.”

* * * *

“Rosemary Gonsalves wasn’t staying at the hotel that night. Checked it out myself. And truthfully, Jackson, there was no need for her to.” Sam drove through the lights merging with interstate traffic leading out of the airport into Tampa. “Talked downtown with a couple of detectives working the case. The girl lived with her mother not too far from the hospital her mother works at.”

Jackson slid him a sideways glance, surprised. “What? The trip’s over before it even started?”

“Nah,” Sam said. “I believe something isn’t right. If you trust your source, then I do, son.”

“Sam, we’re talking about a supernatural source. I have a sketch that came from her. If she’s not right about the hotel, the whole damn case is a bust on our end.”

“Goddamn it, Jackson. I didn’t say we couldn’t prove anything. We’re just going to have to dig for it. That’s what we do, boy. I thought I was the one that has to watch my blood pressure. You look like you’re the one that needs to.”

“Cut it out, Sam. This isn’t a game. It’s my career. I’ve put my reputation on the line for this one.”

“Son, how the hell could someone predict that that damn back hatch would open in the middle of a goddamn snow storm?” Sam said. He turned to Jackson at a light. “Honestly, boy. With everything you know, do you not believe that we could use some supernatural intervention, even divine intervention, if we’re going to get this guy?”

Lifting his foot off the brake, Sam turned his attention back to the road. “Boy, I’ve always treated their information as I would any other informant. It’s how we got you.”

Sam stopped, his wheels shrieking as he slammed on his brakes, almost broad siding a car that pulled in front of him.

“Idiot!” Sam took a deep breath. Jackson sat still, quiet, staring at him. Sam looked at him strangely. “What’s the matter? You okay? Whiplash?”

“How you got me? Sam, what the hell do you mean?”

“I didn’t say that, boy. I said how we got you where you’re at. I didn’t finish my train of thought. Saved a girl, didn’t it? It’s how we’re going to bring down this monster.” Sam looked in his rear view mirror before turning. “Thought we’d interview the victim’s mother first. Best place to start. If they are connected, the elusive hunter would have gotten some kind of information about her family life from somewhere.”

Jackson sat back. Maybe he’d mistook what Sam said, too sensitive in gaining information that he’d begun to twist Sam’s words. He reprimanded himself. They had a case to contend with, but Sam’s words echoed in his head.

How we got you….

Twenty-five minutes later, Sam and Jackson arrived at the Gonsalves’s residence. No media littered their lawn awaiting news. They had long since left for a new story, Rosemary Gonsalves’s murder yet another byline. The street remained quiet except for a lone walker at the end of the crosswalk.

Sam parked curbside along a crowded street of ranch-style houses. Jackson popped opened the car door, stopped, and waited for Sam. He followed him up the walkway to a tiny white house and knocked on the front door. After a moment, the shades covering the window in the living room popped half way up. They stood face to face with a tiny Hispanic woman who regarded them soberly with deep black eyes, her long, gray-streaked hair pulled back in a bun.

“Mrs. Gonsalves,” Sam began. He pushed his sunglasses off his face to the top of his head and gave a knowing smile. “I called earlier. I’m Sam Caldwell, FBI behavior specialist. This is Special Agent Jackson Dunn. Can we come in?”

“Come in, come in,” she said and moved to open the door. “I’m sorry my husband couldn’t be here. It’s hard on him. She was our only child. It’s not something one gets over, not even with time. Come in. Please, make yourselves comfortable. I’ll help in any way possible.”

Inside the house looked pretty much as Jackson expected. Clean, not a knick-knack out of place, lace dollies on sofa tables, a crucifix hanging on the wall, wallpaper, old and worn. Pictures of a strikingly beautiful dark-haired girl smiled back from pictures scattered around the room. Mrs. Gonsalves motioned for them to sit on the couch.

“And we appreciate that, Mrs. Gonsalves. We realize how difficult this must be for you.” Jackson took a seat by Sam. He retrieved his notebook from his pocket. “We can’t guarantee anything, Mrs. Gonsalves. We’ve just received some information that might have a connection to your daughter’s case. I hate to be redundant, but I’d just like to go back over information you’ve probably already told a few times.”

“No, no. It’s just been so long. Almost a year and a half. I was beginning to believe my beloved daughter was forgotten. You have news?”

“No, I assure you, Mrs. Gonsalves, she is not forgotten. We’re still working diligently. Remind me, how old was your daughter?”

Mary Jane Gonsalves took a deep breath, once more opening up to the most painful period of her life. “She was twenty years old the day she died. Her whole life in front of her. I still have trouble accepting she’s not coming in that door.” She glanced back at the front door, and tears welled up.

“She was my miracle baby. I never thought I’d be able to have a baby after fifteen years of marriage and no child. God gave me my blessing. She would have been twenty-one the next week. Too young, my baby. Such a good girl.”

Mary’s voice trailed off into a whisper. A sadness lived within her eyes. She picked up her daughter’s picture frame and caressed the edges.

“She never thought of herself first. Sometimes it was as though she felt others’ pain. Her father, God bless him, can’t even talk about her death even now. In a way it killed him too.”

“Mrs. Gonsalves, it says in the police report that she came to visit you down at Tampa General and then left to meet her boyfriend down at Mumbo Joe’s. As you know, she never made it. No one is quite sure when she disappeared. Her boyfriend, Matt Belcher, said she never showed up. He was with friends.”

“Poor Matt. No, no, it wasn’t Matt. They loved each other. They were planning on getting married. Rosemary was in nursing school; Matt was, is, in physical therapy.” She looked at Jackson. “Matt called me at work that night when Rosemary didn’t show up. Rosemary had come by to visit a friend from school. Her friend had been in a car accident, bad one.”

Sam riffled through his notes. “What was her name?”

“Ashley Strokes, I believe. Her parents had to drive down from somewhere out of state, Georgia, South Carolina, to visit their daughter in the hospital. I don’t remember exactly where they live. Rosemary sat with them for hours. Funny thing, I don’t remember Rosemary coming back to say goodbye before she left. She must have thought I was too busy,” Mary Jane said as if remembering the scene all over again.

Mrs. Gonsalves pondered a moment. “Rosemary must have had something in her room somewhere about her friend. Or I can call Liz, Rosemary’s best friend. She went to nursing school with Rosemary. I can ask her.”

“We’d appreciate it, Mrs. Gonsalves,” Sam said.

The name of the family took a few minutes for Mary to find, but Jackson took it and went back to the car. He left Sam talking with Rosemary’s mother. Jackson called the number. With each ring, the case further weighed on his shoulders. His mind raced. His instincts told him to continue. He just didn’t know what his next move would be if this lead didn’t turn up something.

On the fourth ring, a man answered.

* * * *

Sam Caldwell walked out the house no more than twenty minutes after Jackson. His heart went out to this lady who just wanted her daughter’s death to have some meaning, that the police hadn’t forgotten her daughter and wouldn’t turn it into a cold case. She wanted the police to feel the case held importance. Sam understood well, though, that at this point so long after a death it would be hard to break a case, unless they had the intervention he sought.

Sam walked slowly back to his car, but even before he got back in he could tell Jackson had news. From Jackson’s broad grin in the passenger’s side, Sam Caldwell knew Jackson Dunn had got through to the family and liked what he’d heard.

Sam shut the door behind him, deciding to drive instead of sitting in Mrs. Gonsalves’s driveway. Jackson didn’t hold back. He talked before Sam had time to start the ignition.

“Just got off the phone with a Mr. Paul Strokes. Rosemary left them that night to go back over to the Madison Gold hotel to pick up some of his wife’s medication. His wife gave Rosemary their extra card to their room. To be honest, he didn’t even know she was supposed to get his wife’s medicine until a couple of months ago and his wife mentioned it to him.”

Jackson turned the page of his notepad and read from the pages. “Their daughter took a turn for the worse. They had to take her back to have emergency surgery. She was bleeding out. They were under an extreme amount of pressure then. Their daughter was in a critical condition, and no one thought she’d survive. Some doctor gave his wife the medicine she needed to calm her nerves. They didn’t even think about Rosemary again until they read the paper and put it all together. Even though the hospital was probably abuzz about the situation, they were absorbed with their daughter.

“They didn’t even return to their room until late the next day. The room was vacuumed and the beds made, but their stuff was out of place. They complained to the front desk. The front desk looked into it. The maid said that the room was messed up and she put it back together the best way she could. She said it looked like there had been a fight. The Strokes were distressed but didn’t have the strength or energy to get into it with the hotel. Nothing was taken, so they let it go. Would explain why Rosemary didn’t say goodbye to her mother. She was planning on going back. Rosemary Gonsalves was attacked in the hotel.”

* * * *

A call made to the Tampa police sent detectives down to the Madison Gold, professional courtesy prompting the caller to inform them of the developments. Sam talked with a Lieutenant Morrissey of the Major Crimes Unit in the Detective Bureau. He dispatched the two detectives that dealt with the discovery of Rosemary’s body. Sam gave Jackson a knowing smile. The time had come to show the sketch.

Sam parked in front of the Madison Gold in a circular drop-off area. Exiting the car, he pulled his badge out. The attendants didn’t hesitate and backed off. The hotel stood six stories high with a walkway over the busy street. Jackson assumed it connected to the hospital. Tampa General sat on the corner of the block. Jackson made a mental note of the layout.

He hadn’t even got through the front door when he caught sight of two familiar men walking toward them. When the FBI had been called in, the shorter of the two men with a receding hair line, Detective Roger Johnson, expressed his reservations. He became defensive. Jackson didn’t blame him—he must have felt his toes had been stomped on. Johnson looked a little jazzed.

The other detective, Darryl Lewis, a large man of African-American descent, had played linebacker at Florida State before joining the force. He’d blown out his knee during his senior year. From what Jackson heard, Lewis would have made it in the NFL.

“Good to see you again, Jackson,” Lewis said in a rush. “We were across the bay on another investigation when we got the call. Can’t say we’re not interested in a new lead. Love to get this guy. So what do you have?”

“Yeah, I’m interested to see what you guys feel I missed,” Detective Johnson broke in.

Cautious, Jackson eyed Johnson. He wasn’t in the mood to smooth over ruffled feathers. He rubbed his forehead; had no patience for this. “Look, Johnson, no one’s saying you missed anything. If you give us a minute we’ll explain. Just need to know if you could go over your notes about the Strokes family.”

“Don’t need to look over the notes,” Johnson interrupted. “I know the situation. I talked with Brian Strokes when Rosemary disappeared. The girl had gone to comfort the family because their daughter was in a serious condition after a car accident. The father didn’t know anything about Rosemary. Amy Strokes, the mother of the girl in the hospital, confirmed Rosemary had come by to visit, was the last known person to see her alive. The family hadn’t left the hospital during the time Rosemary disappeared. If I remember correctly, their daughter didn’t survive. Hung on for a few days. The family was upset, obviously. Weren’t much help.”

Lewis nodded. “Even contacted them a couple of times after to see if they could remember anything.”

“Matter of fact, there wasn’t one shred of evidence that pointed to Rosemary ever stepping foot in this place. Her picture was pasted all over the media. Wouldn’t you have thought one person would have come forward? Who in the world would come forward now?” Johnson asked.

“I can tell you what we have now,” Sam offered and filled them in.

Jackson stood back while Sam explained the situation about the new information from Brian Strokes. Sam finished and glanced back at Jackson.