Fatal Storm (6 page)

Sara gazed over the sheets of paper. “Like
all those gym bags of cash you have hidden in the spare tire
compartment of each of your cars?”

He looked quickly to see if anyone was seated
too close to their table, then leaned across and whispered, “Which
is a quarter of a million short since you gave the one bag to that
doctor out in Nebraska.”

“A doctor who saved your life,” she snapped.
Sara returned her attention to the report. “After checking airport
security cameras it was determined that the person using Rick
Jensen’s ticket wasn’t Rick Jensen. Mark Ettle was on summer break
from Purdue Calumet College and claims he found the airline ticket
on the side of the road when he stopped to check the air in his
bicycle’s tire.”

“Probably a lie.”

“It was. After intense interrogation...”

“Damn,” Dagger interrupted. “The cops used
the tire iron again.”

“After intense interrogation Mark admitted he
took it from Jensen’s car which was parked on the side of the
road.”

“Strange. Why didn’t he steal the car?”

“He said he wasn’t a thief, and
besides...”

“He didn’t know how to hot wire a car.”
Dagger flashed a smile behind his French fry. “Did everything else
check out with Mark the thief?”

“Yes. He arrived in Miami with very little
money, hooked up with some girls who had a room at one of the
resort hotels. They confirmed that he was traveling on a shoestring
budget.”

“So he didn’t take Jensen’s wallet.”

“Right. If he had seen Jensen or was the one
who had killed him and buried his body, he would have had all of
Jensen’s money. Kara says Rick had three credit cards and five
hundred dollars.”

“Did anyone use Jensen’s credit cards after
he went missing?”

“No.”

But that wasn’t surprising. Just by watching
television even the dumbest of thieves knew that the first thing
cops did was check for any activity on a credit card, and with
cameras at ATM machines they can get a clear picture of the
thief.

“What do you think? Should we call and meet
with Kara?”

Dagger pushed his plate away which was
quickly snatched by a waitress who was already balancing several
empty plates in one arm. “Can I get you anything else?” she
asked.

“Coffee and one hot tea when you have a
chance.” When the waitress left he returned his attention to Sara’s
question. “Not yet. Skizzy is still working on the rest of the
reports and I want to ask Padre a few questions first, find out if
anyone is still actively working the case. Who was the
detective?”

Sara flipped through to the end of the
report. “Miles Vector. Ever hear of him?”

“No.”

Sara pushed her plate away just as the
waitress deposited their hot drinks. “I hate days like this. I
can’t keep the chill off.” Sara turned toward the fireplace and
rubbed her hands.

“We’ve had enough rain to convince Skizzy to
start building an ark. It’s the dampness that seeps through the
bones, intensifies every ache and pain.” Dagger instinctively
touched the back of his neck where he could feel the scar. “We
should try Padre first.” He pulled out his phone and handed it to
Sara. “Send him a text message to call me when he has a chance.
Those damn buttons are too small for my fingers. I swear they make
these toys for fingers no bigger than a kid’s.”

One perfect eyebrow shot up as Sara started
punching in the message with her two thumbs. “Maybe you old folks
should stick to smoke signals.” Her fingers were long, the nails
shaped but polish free. Sara wasn’t one for fake glamour under
pounds of makeup. She was as natural and genuine in image as well
as in spirit. “All done,” she announced and handed Dagger’s cell
phone back to him.

“Let me see that report.” Dagger skimmed
through it, his eyes picking out only the significant words. “He
worked for a trade exhibit company. No big company secrets there to
put him in danger. No work-related problems. Neighbors say they
were a loving couple. Yeah, right.”

“So sinister.”

“There’s no such thing as a perfect couple. A
wife secretly makes R-rated tapes for the Internet. A husband likes
to beat his wife or crawl in bed with his daughter. That’s why I
don’t take cases dealing with domestic problems. Too many lies, too
many secrets. Doesn’t matter if they are rich or poor. If you look
close enough, everyone has flaws.” He waved the report at her. “And
if we dig deep enough, we are going to find that the Jensens have
something to hide.”

“So you don’t want to help her out.”

“I just think we need to find out more from
the reporting officer before we start spinning our wheels.”

“Where did you park them?” Chief Wozniak sank
onto his leather chair and washed a hand over his face.

“They each have their own little room and a
cup of coffee, although Venus claims the furniture is positioned
wrong because her feng shui is all out of whack.” Padre tossed his
notepad on the desk and threw himself into a chair. “Damn I’m
tired.”

“Feng shui, huh? Why us?”

“God is punishing us for leaving the
seminary. That’s what it is, John.”

“Well, he is certainly making our lives
challenging.”

They had left the forensics crew to do a more
thorough scouring of the mansion only to placate Leyton. The
blueprints and wall pounding hadn’t revealed any hidden rooms,
tunnels, or walkways. A flashlight had been found under a cabinet
in the foyer. Josh had identified it as one of the ones he had
brought. If Sheila was anywhere in the mansion, conscious or
unconscious, they hadn’t been able to find her. Leyton Monroe had
returned to his office, although he wasn’t happy about it. He
wanted to do a television appeal and offer a reward for information
leading to the whereabouts of his daughter. Chief Wozniak talked
him out of the reward for now. They would have every lunatic in the
country calling with false information and the cops would be
chasing after erroneous leads.

“What about the lie detectors? Did the ghost
hunters agree to it?” Padre asked.

“At first, no. Josh started spouting off
civil rights violations, but I convinced him in my most gracious
voice that it wouldn’t look good for his business if the newspapers
reported that his members were uncooperative in a murder
investigation.”

“Who’s doing it, Keene?”

“Yeah. We’re bringing in food for all three
and Keene will take them one at a time. Then I’ll have them
interviewed separately, get their formal statements again. We need
to keep them here as long as possible. Something happened in that
house. If we turn them loose too soon, Leyton will be on the phone
with Chief Loughton, the Board of Police and Fire Commissioners,
our state senators, and any other contact he has.”

“You don’t want me to interview any of
them?”

“I think they are getting pretty sick of both
of us. I want you to get a front row seat at the autopsy. Get those
prints processed. See if we can find a name for the deceased.” The
chief’s intercom buzzed. “Wozniak...put him through.” John nodded
at Padre. “It’s the estate attorney, Jason Godfrey.” John punched
the speaker phone and introduced himself and Padre. He told Godfrey
briefly about the case. “Is there anything you can tell me about
the estate? Were any renovations done that are not on the current
blueprints?”

Godfrey spoke in a slow relaxed tempo. They
could hear water splashing in the background and wondered if
Godfrey was floating in a pool somewhere. “Not that I was made
aware of. The place has been a money drain.” They could hear him
sipping something and then inhaling, probably sucking on a cigar.
“Hasn’t been occupied since the Historical Society rented out the
place a number of years ago.” Another sip and a large splash with
giggling could be heard in the background. One could only imagine a
warm California sun and fancy umbrella drinks pool side.

“Did anyone have a key to the place?” Padre
asked.

“Amy Parker of Colonial Realty has the only
key. She was the one who contacted me about the ghost hunters. I
thought it would be good publicity, maybe get that white elephant
off my books.” In the background they could hear Godfrey ask
someone to get him another mimosa. John checked his watch and
lifted his eyebrows. Godfrey was drinking rather early but it was
California.

“How much is the house worth?” John
asked.

“Usually whatever someone is willing to pay.
But it is valued at twenty-five million. It is a fabulous piece of
history. When it was on the market I had a service in there keeping
the place spit shined. But it costs too much to keep that place
maintained. The fireplaces haven’t been used in decades because of
the cost of insurance.”

Padre said, “The house must have some history
if the ghost hunters were investigating it. Do you know of any
occurrences?”

Godfrey barked out a laugh. “Thanks, babe,”
he whispered to someone. “Any house with gargoyles and turrets or
older than fifty years is going to have rumors of strange
happenings, but no, not since I have been handling the estate.
Plus, I don’t listen to rumors. I deal in cold hard cash.”

“But it certainly could get this white
elephant off your hands if something sensational happened,” John
started, “say like a wealthy heiress disappearing.”

There was silence for a few beats. “What are
you suggesting, Chief? Do you think I paid this IPI group to kidnap
someone for headlines?”

“I have to look at all possibilities and
right now we are running out of time. If there is some panic room
or vault not on the blue prints, we need to know now.” John stared
at Padre across the desk as the silence stretched.

“Tell you what,” Godfrey finally said, “how
about we ignore this whole line of questioning and I don’t sue your
ass, the department, and the city.” With that Godfrey hung up.

“Guess that was a no,” Padre said.

“Hell, I hate the guy for the sun, the pool,
and the naked ladies paddling around while we’re here swimming in
dead end clues, a missing person, and a dead body.”

Padre checked his phone before heading out.
He had three messages. One was a text message from Dagger to call
him. If Luther wasn’t ready for him, Padre would take some time to
return calls.

Sheila moved slowly through the dining room,
going from chair to chair, fearful of walking without the benefit
of something to hold onto. She had checked the kitchen for an
aspirin or even an ice pack but the cabinets were empty and a
refrigerator was non-existent. Maybe if she just laid down for a
few minutes her headache would start to subside. Whether the mud
had hardened outside or not, the minute she could walk without the
world spinning, she was going to walk to the nearest gas
station.

She made her way down the hall and back to
the study. Sheila closed the shutters on the windows but it only
helped to block out a third of the light. She stretched out on the
couch and closed her eyes. But sleep wouldn’t come.

She sensed movement in the air but was afraid
to open her eyes. Was that the sound of someone breathing that she
heard? Slowly Sheila opened her eyes to find a girl standing next
to the couch. She bolted to a sitting position, then grabbed her
sore head and winced.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The girl had corn silk hair that hung down
her back. Blue eyes were framed by long lashes. She was dressed in
an old-fashioned pinafore-type dress and patent leather shoes.
Sheila firmly believed she had finally met Alice and she was
definitely in Wonderland.

“Who are you?”

“Colleen.”

Where had the girl been hiding while Sheila
was knocked out cold on the couch? And how did Sheila get to the
couch? There wasn't any possible way this girl could have carried
her.

“How old are you?” She moved aside and
motioned toward the couch. Colleen was careful not to wrinkle her
dress when she sat. It reminded Sheila of when her mother had sent
her to a finishing school with other six-year-olds so they could
learn which fork to use and how to act like a young lady in public.
Sheila had even had a pair of white socks bordered with lace like
Colleen wore.

“Seven,” Colleen replied. “How old are
you?”

Sheila smiled. “Older than seven. Much
older.”

“You're pretty.”

“Thank you. So are you.” Sheila wasn’t sure
how much information she could get out of a seven-year-old, but
girls, as she well knew, could sometimes be very chatty. “How long
have I been here?”

Colleen didn’t reply, just raised her
shoulders in an
I don’t know
gesture.

So if the girl didn’t know, who would? “Do
you know how I got here?”

The girl leaned close and whispered, “It was
the storm.”

The storm? What did that
mean? Last night’s storm?
“I don’t understand.”
Why would that have anything to do with why I’m no
longer at the Sebold mansion?
she thought. Somewhere
in the house a door slammed. Heavy footsteps could be heard coming
from upstairs.

Colleen's eyes widened. “Hide. He's
coming.”

“Who?” Sheila rose slowly and turned toward
the hallway, the footsteps growing closer. “Who is coming?” But
when she returned her gaze to the couch, Colleen was gone.

Sheila considered running to the dining room
to see if there were any knives in the buffet. Whoever was coming
down the hall might have been the one who hit her over the head and
drove her to whatever town they were in. She wasn't even sure they
were in the same state any more. But it was too late.

A figure stopped in the doorway and smiled.
“Glad to see you have awakened.”