Fatal Storm (8 page)

“Believe me, Sheila wouldn’t have left her
silver Jaguar sitting there.”

“Why not? She trades them in as often as I
change my underwear.” Padre tossed the empty wrapper and bag in the
garbage.

Joe took out a pack of gum and held it out to
Padre.

“Thanks.” He took a stick and unwrapped it,
one of his numerous attempts to quit smoking.

Joe unwrapped a stick and shoved it in his
mouth. Padre studied the detective trying to assess the true
relationship between him and Sheila. A cop wasn't the kind of guy
Padre could picture with the rich heiress. Joe was old world
Italian and looked more like a member of the Sopranos. Sheila
picked boyfriends that went against everything her father pictured
in a future son-in-law. The worst had been Chase Dagger. Leyton
Monroe had tried to dig up everything he could on Dagger, but all
the earth-moving equipment in the world couldn't excavate his
background. Padre could only assume the more Dagger kept Sheila at
arm's length, the more she wanted him. But Dagger was distant and
cold and had very few close friends. The more dangerous and
mysterious the man, the more Sheila was intrigued.

“How were things between the two of you,
Joe?”

Joe chewed the gum slowly as the forensics
crew slammed the trunk lid shut on the Jaguar. Padre had already
questioned Joe earlier and was satisfied the detective couldn't add
anything to the mystery of Sheila's disappearance.

“I don't hit women, if that's what you're
asking.”

“That wasn't what I was asking.”

“Her old man already grilled me, or tried to.
Sheila is an enigma. She's independent yet needy. She's a daddy's
girl, but fights him every step of the way. She manipulates men, or
tries to. We aren’t exclusive, but I’m not dating anyone else.
Can’t say the same about her. I don’t see her everyday. We don’t
talk everyday, so as far as I know she could be seeing other
people.

“Do you love her?”

He seemed to taste those words in his mouth,
choosing his response carefully. “I don't kid myself that she could
ever have a future with someone who wasn't of her social status. If
she broke up with me tomorrow, I'd be fine with that. Whatever she
wants.” He waited several beats, chewing his gum and snapping it
like a truck stop waitress, a habit that had always annoyed Sheila.
Then his face turned serious as he added, “Yeah, I love her.”

Searchlights lit up the front of the Sebold
mansion. One cop leaned against a squad car smoking a cigarette.
Crime scene tape fluttered around a section of the north property
where the body had been found. Police units had been unsuccessful
in finding any sign of Sheila Monroe and had suspended further
searching until tomorrow.

The rain had ended a couple hours ago but
more storms were due to blow in tomorrow. High above the house the
gray hawk drew a tight circle searching for movement or just for
humans, alive or dead.

How’s it going?

Sara heard Dagger’s words in her
head.
Just one cop guarding the property.
There aren’t any lights on in the house. I can see crime scene tape
surrounding a ditch. Skizzy didn’t say if the police identified the
victim, did he?

No. Just that it wasn’t Sheila. I didn’t hear
anything on the radio or read anything in the newspapers either.
They are keeping a tight lid on this.

Sara Morningsky was a shapeshifter. She could
shift into a hawk or a wolf. Even in her human form she could call
upon the eyesight of the hawk or scent of the wolf. Her talents
came in handy at Dagger Investigations. Whenever Sara shifted into
her hawk or wolf form, she and Dagger were able to communicate
telepathically. This was something she and her grandmother had been
able to do when her grandmother was alive. Sara and Dagger were
both surprised that it also worked between the two of them. Dagger
thought it had something to do with the black cord necklace with
the pendant of a wolf’s head Sara’s grandmother had given to
him.

I’m going to widen the
search
. The hawk rose on powerful wing beats, then
spread its forty-inch wing span, gliding gracefully in an
ever-widening circle. Tiny rodents scurried at the sound of the
wing beats, burrowing under leaves and scampering across branches.
Animals had nothing to fear from this hawk. It wasn’t hunting, at
least not for four-legged animals.

I don’t see anything remotely resembling a
human, Dagger, except for the cop out front. Maybe Sheila is still
in the house or left with someone. Did you talk to Padre?

No. If it concerns Sheila or her father, I
prefer to keep my distance. I suggested that Skizzy check satellite
photos, but he said the storm last night made it impossible to see
anything. If she left with someone else or was abducted, we have no
way of knowing. Her old man hasn’t received a ransom call
either.

The hawk landed on one of the roof
turrets. It cocked its head and studied the figure beneath its
talons.
Ugh. Who puts gargoyles on a house
anymore?

Must be a pretty old building. Those were
used decades ago to ward off evil spirits.

Well, if anything weird
happened in this house last night, the gargoyle wasn’t doing its
job
.

The next morning Padre sat at his desk, head
in his hands. Chief John Wozniak was seated across from him. “You
look like hell,” John said.

“Feel like it, too. I got about four hours of
sleep last night. Leyton Monroe is going to drive me to an early
grave.”

“He's just like any father with a missing
child.”

“No, not like any father. Not every father
tries to pull strings to have the FBI brought in, calls in favors
from senators to dispatch fifty National Guard to walk a grid
through the surrounding forest, nor call the NSA to have them check
their satellite feed.”

“Has any of it been successful?”

“Satellite photos show zip. Too much storm
clutter. The FBI said unless Sheila is on the terrorist watch list,
don’t bother them. The National Guard would only dispatch ten
troops and a pooch or two to do a walk-through sometime this
morning. One saving grace is that the state police have cordoned
off a five square mile area around the mansion which keeps all the
press out of the area.”

John balanced a football-sized mug of coffee
on his knee. Remnants of a sugar donut could be seen on the
knuckles of one hand. “Has Leyton received any calls for a ransom?”
He set the mug down and brushed the sugar off of his hand.

“Nothing yet, or at least nothing he has
admitted to. Knowing Monroe, if he’s ordered not to bring in the
police, he won’t. Fat chance getting him to take our advice.”

“He already broke one cardinal rule. I just
heard on the radio that Leyton is offering a hundred thousand
dollar reward for information leading to the whereabouts of his
daughter.”

“Oh, shit.” Padre washed his hands over his
face. “That will have every idiot calling him with erroneous
information, not to mention calls demanding a ransom when they
don't have anything whatsoever to do with Sheila's
disappearance.”

Padre's intercom buzzed prompting
a
what now?
expression on his
face. He pressed the speaker phone. “Martinez.”

“I have a Chase Dagger to see you.”

Padre winced. “Damn, I forgot to call him
back. Yeah, send him on up.”

All work stopped when Sara and Dagger entered
the room. Fingers paused on keyboards, phone calls were suspended,
voices gradually diminished. Dagger had to fight hard to keep from
giving the death ray stares to the men in the room. They paused
outside Padre's office. Dagger jammed his hands in the pockets of
his cargo pants to keep from pulling his gun. Sometimes it seemed
as though Sara was completely oblivious to the effect she had on
men. It was as though she looked in the mirror every morning and
found flaws where everyone else found perfection.

Padre gave a wave through the glass to come
in. John had a big smile for Sara as he assessed her walk, every
curve of her body. He knew early on he wouldn't last through the
seminary. Three wives later and he was still an outrageous
flirt.

“Miss Sara, how nice to see you.” John pulled
a chair over for her.

“Good morning, Chief, Padre.” Sara took a
seat, placing her notepad in her lap. They had kept Skizzy's
reports at home to avoid explaining to Padre how they obtained the
confidential information on Rick Jensen. Sara had Kara’s letter and
Dagger pretty much memorized what details he felt were
important.

John sat on the couch and motioned for Dagger
to take the other chair. “I'd ask you if it was okay for me to stay
but I'm too plum tired to leave so you'll have to put up with
me.”

“How is the search going for Sheila?” Dagger
asked. “Monroe must be driving everyone crazy.”

“You don't know the half of it.” John pushed
at the air.

“It's a big, damn mystery,” Padre said. He
leaned back and rocked in his chair. “He's got the National Guard,
cadaver dogs, you name it. Then he goes and puts out an award so
now we’re going to get every idiot in the country calling like they
spotted Big Foot.”

“We'll make this quick then,” Dagger said. “I
received a request from a Kara Jensen regarding her missing
husband. He headed for the airport fourteen months ago and never
made it to Miami. A Sergeant Miles Vector worked the case.”

“I remember him,” John said. “Night shift
pulled that one. A patrol officer found the car with a flat tire.
No driver, no spare, car unlocked. Vector worked that case hard.
The man's wife reminded Vector of his own daughter. There was a
baby girl from what I recall.”

“Bella,” Sara offered. “She was six months
old when her father disappeared.”

“You were on medical leave with a broken
ankle, Padre.” John tapped the side of his head in a gesture that
he hadn't lost any brain cells. “By the time you came back on duty,
you were hit hard with that drive-by over on Jackson Place.”

“Is anyone assigned to the case now?” Dagger
looked from Padre to the chief of detectives.

Wozniak gave a shrug. “I’d have to check
whose bottom drawer it’s in. I could give it to Spagnola since I
don't want him near the Monroe case. Have him dig it out of cold
storage.”

“No, thanks,” Dagger replied. “I'd sooner
have a lobotomy than talk to that idiot.”

“Still bad blood between you two?” Padre made
a tsking sound. “Thought you were over Sheila.”

“I am. Just don't like Spagnola's attitude.
If you remember, Padre, he tends to use his fists when
interrogating.”

John snapped his gaze to Padre. “What's
this?”

Padre waved off the question. “Fill you in
later.” It was during the Friday the Thirteenth case that Joe had
hauled Dagger in for questioning since Dagger had a key to Sheila's
condo and someone had gained access and killed Sheila's assistant.
It was speculated that the killer's target had been Sheila. Since
Sheila and Dagger had not had a friendly breakup, Joe kept Dagger
on ice while the real killer was still out there, his sights turned
to Sara.

Padre pecked at the keyboard and brought up
the Jensen file. “Very cold trail on this one. Media speculated
Jensen might have taken off with a new squeeze.”

John asked, “Have you spoken with the
wife?”

“We wanted to get an update from your
department first,” Dagger replied.

“According to her letter, Kara swears they
had a solid marriage and, besides, Rick would never have left
Bella. She was his world.” Sara pulled out a wedding photo of the
happy couple.

John heaved himself off the couch and leaned
over Padre's shoulder. “Looks like my wedding photo, all three of
them. We all look happy on that day, then it's downhill from
there.”

Sara handed them a photo of Bella, her eyes
bright and smiling, a pink band in her hair.

“She is a cutie,” Padre agreed.

“Rick even went so far as to get a tattoo
with Bella's name on the rim of a bell.” Sara showed them a photo
of Rick in a sleeveless tee shirt, his arm turned toward the
camera.

Padre's jaw went slack. John grabbed the
photo and stared. “When did he disappear?”

“Fourteen months ago,” Dagger said.
“Why?”

“Can't be,” Padre said. “Our vic just died
and his tattoo is fresh, certainly not fourteen months old.”

“What are you talking about?” Dagger
asked.

“I don't understand,” Sara chimed in.

Padre said, “Want to take a trip to the
morgue?”

Padre handed Luther the case file on Rick
Jensen. “We may have identified your John Doe.”

Dagger wasn't concerned or shocked that
seeing a dead body didn't bother Sara. Padre and John, on the other
hand, weren't sure she should be there, concerned that at her young
age of nineteen she wouldn't be able to handle a body much less the
odor of the morgue. But Sara strode right up to the gurney and
studied John Doe as though he were a patient with a rash.

“He does have a resemblance to Rick Jensen
but how could that be? This man just died.” Sara almost bumped
heads with Dagger as she moved closer to the tattoo. “That does
look fresh, right?”

“Looks as though it was just done twenty-four
hours ago,” Dagger said. “Maybe he had it redone. Is that
possible?”

“If it were possible,” Luther said, “we would
see some underlying evidence of the previous tattoo. No tattoo
artist is that good that he can literally replicate every stroke of
the previous tat.”

“So this guy was found on the Sebold property
strangled with a scarf?” Dagger asked.

“Oh, that ain’t the best part,” Padre said
with a chuckle. “The scarf belonged to Sheila.”