The Good Die Twice (15 page)

Dagger pulled out his wallet and counted out
a thousand dollars. “Let me know when I’ve hit the right price.”
When Pete didn’t respond, Dagger kept counting.

Once Dagger’s offer totaled five thousand
dollars, Pete picked up the money and recounted it. “It wouldn’t be
the first time I was hired to take care of more than just the
sails.”

“Hired?” Dagger pushed a stray hair away from
the open wound on his cheek.

“She gave me a thousand dollars. Those nails
left marks on my back for a week.” He grinned broadly again, and
rubbed himself. “She was hot.”

CHAPTER 24

Padre grabbed a flashlight from his car and
made his way on foot down a dirt path to the maintenance shed. He
kept thinking of the story Dagger told him about the witness. Padre
had a hard time swallowing that story. From Padre’s perspective
after surveying the townhouse yesterday, there was no way anyone
could have seen the murder through the patio windows unless he were
standing right on the deck or hanging from a mast in Lake Michigan.
But, as in the past, Dagger would let him know only as much as he
wanted him to know.

Padre followed the flashlight beam to the
maintenance shed. Broken pottery, bricks, and logs cluttered the
area. He shone the flashlight through a dingy windowpane and could
barely make out the outline of two snowplows. The boy had been
right. He had seen snowplows in the summer.

He fumbled his way to a barn-type door. A
large, rusting padlock held the door shut. After knocking it a few
times, the rusting padlock snapped open.

“Gee, someone left the door open,” Padre
laughed.

Gravel littered the floor. The smell of
gasoline hung in the air mingled with a musty odor. The warehouse
was crammed with maintenance equipment strewn about without any
sense of order.

He followed footprints which dotted the dust
and grime in a path from the door to a side room. A large cabinet
hung on the wall with a sign saying SNOW SHOVELS.

He opened the cabinet and found more than
snow shovels. He found a rolled up carpet. Laying the flashlight on
a shelf, Padre dragged the rug from its hiding place and dropped it
on the floor. Starting at one end, he kicked at the rug and it
started to unroll. Grabbing the flashlight, he shined it on the
white rug, which was stained with what looked like blood. Bending
down, he pulled at some of the stained fibers and held them in
front of the beam.

“Damn.” He flipped open his phone and called
Dagger.

“I don’t know why the hell we have to do all
the drudge work while Luke sits back at the hotel making phone
calls.” Mince pulled onto the gravel road leading to the
maintenance shed. He pressed a hand to his right shoulder and
winced. “Goddamn flesh wound hurts worse than if the damn bullet
went through me. It should be Luke out here lifting up this heavy
rug.”

“He said we left the loose ends so we have to
get rid of them,” Joey reminded him. “And the rug is one big loose
end.”

“Any idea what we’re supposed to do with it?
We can’t burn it.”

“Bury it. I brought shovels and there are a
lot of woods south of here. We don’t need to dig a trench too
deep.”

Mince jammed the brake pedal. “Hey, did you
see that?”

“What?”

“I thought I saw a light on in the shed.”

Mince turned the headlights off and killed
the engine. Quietly, they exited the truck and made their way down
the path.

“TELEPHONE, TELEPHONE, AWWWKK.” Einstein
poked his beak between the bars of the grated door.

“You are just dying to answer it, too, aren’t
you, Einstein?” Sara located the portable phone. It was Padre.

“Dagger went to the marina,” Sara told
Padre.

“I think I found the rug.”

“You did?”

“Well, it’s A rug, and it’s blood-stained, so
I’m assuming it’s THE rug.”

“Do you have Dagger’s cellular number?”

“Wait a minute,” Padre whispered. “I hear
something.”

“Padre?” Sara thought she heard a moan and
then a thud. The phone was disconnected. “Padre?” Sara hung up the
phone, her heart pounding. The Dunes Resort was an hour’s drive
away. She dialed information for the Michigan City Police
Department while she ran up the stairs to her bedroom. Stripping
out of her clothes, she explained to the dispatcher that a Cedar
Point police officer might be in danger and gave them the name of
the resort. She didn’t have time to call Dagger. It would be easier
and quicker to communicate with him telepathically.

Sara stepped nude onto the balcony and leaped
into the air. The hawk’s rapid wing beats helped it reach an
altitude above the trees almost instantly.

Dagger?

Dagger almost lost control of his motorcycle.
“Sonofabitch!” He careened around a corner and down a sidewalk near
an outdoor café sending dinner patrons running for cover.

I’m sorry. I did it again?

I’ll get used to it, eventually.

Padre’s in trouble.

Where is he?

Sara explained Padre’s phone call and how it
sounded as if someone had surprised him.

We can’t get there in time, Sara. I’ll place
another call to their police department. Make sure they realize the
urgency. Where are you now?

I’m not sure. I’m following the shoreline so
it shouldn’t take too long. Once I get there, the wolf will have a
better sense of smell.

Be careful, Sara. Remember what we talked
about.
After his call to the police, Dagger described to Sara
his meeting with Pete Foster.

And this was never revealed in the police
report?

No.

Dagger, have you tried calling Padre’s
cellular phone?

Yes. There’s no answer
.

After a few moments of silence, Sara said,
I can see the resort. I’m going in for a closer look
. The
hawk glided over the resort, seeing the lights around the pool,
courtyard, and the streets outlining the property. It searched for
police cars and spotted them parked in front of the hotel. Then it
looked for the maintenance shed where Padre had said he’d found the
rug.

I’m here, Dagger. I don’t see an ambulance,
only police cars parked by the entrance.

I’m about twenty minutes away
.

Dagger prayed nothing serious happened to
Padre. Mile markers flew by and he passed several unmanned police
cars, parked for the sheer purpose of slowing traffic. The helmet
was hot but it was a necessity when driving at night. Bugs were too
numerous and some too large to leave one’s face unprotected.

It wasn’t until his fingers started aching
that he realized he had a vice grip on the handlebar.
Subconsciously he was thinking the worst about Padre. He approached
the exit for the Dunes Resort. He was ten minutes away.

Gliding over the maintenance shed the hawk
searched for movement. Its acute eyesight made the area below look
bathed in daylight, every detail illuminated. It circled the shed
twice. Convinced it was unseen, it swooped down and shifted into a
gray wolf.

Immediately, its sense of smell detected
danger. Lifting its head, the wolf listened, trying to block out
distant sounds from the pool, the squirrels and cicadas, the
four-legged creatures, and the horns from offshore boats.

Convinced that no two-legged creatures were
close by, the wolf scurried up to the shed door and immediately
picked up the scent. It followed the scent of blood down to the
shoreline.

Dagger, where are you?

Dagger flinched and swore under his breath.
I should be there shortly, barring any unforeseen speeding
tickets. Have you seen any police?

Not yet. I haven’t found Padre yet,
either.

What looked like a pile of rags bobbed just
off shore. The wolf kicked up sand as it rushed toward the water.
It immediately saw that the pile of rags had arms and legs.

Oh my god. I found him, Dagger.

Is he alive?

The wolf ran into the water and grabbed Padre
by the back of his shirt, dragging him on shore. Then it raced
toward the hotel, through the gardens sending patrons running for
cover. It stopped as it neared the entrance and let out a loud
howl. Police officers standing near their cars looked over.

The wolf turned and ran, stopped and howled
again. It repeated this several times until the officers decided to
follow. It heard the officers ask each other if they were following
a wolf or a dog. One officer pulled a gun but another told his
partner to put his weapon away.

The wolf ran up to Padre’s motionless body
and howled again. It moved into the thicket as the cops approached.
It watched as the cops tried to resuscitate the man.

“Was he attacked by the wolf?” one of the
cops asked as he pulled his gun again.

“No, he’s been shot. The wolf just might have
saved him.”

One officer called for an ambulance and
within moments, the beach was turned into a crime scene area with
spotlights, wooden horses, and onlookers.

The wolf edged its way into the underbrush as
the crowd grew. Fearful of humans, it retreated farther into the
darkened forest, shifted into the hawk, and from the safety of high
branches, watched with anticipation at the activity below.

I don’t know if he’s alive
, Sara
cried.

What’s happening?

Sara explained what the police were doing.
She heard one of the officers say Padre was breathing.
He was
shot, Dagger. And they left him to drown
.

The Harley coughed and sputtered as Dagger
weaved around the wooden horses that had been set up. He was
stopped before he could get any closer.

“You’re going to have to park your bike
someplace else.” The fresh-faced kid with a name badge that said
LANSING, tried to sound authoritative in a uniform that was too big
for him and a holster that was starting to slip down to his hip
bone. He hiked the gun belt up and kept his hands on his hips,
which to Dagger looked more like an attempt to keep his gun belt
from pulling his pants down around his ankles.

Dagger whipped a business card in front of
the rookie. “I’d like to speak to the officer in charge. I think I
might know the victim.” He rushed past, forcing the teen-cop to run
to keep up.

“That would be Sergeant Duranski. He’s the
guy with the big head, literally.”

The crowd parted as Dagger pressed forward.
Sergeant Duranski wasn’t hard to find. He did have a big head and a
wide face to go with it. But he had a large enough frame to carry
it, almost seven-feet tall.

When Officer Lansing introduced them, Dagger
had to crane his neck to look Duranski in the eye. This was no
country-bumpkin, small-town sheriff. His eyes narrowed with
suspicion at Dagger, and when he opened his mouth to speak, there
was enough space between his front teeth to drive a truck
through.

Dagger gave a quick look at the body on the
beach and told Duranski the victim was Sergeant Jerry Martinez of
the Cedar Point Police Department.

“How did you hear about this, Mr. Dagger?”
Duranski turned Dagger’s business card toward the light.

“Just Dagger will be fine.”

Duranski grunted in response. “You’re the
fella that called. How the hell did you get here so quick?”

Paramedics arrived with medical equipment and
a stretcher. The two men moved away to give them room. Dagger
explained how Padre was helping him with a case, how Padre’s phone
call had been disconnected, and why Dagger had reason to believe
Padre was in trouble. Dagger watched the paramedics strip off
Padre’s shirt. The bullet was in the chest, but fortunately had
missed the heart.

“Listen,” Dagger said to the paramedics,
“Cedar Point Hospital has a trauma center and a helicopter. You can
be there in the same amount of time as it takes to get him to your
hospital.”

“We already called them,” one of the medics
said, never turning away from his work. The technician had the
fastest hands Dagger had ever seen. “He’s stabilized,” the
paramedic announced. “But we have to get him to the trauma center
quick.” He turned to his female partner. “Find out the chopper’s
ETA.”

Is he going to be okay?
Dagger heard
Sara’s voice in his head.

He’s stabilized but they don’t know yet. I
just hope he makes it to the hospital in time
.

“Lansing,” Duranski called out. “You and
Sizemore find out if anyone saw or heard anything.” To Dagger he
said, “You realize, he may be Cedar Point’s cop, but his attempted
murder is my business. So I WILL be at Sergeant’s Martinez’s
bedside to get his statement.”

“Of course.” Dagger drifted away from the
beach toward the maintenance shed. Shadows jumped as he followed a
footpath. An owl hooted up in the trees.

Where are you going, Dagger?

I’m going to take a look at the
maintenance shed
. He heard the trees rustling overhead and
assumed it was the hawk. The large door gaped open, the interior
dark. Nudging the door with his elbow, he entered.

“Something in here of interest?”

Turning quickly, Dagger almost hit Duranski
with the flashlight. “Are you looking to give me a coronary?”

“Didn’t mean to startle you. I get a little
suspicious when strangers start sticking there nose into my
territory.” He ran his tongue over his piano-key teeth, almost
losing it in the large gap. Duranski had to duck through the
doorway. He clicked on a flashlight of his own, a heavy-duty light
with a beam as wide as he was tall. “How long you been a P.I.?”

“About five years. I’ve known Sergeant
Martinez almost as long. He’s a good detective.”

“Any reason why you’re checking out this
shed?” Duranski followed close behind.

“When Padre called my house, he told my
assistant where he was. She made the first call to your station. I
just wanted to check this shed out.” The beam illuminated the
walls, bouncing off the heavy equipment. It rested on a bare spot
on the floor about fifteen feet by twenty feet, swept or brushed
clean. “Looks like something rested here,” Dagger said. He opened
the cabinet marked SNOW SHOVELS. Some shovels hung from nails,
others leaned against each other. None were hanging on the left
side of the cabinet, as if they had been moved aside to make
room.