The Good Die Twice (6 page)

A geometric-patterned bedspread in black and
gray hues accented the gray wall-to-wall carpeting. Dagger had
transformed the opposite side of the room into a mini-gym with a
treadmill, exercise bike, weight machine, and mirrored walls. One
section of the mirrored wall was ajar. It was a hidden door to
Dagger’s secret room, accessible only by a code.

Dagger called out, “In here, Sara.” He had
created this windowless room to house a variety of toys. A
long-range semi-automatic rifle hung on a wall next to handguns,
night scopes, night-vision goggles, wiretapping equipment,
bulletproof vests, a Ruger police carbine, and numerous other items
purchased, traded, confiscated, and retrieved by honest and
sometimes not-so-honest techniques. Bright high-intensity lights no
larger than inverted cone cups hung from the ceiling.

“Do you know a Sergeant Jerry Martinez?”

Dagger thumbed through boxes of printer paper
as he mumbled, “Yes. Padre Martinez is bringing us a copy of the
original missing person report on Rachel Tyler. Is he here?”

“Yes. He’s coming up the drive.”

“Did I hear the phone ring?”

“Sal Wormley called.”

Dagger looked up from the supply drawer. “Let
me guess. He wants to take you to lunch or dinner.”

Sara chewed on her bottom lip. “Not a good
idea?”

“Not HIS idea. Sounds like Sheila has him on
a fact-finding expedition.” Dagger shoved a filing drawer shut with
one knee.

Sara stepped closer. “What is that?”

“Remember that check from Leyton Monroe?” He
held up several sheets of blank paper and the check. “Pretty good
match, don’t you think?”

He had a devilish twinkle in his eye that had
taken Sara very little time to recognize. He thoroughly enjoyed his
work and especially liked those times he could be creative. And
right now his creative juices were on overload.

The paper was identical in color to Leyton
Monroe’s check. It was light blue with tiny threads running through
it like the threads found in currency paper.

Sara stood close enough to smell his
aftershave, subtle, woodsy. He didn’t shave daily. It seemed
useless because no sooner did he shave then his face looked as if
it had been dusted with tiny grains of black dirt. When she leaned
forward, her hair drifted over her shoulder, cascading down to her
waist. She flipped it back over her shoulder but it stubbornly
refused to obey.

Beneath Dagger’s open-collared shirt she
could see the black leather cord necklace that had once belonged to
her grandmother. A sterling silver charm in the shape of a wolf’s
head hung from the cord. Its eyes were made of turquoise stones. He
had found it strange that Ada Kills Bull had placed the necklace
and a note to him in her jewelry box. It was as though Ada knew she
was going to die.

Dagger held the sample paper in one hand, the
check in the other. “What do you think? We do a little clip art to
duplicate the border and typestyle and scan in his signature.
Voila. We have signed checks from Leyton Monroe.”

Sara smiled slowly. “And what do you plan to
do with blank checks, forged, I might add?” She fingered the cuffed
edge of her denim shorts and stood with one foot snaked around her
ankle as if in a bizarre yoga position.

“I’m not sure yet, but think of the
possibilities.”

The front door knocker banged three times. In
the background they heard Einstein shriek, “COMPANY, SQUAARK. COME
IN.”

They exited the secret room and Dagger closed
the mirrored wall.

Sergeant Martinez wasted no time shedding his
frayed sportscoat revealing his shoulder holster. He was shorter
than Dagger and stocky, with a forehead made larger by his receding
gray hairline. A fresh scar on his left cheek was starting to
heal.

Dagger said, “I hope the other guy looks
worse.”

Padre stroked his scar. “Let’s just say he
won’t be resisting arrest again.”

Dagger introduced Sara to Padre just as a
blur of color flew past them.

Einstein clamped his claws onto the perch by
Dagger’s desk. The macaw had been trained to only use the catwalk
railing or the perches. Other than the ones in the aviary, there
was one bolted to the back of the sofa and one attached to the
paneled wall by Dagger’s desk. “AWK, UP AGAINST THE WALL AND SPREAD
‘UM. AWWWKK.”

They all laughed. Padre said, “You still
around, Einstein?”

Einstein dipped his head up and down in
response, training one yellow-ringed black eye on him.

Dagger handed Einstein a Brazil nut and ran
his hand down the macaw’s back whispering, “Be a good boy and go to
your room.” Einstein flew off with his treat in his beak. Dagger
closed both doors to the aviary, minimizing the noise level.

Padre explained to Sara, “Dagger and I met
during a bank robbery, so to speak. The perps were going to keep
everyone as hostages. Dagger created some kinda bomb using a piece
of fuse, some metal nuts or bolts, and a cigarette. Just big enough
to divert attention but small enough so it didn’t blow us all to
hell. I ain’t never seen nothing like it.”

“Guess I watched a little too much TV as a
kid.” Dagger motioned Padre over to the couch.

Sara sat down on the love seat and gathered
her legs under her. “Why does Dagger call you Padre?”

Dagger explained, “Jerry attended two years
of seminary school until he realized he wanted to hold a gun
instead of a bible.”

Nudging the case folder on Rachel, Padre
said, “That’s your file. I made you a copy but you have no idea how
you got it.” Padre gave Dagger a knowing wink. It wasn’t unusual
for information to conveniently fall into Padre’s lap. Leaning
forward, elbows on his knees, he asked, “Why the interest? She’s
been dead for what, five years now?”

“Five years next week,” Dagger replied.
“But,” he paused, choosing their cover carefully, “I have a client
who saw her a couple days ago.”

Padre scoffed. “You’re kidding. Where?”

“At the Dunes Resort in Michigan City.
Unfortunately, this time she was dead, murdered, we think.”

“Were you the investigating officer?” Sara
asked.

“No. Cal Dobrowski was. He’s retired now.”
Padre thought for a moment, ran his fingertip gingerly across his
scar. “But if your client saw her, why didn’t he, or she, call the
police?”

Dagger flashed a quick glance at Sara. Then
retrieved the two composite pictures from his desk. “Let’s just say
it’s complicated.”

“You haven’t changed. You’re doing what you
do best,” Padre countered, “being evasive.”

Dagger laid the pictures on the table and sat
down. “Do you recognize either of these two?”

Padre examined the pictures carefully. “I
suppose having a crime unit check for fingerprints didn’t occur to
you.”

“The place was clean.”

Padre laid the pictures back down. “So, you
were there.”

Dagger stacked the pictures in a neat pile
and shoved them in a file folder. If it had been any other cop,
Dagger would have been dragged into the precinct by now. He handed
Padre the folder. “You can take the pictures with you. I have
another set.”

Padre gazed curiously at Sara whose gaze
darted from Dagger to the pictures.

Sara stood. “Would you like something to
drink?”

“Something cold.” Padre watched her leave and
then turned to Dagger.

Dagger opened the box and showed Padre the
earring. “This is the only thing I was able to locate. The victim
was wearing it.”

Padre examined the earring. “Why did you wait
two days to call me?”

“Jezzus, Padre. What’s with the third
degree?” Dagger clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back,
staring up at the hazy sky beyond the skylights.

Sara returned and handed Padre a glass of
lemonade. Dagger shifted his eyes from her to the kitchen,
signaling her to disappear.

“Just trying to get something to go on.”

Once Sara left, Dagger straightened up and
said, “My client happened to be at the Tyler house last night and
saw a picture of Rachel. I have to tell you it’s difficult for me
to believe the story since I saw no sign of a struggle when I
searched that townhouse. But my client is a very credible
witness.”

“Have you checked with the Michigan City
police?”

“I thought it would be rather awkward for me
since they’d probably drag my ass in for questioning. However,”
Dagger grinned, “you are in a better position to pick their
collective brains.”

“Sounds like a plan. And I’ll fax them these
pictures.” He placed the earring on the table.

“Just make sure the press doesn’t get wind of
this. Don’t mention the earring to the Michigan City cops, and, god
forbid, don’t mention my name. Sara and I are attending another
party at the Tylers tonight. We’ll slip in a few delicate
questions, maybe drop a few not-too-delicate time bombs.”

Padre held the cold glass to his forehead.
“Damn, you keep it warm in here.” He pushed wisps of wet hair off
his forehead and thumbed through the case file again. “According to
this report, Harbor Rentals provides boats and crew members for
charter cruises. Tyler hired two men to pilot his boat the night of
Rachel’s disappearance. At the last minute, Tyler was called away
on business so Rachel went by herself. The reports detail where
everyone was that night and the testimonies from Pete Foster and
Grant Oakley, the crew members. And there’s also an extensive
background check on Rachel.”

Dagger jotted notes in the margins of his
copy. “So, where and why would a young woman hide out for five
years?”

Sara returned carrying freshly washed
vegetables in a bowl. She slid open the two doors and entered the
aviary. She filled one of the food bowls and stood in the doorway
watching the macaw.

“What about Robert Tyler? Was he a suspect?”
Dagger asked.

Padre replied, “No. He was madly in love with
his wife, according to all these notes. Some of her modeling
friends agreed that Rachel was treated like a queen by Robert
Tyler.”

“But did she love him?” Dagger asked.

“Supposedly.”

Padre closed the file folder. “If it were a
kidnapping, and believe me a kidnapper could have gotten a lot of
money out of old man Tyler, there was never a ransom note.”

Einstein flew back into the living room and
perched near Dagger’s desk. “AWK, DUNES RESORT, DUNES RESORT.”
Einstein fanned his colorful wings as if circulating the room
air.

Dagger rose from the couch, his brows forming
a straight line. “Wait a minute. Einstein might have something
there.” He sat down at his computer and accessed America
On-Line.

“What are you doing?” Padre walked over to
the desk and leaned his arms on the ledge, weight shifted. He
jammed a fist just under his scar.

Sara cradled Einstein, kissed the top of his
head. “Be good.”

Dagger said, “I’m checking all the holdings
of Tyler International.”

“AWWWKK, DUNES RESORT, AWK.” Einstein craned
his neck to see the monitor.

Padre returned to the couch. “So, Sara, how
long have you been working for Dagger Investigations?” He watched
her fold herself gracefully onto the floor in front of the coffee
table, her long hair touching the floor.

“Just a few months.” Sara studied her hands
nervously.

“GOTCHA!” Dagger leaped from the chair.
“Einstein, you are a genius.”

“What did you find?” Padre asked.

Dagger showed Padre the printout. “Tyler
International owns the Dunes Resort. It was acquired three years
before Rachel died, the first time.”

“Interesting.” Padre studied the printout,
then glanced at Einstein. “How did your bird know that?”

“I vaguely remember talking to Simon some
time last year about good stocks to get into. Tyler International
was one of them. I must have listed some of the resorts Tyler owns
and Einstein associated the name Tyler with the Dunes Resort.”
Dagger puffed up like a proud father.

Sara squirted lotion in the palm of her hands
and worked the cream into the ragged skin on her knuckles. She
said, “Who better to have access to a new construction site than
one of the Tylers?”

Dagger studied the list of suspects he had
made. “The question is: Which Tyler?”

CHAPTER 11

Padre left after they agreed to keep in touch
to compare notes. Padre would take a few days off and drive out to
Michigan City to have a look around the Dunes Resort.

“How do they look?” Dagger held up the
samples of the forged checks. “All I have to do is keep my eyes and
ears open tonight and I should come up with the appropriate
recipients of Leyton Monroe’s generosity.”

Sara’s eyes widened. “You’re going to give
his money away?”

He crooked his finger and tapped it under her
chin. “Nah, just helping him spend it.” The intercom from the front
gate rang out. “That’s probably Hardaway.” Dagger left his project
on the worktable and exited the secret room. He lifted the cover to
the fake thermostat on the wall and punched a button to close the
mirrored door.

Stu Hardaway looked like a short version of
Danny Thomas, with a honker of a nose and hairy knuckles. A chunk
of cigar jutted out from between his plump lips.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hardaway, but we don’t allow
smoking,” Sara said gently.

Stu Hardaway stared indignantly at Sara, as
if he were just refused seating at the Le Janiere Restaurant at the
Ritz Carlton Hotel.

“I won’t be here long enough for you to even
get a whiff of it, honey,” Stu barked.

Sara stepped out onto the stoop and held the
screen door open. “I smelled it the moment you got out of your car.
If you don’t mind.”

Stu jerked his head at Dagger, waiting for
him to get his hired help in line.

Dagger said, “Don’t worry. Your smelly turd
will be safe outside.”

“AWK, STINKY, STINKY.” Einstein added his two
cents while hanging upside down by the grated door.