The Shark (Forgotten Files Book 1) (13 page)

“Mr. Bowman, I barely remember our history, so that’s not a factor. I don’t really know you or your agenda. You insinuate yourself into the search for Carter and now this case. I didn’t ask for your help last time, and I’m not asking now.”

“What more do you want to know about me?”

Slowly, she shook her head. “I don’t want to know anything more about you.”

“Feel free to check up on me, but do it quickly.”

“I suspect if I bothered to check, I’d find a few facts that don’t amount to much. For all I know, the Shark could be your client and this is one of the messes you’ve been hired to clean up.”

“We don’t take those kind of clients at Shield.”

“So you say.”

He was trying to help her. Instead, she was cool as a cucumber and he was getting annoyed. He didn’t appreciate the knock on his integrity. “There’re going to be more bodies, Trooper. In his killing year there were four bodies.” He balled up his napkin and placed it on the table. “It’s too bad that another girl will have to die before you see the light and tell me what you know.” He reached in his breast pocket and pulled out a business card. “If you change your mind, please call me.”

Her chest rose and fell. She glared at him while sliding out of the booth and grabbed her purse. She left his card behind. She moved with a steady precision that had him watching the sway of her hips. “I know you’re the one, Riley. I know it.”

When Riley slid into her SUV, the seat’s warmth seeped into her skin but didn’t quite chase the chill from her body. She didn’t have any real memory of what had happened to her in New Orleans, but Bowman was right, she needed to tell.

With a trembling hand, she checked her messages and realized Dr. Kincaid had called. En route home to walk Cooper and check in on Hanna, she called the medical examiner and was sent to voice mail. “Dr. Kincaid, this is Trooper Tatum calling you back.”

As she hung up the phone, it rang, displaying Dakota Sharp’s name. “Agent Sharp.”

“Where are you?”

“About home. What’s up?”

“I’ve a body that might be of interest to you.”

Her breath stilled. “Why’s that?”

“He has poker chips in his pockets, and his suit reminds me of a fancy gambler.”

“Give me the address.”

When he shared the location, she didn’t need to plug it into her GPS. It was five miles from her home and close to where they’d found Vicky. She drove fifteen miles north and took the exit she took every night to go home. She wound along the back road until she spotted the flash of cop car lights in the distance. Parking behind Dakota’s vehicle, Riley stepped out and moved toward the tape where Agent Sharp and Sheriff Barrett stood.

“Had an interesting visitor. From Shield Security,” she said.

“I’ve heard of them,” Barrett said. “Firm near Quantico.”

“What’re they doing here?” Sharp asked.

She held his gaze. She knew Sharp was a straight shooter, and at this point she had to trust someone. “The Gilbert case landed on Shield’s radar.”

“Okay.”

“Joshua Shield, the firm’s CEO, used to be FBI. When he was with the bureau, he investigated a string of cases similar to our murder. They called the killer the Shark.”

Sharp didn’t speak for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. “Shield sends a guy. Why go to you?”

“Lucky, I guess. The guy who paid me a visit is Clay Bowman. He was picking my brain on the case.” She held up her hand as he readied to argue. “And I didn’t give him anything on Vicky Gilbert. This is your active investigation, and I’m not that green.”

Sharp looked dubious. “Did he offer up any help?”

“He did. I refused it.”

“Why’d you say no?”

“Nothing’s free.” She shielded her eyes against the setting sun as she stared over the billowing yellow crime scene tape toward the technicians photographing the body next to a dumpster. “This killer, the Shark, is apparently a ghost. Blew into New Orleans, killed four girls, and was gone within a couple of weeks.”

“They call him the Shark? As in a high-stakes card player?” Sharp confirmed.

“Yep.”

“What the hell is he doing here?” Sharp asked. “We aren’t exactly a hotbed of gambling.”

“Private games aren’t just in Las Vegas and Atlantic City,” Riley said.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Her chest tightened. “I’m from New Orleans. When I was a teenager, it wasn’t good in my home. I ran away.”

Silent at first, he stared at her. “What are you saying?”

“Bowman said we’d see more bodies in the next few weeks if we don’t catch this guy,” she said. Bowman’s words weighed heavily on her shoulders. She had been glib with him, but to think she was the reason that young girl had died made her sick.

“Keep talking.”

It was confession time, so better to spit it all out. “I have a gap of several missing days while I was in New Orleans. When I woke up I was in Virginia, and shoved in my back pocket was a set of cards like the one we found on Vicky. My hand was a royal flush and nothing was written on them.”

Sharp sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I didn’t want to be associated with the victim. I’m days away from finalizing Hanna’s adoption.”

“Where are the cards?”

“At my house.”

“I want them.”

“Right. Of course.” She looked at him. “If I could recall any detail I thought would really help, I’d have told you sooner.”

“Get me the cards by tomorrow morning.”

“Please, don’t pull me off the case.”

A muscle pulsed in Sharp’s jaw. Without giving her an answer, he nodded toward the yellow tape. “According to this victim’s driver’s license, his name is Kevin Lewis.”

“Kevin?”

“He has a couple of hundred dollars shoved in his wallet and a diamond ring on his hand.”

“So not a robbery.”

Sharp pulled his sunglasses off and bit on the end of an earpiece that looked half-eaten with worry. “If it were, the killer was after something entirely different. The ring and cash might have been small change in comparison.”

“Can I have a look?” She half expected him to say no.

“Suit yourself.”

Riley accepted latex gloves from Sharp, and tugging them on, ducked under the tape to move closer as he trailed behind her. Martin, the forensic investigator, was sketching out the scene on a large white pad of paper. “Martin, what do you have?”

Martin labeled something on his sketch before he looked up. “Kevin Lewis. Fifty-one years old and from Las Vegas. I count at least a half-dozen bullet wounds.”

She knelt by the body. Lifting his hand, she noted it was just stiffening with rigor mortis. The nails were buffed, but the tips on his right hand were stained with nicotine. The diamond in the ring was at least a carat. “He’s not been dead all that long.”

“Less than six hours.”

His face was ghost white under three or four days’ worth of beard. Streaks of silver hair feathered around his temples. Hints of an expensive aftershave still lingered on his clothes. An old scar etched his left cheek. A gold earring winked from his left earlobe.

His black pants were tailored and made to fit the guy’s toned frame. The belt with a stylish silver buckle looked expensive, as did the white shirt now stained with multiple blooms of blood in the center of his chest. She could imagine him sitting at a poker table, a cigar or cigarette hanging from his mouth as he fanned his cards.

“Martin, can I move the victim?” Riley asked.

“He’s clear, have at it.”

She rolled him on his side and noted the bullets didn’t exit his back. Likely a .22 caliber using hollow-point bullets. Nasty bullets create maximum damage.

Pulling up his shirt from his waistband, she studied the skin on his back. Clean. She rolled him back and looked at his belly. Clean. She lifted his pants leg. His ankle and foot were blue, like they were bruised.

“He wasn’t killed here.”

She ran her hands through his hair and found no blood or signs of trauma. Garden-variety shooting. This kind of thing happened to gamblers when they ended up on the wrong side of a bet they couldn’t pay back.

Agent Sharp watched as she began checking his pockets. But other than a half-chewed pack of gum and a rubber band, his back pockets were clean.

“You have his wallet, you said?”

Sharp handed the now-bagged wallet to her. “Nothing remarkable.”

She accepted the bag and held it up. The wallet was fine leather, likely Italian. This guy knew how to dress the part of success. “I can run a background check.”

“Isn’t this your day off?”

“I want this case solved.”

“Thanks, but I got it from here. Your job is to get me those cards.”

“Right.”

“By the way, I received a call from Carter’s attorney today. He has a bail hearing tomorrow, and there’s a good chance he’ll post it.”

“What about Jo-Jo, the girl Jax beat up? She’s still in bad shape. She can’t defend herself if he decides to make trouble.”

“She’s in a lockdown ward at the hospital with a no-visitor mandate.”

“But no armed guard.”

“No.”

“Damn it.”

Riley now reached in the victim’s front left pocket and pulled out a rabbit’s foot. “Gamblers do like their good-luck charms.”

“Even the best ones have their quirks.”

Martin handed Riley an evidence bag. “Put it in there and I’ll mark it.”

Riley dropped the rabbit’s foot in the bag and handed it over. She searched the front right pocket and found a gold money clip holding several twenty-dollar bills and a pack of matches that read
Casino
.

“These pants set him back at least a grand.” She ran a gloved finger along the stitching. “This is some nice work. Hand tailored.”

“You’re the first trooper I met who knows hand tailoring,” Sharp said.

“I do have my talents.”

“Don’t tell me you grew up with a silver spoon?”

“I had a stepfather who liked to dress well.”

“Today is the first time you’ve mentioned family.”

“We aren’t family.” She’d seen Lewis’s kind in New Orleans coming in and out of the casinos. “Kevin here thought of himself as a high roller.”

“Lady Luck didn’t agree.”

“We find a victim with playing cards on her body and a guy who looks like a high-stakes gambler. Not a coincidence,” she said.

“Shield’s theory of the Shark fits a little too well into this scenario,” Sharp said.

“Yeah.” Tension knotted her chest. She did not want Bowman or Shield to be right. She did not want to be connected to this case.

Sharp pulled a stick of gum from his pocket. “A down-on-his-luck gambler will do whatever it takes to get back on top. He has his lucky rabbit’s foot and believes he can beat a high roller like the Shark, win big, and then what? Release the girl and scoop up the cash? Or just another creep playing with someone’s life for his own ego?”

The theory struck too close to home for Riley. “Both are viable theories.”

Sharp stared at the body, a faint look of disgust darkening his eyes. “If Bowman offers any more words of wisdom, be sure to share. I’m territorial, but I’ll take whatever information I can get if it means no more dead girls in my jurisdiction.”

“I’ll keep looking for Darla.”

“Bring me those cards in the morning.”

CHAPTER TEN

Friday, September 16, 7:00 a.m.

If anyone ever made it past the first checkpoint of Shield Security or the second guard station positioned at the end of the long access road, they’d find a three-story nondescript building. Its rectangular shape was nothing remarkable and could have been the headquarters of Any Company USA. Glass reflective windows allowed no one to see inside and there were no shrubs or trees around the building, negating possible hiding places. An entrance in the front required the swipe of a security card.

Bowman entered the offices, showing his identification to the guard at the front desk and riding the sleek elevators to the top floor. He made his way to his office, glancing toward the unpacked boxes and pictures yet to be hung.

He’d officially been here five days, signed a two-year contract—but he still hesitated to make any permanent claim on the office space. In the bureau, he’d moved around a lot, assigned to a new field office every couple of years. And for most of that time, he was working a case, sometimes weeks at a time while living out of a suitcase.

His wife, Karen, had been the anchor in his life. She took it all in stride. An artist, she always found a way to make their newest apartment a home. Since her death, he’d not been able to attach permanence to any subsequent place in which he stayed.

As he walked into his office and switched on the light, he glanced at the box of photos to his left. He’d moved the box from office to office over the last six years but never unpacked it.

Now, for some unknown reason, he reached into the box and pulled out two pictures. One was of Karen taken on the beach at sunset right after they met. The other was of him and his roommates at the Virginia Military Institute nearly two decades ago. The image captured the four young graduates standing in front of Jackson Arch. Their arms were linked and all were grinning, knowing they had bright futures. Bowman was headed to the FBI training facility in Quantico. The tall, thin guy on the right, Jacob Taggart, was a commissioned army officer. The guy on his immediate left, a sturdy Texan named Rafe Murdock, was slated to take his marine commission. And the last guy, Gavin Loch, chose medical school.

He dusted each frame off with his fingers and set them on the credenza behind his desk. Hardly staking a claim on this place, but it was a start.

On the pile of papers in an in-box that grew by the hour was a memo detailing a trip to Houston where he was set to review security for an oil company. Another memo mentioned a trip to Kansas City. More security and a threat assessment. The billable hours on both cases would ultimately earn the company close to a quarter of a million dollars, yet Shield had pulled him off them to catch the Shark.

A knock on his door had him turning. Shield moved into the office, his gait slightly uneven as if his back bothered him. “I’ll have someone in maintenance hang up those pictures.”

“No need. I’ll get around to it.”

“I remember your last field office in Kansas City. Not a picture up on the wall.”

“Never made sense. Why mark up a wall when I wasn’t staying long?”

“Kansas City was a temporary assignment, but this time you aren’t moving on. This is your last stop. I expect you to be running this show one day.”

He’d committed to work for Shield for two years. To anchor himself beyond that would take serious soul searching.

“So how did it go with Tatum?” Shield asked.

“She knows more than she’s saying, that’s clear. When I mentioned the playing cards, I hit a nerve.” He’d learned the best intelligence didn’t always come from what people said, but what they didn’t say. “The latest victim was identified. Vicky Gilbert. The girl hooked up with a guy named Jax Carter, and he sold her to one of the gamblers.”

“Word arrived that another body was found near the Gilbert body. A male. His wallet identified him as Kevin Lewis.”

Bowman tilted his head toward the older man and grinned. “You haven’t lost a step.”

“Pays to have friends. What do you think of Tatum?”

“She’s sharp. Wants this case solved. She’s driven, just like she was at Quantico.”

Shield never showed surprise, making it hard to gauge his reactions. “So what do you suggest, Clay? The cops won’t catch him.”

“You sound sure.”

“I’m one of the best and I’ve never caught him even after he sent me his trophy pictures.”

“How do you know he sent them?”

“The Shark is a guy who loves high-stakes games. If he thinks he’s getting too far ahead of me, what better way to keep the juices going than to send me the pictures.”

“But the Shark is not perfect. Serial killers kill again when there are stressors in their life. Bad health. Money. Death in the family. Job loss. All are hard to deal with for a normal person, but for a guy like the Shark, it’s the perfect trigger for murder.”

“Logical, or it simply bothered him that Riley slipped through his fingers.”

“Maybe.”

“Whatever the Shark’s reason, stay close to her. She’s the key.”

“I see a couple of memos on my desk from Houston.”

“It can wait. All of them can wait. This case has stuck in my craw for twelve years and now I have a chance to nail him. Solve this case and I’ll give you the whole damn company tomorrow.”

Riley delivered the cards to Sharp, oddly grateful to turn them over to someone else.

“This is all you have?” he asked.

“Just the cards. I can’t tell you how I got them or who gave them to me. I just know they were in my pocket when I got to Richmond.”

“And you have no memories?”

“Sometimes the scent of cigars makes me feel tense. Occasionally dreams. But there is nothing I can grab on to, and believe me, I’ve tried.”

“I’ll have these dusted.”

“I did that eight years ago. They were wiped clean.”

“So all we know right now is that your cards look like the ones in Gilbert’s backpack.”

“Yes.”

“All right.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I’ll call you if anything comes up.”

Bowman went to the parole board offices after he left Shield headquarters. Fluorescent lights buzzed as he moved down the building’s main hallway to the door at the end. He knocked.

A heavyset man with gray hair looked up from an outdated computer. “Yes.”

“Ken Trice?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Clay Bowman with Shield Security. My boss, Joshua Shield, called about Darla.”

“Right.” He clicked a couple of computer keys and read the screen. “A nasty lady, if I do say so myself. Why are you looking for her?”

“She and her boyfriend are believed to be selling girls.”

“Is this about the girl strangled and dumped north of the city?”

“She’s the one. I think Darla and Carter recruited the victim and then sold her to another guy.”

“Nothing surprises me anymore.”

“Any idea where I can find her?”

“She lists her mother’s address as her residence.” He rattled off an address south of the city. “You know the place?”

“I can find it.”

Bowman left his card with the man and made his way back to his SUV. He dialed Riley’s number. She picked up on the second ring.

“Bowman, why are you calling me?”

The snap of annoyance in her voice was about what he expected. “How would you like to go on a little field trip with me?”

“What kind of field trip?” she said carefully.

“I have the address of Darla Johnson’s mother. Want to tag along?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Where are you?”

“Leaving the state police offices now.”

“Stay there and I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes.”

“You can just give me her address.”

Seconds ticked as she waited for his response. Finally she yielded. “Fine. I’ll wait.”

Twenty minutes later Bowman found Riley and Cooper in her SUV. He parked and as he approached her vehicle, she unlocked the doors. He slid into the passenger seat. As he read off the address for her to plug into the GPS, she tossed him a curious look.

Checking her rearview mirror at an alert Cooper, she pulled into traffic and headed south. “Why are you including me?”

“Because we are a team.”

“We are not a team.”

“Yes, we are. You just haven’t accepted it yet.”

“Right.”

He studied her profile. “You seem tense.”

“I’m always tense.”

“More so than usual.”

“A lot on my mind.”

“Care to share?”

She looked over at him and he thought for a moment she’d tell him, but she only shrugged. “Nothing important.”

Fifteen minutes later they found themselves in front of a small brick rancher. The front lawn could have used a mowing a month ago, but the house itself looked fairly well kept. Riley left the AC running and stepped out, waiting for Bowman to join her. Locking the door, she laid her hand on her gun as they moved to the front door decorated with a welcome wreath. Glancing in the bushes on his left and right, Bowman rang the bell and stepped aside. Inside, a television buzzed.

The front door jerked opened to a short, stout woman who wore jeans and a green collared shirt from one of the local grocery store chains. Her narrowing gaze darted between the two of them as she folded her arms. It was obvious she had been through this before. “Darla ain’t here. I haven’t seen her in a couple of weeks.”

“Why do you think we’re looking for Darla?” Bowman asked.

Her nose wrinkled. “You two are cops. Why else would you be here?”

“Your name is Betsy Smith and you’re Darla Johnson’s mother?” he asked.

“That’s right. But I ain’t seen her.”

“Has she called, texted, or e-mailed?”

“Nothing from her. But she owes me money, so I’m not surprised. She won’t surface until she or that damn Jax needs a meal or a place to crash.”

“The last time you saw Darla, was anyone with her?” Riley asked.

“Other than Jax? Yeah, there was another girl with them. A young girl, a pretty little thing.”

Riley scrolled through her phone and found the picture of Vicky. “This her?”

The heavy scent of cigarettes radiated from Ms. Smith as she leaned forward. “That’s her.”

“What can you tell me about her?” Bowman said.

“She never got out of the car. Darla said she was shy. I didn’t buy that, but I wasn’t in the mood for an argument. Darla has a temper.”

“You get a name?” Bowman asked.

“I didn’t care enough to ask. I was more anxious to see Darla and Jax get off my property. I didn’t need trouble.”

“When was this?” Bowman asked.

“About two weeks ago.”

“How’d the girl appear to you?” Riley asked.

“Fine, I guess.” She rubbed her hand along her arm. “I could see the kid didn’t have a clue about those two. I wanted to tell her to get as far away from Darla and Jax as she could, but Darla never let me get close. That girl all right?”

“No, ma’am, she’s dead,” Riley said.

The lines on her face deepened. “I’m sorry to hear it. Darla do it?”

“Why do you say that?” Bowman asked.

She laughed. “She can be jealous. My girl don’t like sharing nothing with nobody. I could see Jax had eyes for that pretty girl. Kept touching her and kissing her when Darla wasn’t looking.”

“Did Darla leave any of her possessions here?” he asked.

“No. Moved them all to Jax’s trailer, but I couldn’t tell you where that’s parked these days.”

Riley pulled a card from her pocket. “If you hear from her, will you give me a call?”

“Sure. I’ll call, if you promise to lock Darla away. She’s my own flesh and blood, but she’s mean as a snake.”

“Thanks.”

Bowman followed Riley to the car. He could see she was frustrated. “We’ll find her.”

“She’s slithered under a rock and she might not ever come out.”

“We’ll find her and the man who bought Vicky from her.”

She paused at the car and her shoulders slumped a fraction. “You sound so sure.”

“I am.” A part of him wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her he’d keep her safe. But she didn’t really believe he was here to stay yet. But she would.