The Shark (Forgotten Files Book 1) (7 page)

Nodding, he inhaled again and turned and walked up the street.

Moving to her car, she drew fresh air into her lungs and slid behind the wheel. She sat for a moment, allowing the day’s heat to warm the chill from her body before she followed signs to I-95 north. Twenty minutes later she pulled into her driveway behind the 2000 VW Beetle she’d bought for Hanna. The car wasn’t much to look at, but it was dependable.

When she pushed through the front door, Cooper barked. In the kitchen, she opened his crate and rubbed his ears. “How you doing, Coop? Enjoy the afternoon off?”

He barked while wagging his tail.

“Hanna? Are you home early?”

For a moment there was only silence, and then, “It’s Wednesday. Half day of school, remember?”

She scratched Cooper between the ears. “Remind me why it’s a half day?”

“Teacher workday.”

“Right. Slipped my mind.” Juggling motherhood and work never got easy. “Not parent-teacher conferences, right?”

“You didn’t miss anything.”

“Good.”

The girl rounded the corner, her long hair tied up in a thick ponytail that brushed her shoulders. “You’re getting old.”

Riley unhooked her sidearm and set it on top of the refrigerator. “Careful, brat. I’m still spry enough to take you.”

Hanna laughed. “No way.”

Riley shrugged off her jacket. “I’m taking Cooper for a run. Care to join us?”

Hanna scrunched her face. “Your workouts are too intense.”

“For an old lady, you mean?”

“Right.”

Riley changed into jogging shorts, a sports top, and running shoes, and ten minutes later she and Cooper were running toward the local park, which was a mile from her house. Her muscles were still stiff and cumbersome from Monday’s outing. Cooper moved easily, showing no signs of stress after the hike. She kicked up her pace and ten minutes into the run her legs loosened up.

As she approached the back entrance of the park a dark car drove up behind her, slowing its pace to a near crawl. She slowed and glanced at the vehicle while noting the tinted windows. Instinctively, her hand went to her waist and to the sidearm that wasn’t there. “What the hell are you looking at, pal?”

Cooper, detecting the tension in her tone, looked up, his ears perked.

As she spoke, the car picked up speed and turned at the next corner, vanishing. Most wouldn’t have given the car a second thought, and maybe she wouldn’t have either, but the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Stopping, she drew in a steady breath, watching the corner in case the car returned. Cooper looked up at her, as if waiting for an order.

When the car didn’t double back, she shook off her apprehension and tugged on Cooper’s line. “It’s good, boy. Let’s train.” They ran along the small dirt path and into the woods until they found the trail. Memories of the young girl robbed of her life and lying on the medical examiner’s table crowded out the car. She owed that kid. “I’ll figure it out.”

By the time she and Cooper burst out of the woods forty-five minutes later, she was covered in dirt and sweat. Cooper was barely panting.

As she pushed through the back door of the kitchen, she smelled chili. “Did Duke send home food, Hanna?”

“He just dropped it off before you got home. He said he made too much.”

“Lucky for us.” She unleashed the dog and filled his water bowl only partway. She watched as he lapped but pulled the bowl before he had his fill. After hard training, too much water could bloat a big dog’s stomach and twist the gut, which was potentially fatal. The dog settled on his bed in the corner. “You have triathlon practice tonight, right?”

“Correct. It’s a bike day.”

As soon as Hanna came to live with her, Riley had insisted she pick a sport. The first attempt was soccer, but Hanna wasn’t great at sharing the ball. Next came tennis, a sport Riley had played as a kid. Hanna didn’t like the other girls on the team. Too snooty. And then, they happened on a youth triathlon team, which required no ball sharing and didn’t attract stuck-up girls. A blessing. Hanna had taken to the sport and would be leaving in a few days for a big race in Georgia.

“Let me take a quick shower and then we can eat.” She wanted to rinse away the sweat as well as the lingering smell of the coroner’s office.

Cooper followed her and jumped up on her bed as she toed off her shoes and stepped into the small bathroom. Pulling off her clothes, she tossed them in the hamper and turned on the shower. When the room was steamed up, she stepped under the hot spray. As the water washed away the grime, memories of the girl lying on the medical examiner’s table elbowed forward. She wanted desperately to believe finding the girl’s body had been random. But it wasn’t.

She grabbed the soap and lathered her hands, then washed her face, body, and hair. By the time she stepped out of the spray, the scents had spiraled down the drain, but the memories lingered. She twisted her hair back in a tight knot and slipped on sweats and a T-shirt.

Picking up her phone, she scrolled through the images until she reached the picture of the cards. “Damn it.”

She moved to her closet and, rising up on tiptoes, pulled down an old box and set it on her bed. She’d been busy with Hanna last night, and honestly she’d just been too afraid to look inside. Her fingers hovered a moment over the top before she opened it and dug below the layers of old college papers to the cloth napkin. She carefully removed her small package and unwrapped the coarse fabric. Staring up at her were five playing cards. They weren’t common, everyday cards, but expensive. Thick. Coated in plastic. A black-and-white baroque pattern on the back. Like the cards found in Jane Doe’s backpack. The only difference between the two hands was that hers was a royal flush and there was no message scrawled on the back. Winning hands didn’t get better than a royal flush.

She traced each card’s face and studied the pattern on the back, which was almost identical to the cards now in an evidence bag in the state police forensic lab.

She looks like you.

“Dinner’s ready!” Hanna shouted.

Riley started. “Be right there!” She carefully rewrapped the cards and tucked them in the back of the box, which she shoved in the closet. Her cards were from New Orleans, over a thousand miles away. There was nothing written on them. They couldn’t be connected.

She found Hanna placing a bowl of chili and slice of bread at a place set for her. Hanna liked eating at the table, like a family, she often said. Their dinners were never silent affairs as Riley’s had been in her stepfather’s house. They laughed and talked about school, college, and any worries Hanna wanted to voice.

Riley sat at the table and draped the folded paper towel over her lap. “How was school?”

“Routine,” Hanna said, sitting. Like Riley, she took time to place her napkin in her lap.

“What about those applications?”

“Applications.” She dragged out the word as if it had twenty syllables. “I’ve downloaded the college applications.”

“Good. Have you started on the essays?”

“I don’t know what to say about myself.” She dropped her gaze to her chili and swirled it around and around.

“You’ve had a pretty interesting life.”

“It’s been amazingly pathetic.”

“I don’t see it that way at all.” Riley set her fork on her plate and pressed the napkin to her lips. “You’re a survivor, Hanna. You’re here and looking ahead, not over your shoulder. And that’s worth a lot.”

“But I’ve not had a regular life. I’ve not done all that real-kid stuff like soccer games, or cheering practice, or tennis.”

“Where did you spend your twelfth birthday?”

“In the shelter. I was trying to do my homework while a couple of kids pulled knives in a fight over a shirt.”

“Write about that. Believe me, the admissions staff will never, ever see another essay like it. You’re unique. Don’t try to shove yourself into a mold.”

“But I want to be in a mold.”

“No, you don’t. Look at me. I don’t exactly look like the mother of a teenager.”

Hanna shrugged. “You’re definitely way cooler.”

“See?”

“But what if the essay sucks?”

Riley laid her hand on Hanna’s. “Once it’s done, I’ll read it. It’ll be great.”

The girl stirred her spoon in her chili. “You sure?”

“It’s going to be fine. Don’t worry.”

Tears glistened in Hanna’s eyes, and she wiped one off her cheek with the back of her hand. “If you tell anyone I cried, I’ll scream.”

As much as Riley wanted to crack a joke to lighten the mood, she opted to baby the kid a little. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thanks.”

They ate in silence and when the bowls were cleaned, Hanna said, “You’re quiet.”

“Thinking about a case.” She didn’t want to burden Hanna with what she’d seen, but she also wanted her to never forget the dangers out there.

“Can you talk about it?”

“It’s a young girl who was strangled.”

Hanna’s face paled. “That’s awful.”

“It is. So please be careful when you’re running around town.”

“I know. I
know
,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Situational awareness.”

“I mean it.”

Hanna straightened. “I
know
.”

“Good.” Riley rose. “Homework?”

“Just a little.”

“Get it done while I do a little computer work.”

“Fine.”

Riley cleaned the dishes and sat on the couch with her laptop. Cooper settled at her feet, chewing his favorite red rubber ring.

She typed in the particulars of this murder case into Google.
Strangulation. Young female. Playing cards.

Not surprisingly, nothing came up.

It would be easy to chock up Jane Doe’s murder to an angry pimp or a crazed john. Girls like that died all the time without much notice. But this kid’s death wasn’t typical.

Her index finger lightly tapped the side of the keyboard. She wanted to believe this case was random. But she learned a long time ago the universe didn’t care about her wants and needs.

She typed
New Orleans
and the year she’d left the Big Easy for good.

For a long moment her finger hovered over the “Enter” button. What would Sharp say if he knew about her set of cards? Would he see a connection or tell her she was worried over nothing? Shit. Either way, he’d pull her off the case. And what if social services got wind of this? She couldn’t let either outcome happen. She pressed “Enter” and sat back as the adrenaline rushed through her body.

An icon on the screen swirled. But there were no matches in the search results.

She looks like you.

Riley shook off Sheriff Barrett’s words and shut off the computer.

Kevin sat in the dark, swirling the amber scotch in a crystal glass. The ice clinked again and again, slowly melting and diluting the twenty-year-old liquor.

His losing streak had stalked him for a year and had taken a toll on his reputation. His ribs still ached from the beating he’d received ten days ago from the Vegas thugs who were looking for a couple hundred thousand dollars paid in full.

Then he heard about the life-and-death game, which hadn’t been played in years. He thought he’d found his way back into the big leagues. The Shark spotted any challenger ten-to-one odds if they brought a very specific kind of girl to the game. Kevin had twenty grand left to his name, but he had the potential of turning that into two hundred grand. That would have been enough to pay off his debts with a healthy bonus to the girl.

The girl, his stake in the game, had been easy to find. Vicky cost him two grand and he promised her pimp he would return her within twenty-four hours. He was certain when they left the diner he’d win, and in the end he’d help her get free of the life.

The game began well enough. He won several of the opening hands. The wins emboldened him, and when the final hand was dealt, he was already thinking beyond the game to his new fortune. In his mind, he was on the verge of saving himself and the girl.

When the last card had turned, and he was looking at four queens, he was certain the Shark couldn’t pull out a full house. What were the odds? But then the Shark’s last card turned. A king.

The Shark had won.

He had lost.

Rising now, Kevin stared into his glass of scotch, then gulped the contents. He savored the familiar burn as it trickled down his throat.

The image of Vicky’s face flashed in his mind. Her blue eyes were desperate and pleading as she gasped for the air he was slowly cutting off.

He thought once he placed her in the field as instructed with the cards tucked in her pocket that he could move on with his life. He’d lost considerable fortunes at poker plenty of times but had recovered
.
He had enough money to vanish. He should cut his losses.

He rose, grimacing as his bruised ribs pinched. So why was he still in town? Why couldn’t he forget that girl? And why did losing to the old man continue to dig at his pride?

CHAPTER SIX

Wednesday, September 14, 6:00 p.m.

Clay Bowman’s computer dinged, signaling a message from his boss, Joshua Shield. He reached for the fresh cup of coffee and sipped as he read the e-mail’s subject line:
Riley Tatum
. His interest sharpened as he scanned the details of a murder scene she’d responded to yesterday.

“Have you had a chance to read the e-mail?”

Bowman looked up to see Shield standing in his doorway. The man had been an FBI agent for twenty-five years, joining at age twenty-seven after five years in the marines. Over the years, the challenge of the investigative work crumbled under the bureau’s politics, so ten years ago, when he was on the verge of a huge promotion, he walked away and founded Shield Security. The company quickly earned a solid reputation and proved to all he’d not lost his mind but had made a solid choice. He’d grown the company to twenty-five employees in the last few years.

Shield, like Bowman’s father, Zeb, had graduated from the Virginia Military Institute and had always had an interest in the younger Bowman’s career. When Bowman left the bureau last month, Shield had been ready with this job offer.

Bowman rose. “You sent it less than a minute ago.”

“And your point is?”

Bowman smiled. “Why don’t you fill me in on the details?”

“Riley Tatum is an accomplished Virginia state trooper. She’s one of the best trackers in the region.”

“That’s not what caught your eye, is it? It has something to do with this murder scene she responded to yesterday.”

Shield moved into Bowman’s bare office that had yet to reflect any personality and sat in one of the matching chairs in front of the desk. There were boxes filled with diplomas lined along the wall, two mugs, and a group picture of five men who’d graduated from the Virginia Military Institute with Bowman seventeen years ago. But he’d yet to put anything up. He had been on the move for six years, not settling anywhere since his wife died. Joining Shield Security was a big move for him. It meant learning new patterns. New habits. Accepting that he was home.

“Remember when we worked the Shark case together in the New Orleans bureau twelve years ago?”

Bowman sat. He remembered the case. He had been in New Orleans about eighteen months when bodies of young runaways were discovered strangled with playing cards in their pockets. He and Karen had loved the city and were making a lot of good memories. He and Shield were about six months into the case when Bowman had been relocated to the LA bureau office. A few years later, Karen had gotten sick with pancreatic cancer and he’d transferred to Hostage Rescue Team. The Shark fell off his radar. “How does the Shark relate to Riley Tatum?”

“A buddy of mine at the Virginia State Police sent me a file on a body found yesterday,” Shield said. “Young runaway, strangled, with playing cards in her back pocket. Just like the Shark.”

Interest stirred in Bowman. “That’s an FBI case; I thought you left the bureau behind.”

“I left the bureau, but I don’t leave any unsolved cases behind. And neither will you.”

Bowman tapped an impatient finger on the arm of his chair as he summoned the old case details. “The Shark strangled four girls, as I remember. Five custom playing cards left with each victim. The word
Loser
was written on each card.”

“Correct. All the victims were runaways. They had long dark hair, were Caucasian, and wore a yellow dress. After four victims, he went dark. He didn’t try to hide the bodies. Simply left them sitting up under trees.

“Later, after you were transferred to LA, I developed an informant for another case completely unrelated. The informant worked in one of the casinos as a singer and sometimes a dealer. She and I got to be close, and one night she told me she heard the girls who had been strangled months earlier were prizes in a high-stakes poker game. The winner had the privilege of choosing if the girls lived or died.”

“How’d she know this?”

“She was sleeping with a guy who worked security for several of the gamblers who were the casino’s biggest customers. She saw that I was interested and said she’d find more if I helped her beat a cocaine bust. I agreed. Two days later she was found dead. She’d been badly beaten and then shot point-blank in the head.”

“How do you know her death was related to the Shark? An informant asking questions can make all kinds of people nervous.”

“I didn’t associate her death with the Shark until a couple of days after her funeral when I received an envelope in the mail. It contained pictures of the informant plus images of five young girls. Four matched the victims we’d found strangled by the Shark. The fifth girl didn’t match any homicides, and we never identified her. We suspected she was also a runaway who he killed, but we just never found the body.”

Bowman glanced at the e-mail header. “How does this relate to Riley Tatum? She’s a cop who responded to a murder scene.”

Shield twisted his 1975 class ring on his finger. In answer, he said, “Have a look at the e-mail attachment. It’s the image of the fifth girl.”

Bowman opened the attachment and studied the young girl’s picture. She had long, thick dark hair, and her face was turned partly away. “You might be right that it’s Riley Tatum.”

“I am.”

“And she just happened to respond to a murder scene that is reminiscent of the Shark.”

“You make it sound like a coincidence. And you know this old man doesn’t believe in coincidences.”

“Has the Shark been active in the last twelve years?”

“Not according to any of my sources.”

“And you think he’s back? Here?”

Shield grinned. “He’s got a perfect mix before him: the victim that got away and the man who’s been hunting him—me.”

“What about the player who beat him in the game twelve years ago?”

“I’ve never identified him, but I’d bet money the Shark has kept tabs on him over the years and knows his identity.”

Bowman studied the pictures again. “Who gave you the current case details?”

“I’ve a hit list of ten cold cases I want solved. The Shark is right at the top. I’ve made inroads with law enforcement all over the country. Without boring you by details, my friend has seen the list and notified me.”

Shield had been a master at recruiting informants when he was at the bureau. “Why would this person share?”

“We have a mutual interest in solving cold cases.”

“If Riley Tatum was taken, how much do you think she remembers? As I recall, large traces of Rohypnol were found in the victims.”

“I don’t know. But I find it interesting that she’d made it her mission to work with runaways. Look how motivated she was to catch Jax Carter.”

“She’s good. I had to hustle to catch up to her. She’s smart and would’ve caught Carter without my help.”

“Did you get a good look at her?”

“Sure. In fact, I know Tatum. She and her dog trained at Quantico five years ago.”

Shield studied him. “I didn’t know that.”

“Small world.”

Shield removed four pictures from the breast pocket of his suit and laid them out like they were playing cards. Bowman recognized the faces of the four murdered girls in New Orleans. “These are the Shark’s confirmed victims.”

“Yes.” Shield laid down a fifth picture next to the others. “One thing to see this picture of the fifth victim alone, but another to see it next to the other victims. They all look so much alike.”

Bowman studied the pictures. “Number five’s face is slightly turned.” His gut knotted. “It could be a younger version of Tatum.”

“That’s what I thought when I saw her on television four years ago. She and her canine were featured after they found a crashed helicopter that was carrying key state politicians to a fund-raiser. They were in critical condition when she found them.”

Bowman flicked the edge of the paper with his index finger. “Did you ever talk to her?”

“No. But I did some digging. Tatum’s originally from New Orleans. She moved to Virginia alone weeks after she turned eighteen. Her stepfather, William Charles, has been known to gamble heavily.”

Bowman didn’t speak but waited for Shield to continue. “She ran away from home at seventeen,” Shield said. “She fell off the radar for a solid month, and then she emerges again working in a restaurant in Ashland. She worked odd jobs and went to community college until she turned twenty-one, then joined the state police. She’s sharp and dedicated.”

“Why didn’t you ever ask her about the Shark?”

“That’s your job now. Meet with her. Find out what you can about this murder. Help her find this killer. Keep her safe. She’s in deeper waters than she realizes.”

“You didn’t ask her about the Shark because you didn’t want to spook her.”

“I always suspected the Shark would come back for her. This killer has an obsession with poker and winning. We know that. And evidence suggests she’s the one that got away.”

“You’ve been using her as bait.” Annoyance accentuated the last words.

“Is that a problem?”

“I’m not crazy about the idea.”

“What would you do in my shoes?”

Bowman slowly shook his head. “It’s a logical call.”

“She’s my only link to this killer.”

“And you’re hoping she wasn’t as juiced as the others and there are some memories?”

“I don’t know. But now that there’s a new victim, it’s time to find out,” Shield said.

Bowman dug into his memory. “You never found any of the other gamblers?”

“No. But I did hear of a couple of gamblers that vanished in Las Vegas over a four-month period, months after my informant was murdered. That could have been the Shark cleaning up all loose ends.”

“Those gamblers could also have been men who owed money to the wrong men. It’s a high-risk business, especially when you’re losing.”

“You’re right. I have nothing linking the dead players to my informant or the girls. But again, I don’t believe in coincidences.”

Bowman also sensed these random pieces were connected. “If your informant was right, there’s one player running the games.”

“That’s my guess. And I believe the placement of this latest body in Riley’s patrol area suggests he knows who she is and he’s returned for her.”

Bowman again studied the image of the fifth victim. The only thing he was sure of now was that he wanted back in the trooper’s life.

“Protect her,” Shield said.

“Consider it done.”

Kevin held the disposable phone in his hand with his thumb hovering over the “Send” button. His stomach remained knotted after the killing, and no matter how much he tried to push the girl’s face from his mind, to exorcise the feel of the rope cutting into her neck, to shut out the sound of her last choking breaths, he could not. She haunted him. Chased him in his dreams. He’d thought killing her would be easy. She was a hopeless runaway who was selling her body on the streets. Her death shouldn’t have mattered. But it did.

Closing his eyes, he hit “Send” and slowly raised the phone to his ear. The phone rang five times, and he thought for a moment it would simply go unanswered, but then he heard a curt, “Why are you calling?”

Kevin closed his eyes. “I’m turning myself in to the cops.”

“You’re doing what?”

“I’m going to the cops. I can’t do this. I can’t live with the guilt of choking that girl to death.”

A long pause. “We made a deal. You swore secrecy.”

“I never understood why the girl had to die.”

“It’s important that I won. But it’s more important that someone else lost.”

Still light-headed from too much booze, Kevin opened his eyes and cleared his throat. He wanted these words to be clear. “I won’t bring you into this. I won’t tell.”

“That’s comforting.”

“I mean it. I won’t tell them about you.”

“You also said you would never go to the cops.”

“I won’t bring you into this. You have my word.”

“Why are you telling me this? You could have just gone to the cops.”

“To give you fair warning. To give you a chance to flee. I owe you that.”

“Why would I have to flee if you don’t tell anyone about me?”

“You know how it goes with cops. Some are smart, and events can go sideways. I don’t want you caught up in this.”

“Sideways. Like now. Like you crumbling. Do you really think talking to the cops is going to give you absolution?”

“I don’t know. But I deserve to be punished.”

“Did it ever occur to you that you did that girl a favor? Can you imagine what she would look like in five years? Ten years? She’s a whore. The streets eat up kids like her.”

“She was so young.”

“Her beauty was on the verge of fading. It was a mercy killing.”

“Mercy killing?”

“You do believe in an afterlife, correct?”

“What does that have to do with her?”

“She’s in a better place now. Besides, if the Almighty wanted her to live, then the cards would’ve turned differently. You would’ve won and she would still be alive. It wasn’t meant to be.”

Kevin pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the tightness in his chest to dissipate. “I don’t know . . .”

“What’re you really asking?”

Unshed tears choked his throat. “I don’t know.”