Storm Vengeance

by Pamela Cowan

  “I was going to call you,” Lauren said, breaking Storm’s train of thought. “I heard from Mike, my investigator. He says your mom’s in Nevada. She’s been using her credit card to buy gas. Last place was a little town outside Reno. He says if she does it again, he’ll figure she’s staying there and not just going through.”

  Storm nodded. “That makes sense. I wonder what she’s doing in Nevada. She lives in California.”

  “Beats me. Maybe she’s there with your dad.”

  Storm shook her head and smiled ruefully. “We’ve gone over this. Trust me, they’re not together.”

  “Well, but maybe she knows where he is.”

  “I doubt that.”

  Lauren shrugged. “Well anyway, there’s more. While he’s been looking into this, Mike’s been talking to a lot of locals trying to get a line on your dad. You know he took off after staying at a halfway house for a short time, but the hope was he’d made some friends, maybe reconnected with someone he’d met inside. I don’t know if that happened, but one thing that did come up was that there’s someone else out there, and they’re asking the same questions.”

  “What?”

  “Someone else is talking to people about your dad, but it’s not just your dad. They’re also asking about your mom, your friends, even your coworkers. Storm, I think someone’s out there investigating you.”

  “Me?” Storm sat back, crossed her arms.” Why would anyone be investigating me?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it? I’ve got Mike asking around, trying to figure it out. He should have something eventually.”

  “How long is eventually?” Storm said, mostly to herself. She wasn’t surprised when Lauren shrugged at the rhetorical question.

  The waitress arrived, a thin blond with her hair in a high pony tail and the tattoo of a raven on her neck. She was young and animated, her energy at odds with Storm’s more thoughtful mood. Lauren placed her order, and then Storm placed hers, managed a reasonably courteous “Thank you” and watched the bubbly young woman disappear into the kitchen.

  After she’d left them, Storm leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. Absently she began to pluck at the cuff of her right sleeve, tugging it down over the scar that marred the skin on the back of her arm just above her wrist.

  “This thing your guy discovered worries me,” she told Lauren. “I can’t pretend it doesn’t. But there’s nothing I can do about it. For now, I’m going to let it go, and try not to think about it. There’s something more important that I need to talk to you about, a report I read.”

  Taking a deep breath, she spoke softly, not in a whisper which might arouse interest, but in a tone that would be hard to hear if someone were even a few feet away, and shared the relevant details from the CARES report. When she was done, she sat back and waited for a response. She didn’t have to wait long.

  “When do we get them?” Lauren asked, her green eyes ablaze.

  Storm smiled. “Day after tomorrow.”

  “Thursday?” Lauren whistled between her teeth. “That soon.”

  “The sooner the better.”

  They talked for a few minutes and then their lunch arrived. This time Storm was able to joke with the waitress and share some of her upbeat mood. Lauren’s eagerness had been all the vindication Storm needed.

  Storm knew that the CARES report had triggered the memory of herself as a victim, made her remember the sense of helplessness, of fear so heavy and smothering it became a presence, a force that was beyond all defenses. She did not like being controlled, even by her own emotions, but if she could control her emotions and use them. . . That was different.

  The remembered sense of helplessness and vulnerability, of being forced into a corner from which she could not escape had once felt like a weakness, but later she’d learned to use it to fuel her anger. She just wanted to be sure that her anger, this anger, was righteous and just. Lauren made her believe it was. She had missed that sense of outrage and the certainty of purpose that had driven her and Howard back in the beginning. She welcomed it now with a sense of calm fatalism.

  Her only regret was that she had a family that she had not always been able to protect from this part of her life. Not everyone should be made aware of the cruelty in the world, to see the ugliness that she knew was there. Unfortunately, by taking herself so close to evil, she brought them a little closer as well.

  Lauren said, “How do you want to—”

  “We’ll go find a quiet place to talk after we’re done. But don’t worry, she’s a client, and this time I don’t care if I break the rule about no connections. I’ve got her file and all the information we need. This one will be easy.”

  Lauren followed Storm to a neighborhood park close to where she worked. Bagley Park was a rectangular strip of well-groomed grass bordered by mid-century homes with neat yards and fading paint. At each end of the rectangle was a roofed pavilion with two picnic tables that gave a wide view of the park.

  In summer, families had picnics on the lawn and workers would eat their bag lunches and enjoy the sun. In the damp gray of winter the park was nearly deserted.

  Choosing the nearest pavilion, Lauren and Storm sat at one of the two sheltered picnic tables. As soon as she was settled, Storm rolled her head and her

  Shoulders, working the tension from them. The small ache of a headache pulsed at the base of her skull.

  “You okay?” Lauren asked.

  Storm nodded, “Just pre-game jitters. We have to move fast. Not much time for planning. I expect that warrant to come through soon. The good news is that my husband’s going out of town tonight, and I have a babysitter lined up for tomorrow.”

  “Sounds like your leash is longer than usual,” Lauren said.

  Disliking the phrase but appreciating the truth of the statement, Storm didn’t respond.

  “So, what are we going to do?” Lauren asked.

  “First thing we have to think about is we don’t have a good way to get rid of the bodies,” Storm replied. “The husband’s a hog, at least 400 pounds.”

  “So we can’t move him,” said Lauren, stating the obvious. “We’ll have to get them to move themselves, like I did with you. We could use the wire trick.”

  “You mean get them into one of our cars and drive them somewhere?”

  “Not just somewhere. My place. Use the basement again?”

  Storm shook her head. “I can’t see it. It’s not that I don’t think we could get them in the car,” she hurried to add. “The wire thing is brilliant, a real equalizer.”

  Lauren beamed at the compliment and said, “So, what then?”

  “So, I don’t know what. That’s why we’re here. But I know there’s no way we’d ever dig a hole deep enough, even if we did get him to walk right into it.”

  A car pulled over and parallel parked near the end of the block. A woman in a puffy black jacket and jeans got out and walked to the pavilion at the opposite end of the park. She put an oversized purse on the table, dug a book out of it, and then took a seat facing them, then she hunched over her book and read, as if completely absorbed. Storm was sure she was out of earshot, but she still lowered her voice.

  “I’d rather we do it at their house. Maybe set the house on fire as a—what do they call it on those crime shows?—a forensic counter measure.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” agreed Lauren. “We could use the insulin again. Worked fine last time.”

  “We could, but what they did, what they put those kids through. . . ”

  “You think the insulin is too fast. You think they should suffer.”

  Storm nodded. “We always tried to make the punishment fit the crime, me and Howard. Death of course, for the betrayal of trust, but pain too. Sometimes—a lot of times—Howard went beyond what I would have done. This time. I think this time even Howard couldn’t invent a punishment bad enough.”

  “Well, there’s a reason they used to turn captives over to the women to deal with.”<
br />
  Storm smiled, “So true.”

  “So we do this tomorrow night?”

  Storm nodded. “I’ve driven by their house a few times. They’re hiding out. Staying behind closed curtains and out of sight.”

  “If you haven’t seen them, how can you be so sure they’re there?”

  “I saw a grocery delivery truck pulling out. They must be having their food delivered. Also, they’ve got a fireplace, and every time I’ve gone by it’s been smoking. They’re in there.”

  “What about the police? Aren’t they keeping an eye on them in case they run?”

  Storm tugged at her cuffs. “Not likely. Until a judge issues a warrant, they aren’t really on the radar. Even the media hasn’t heard about it yet, so no reporters are hanging around, but I expect that to change soon. It’s all about getting things done fast.”

  “It’s going to be tough to follow your rules. We’re already breaking one of them. She’s one of your clients, so the ‘no connections’ thing is a problem.”

  “Yes, and without being able to take them out of the house, getting rid of the bodies is going to be tricky. Plus, we’ll have to use my gun again.”

  “Well, you know what they say, rules are made to be broken.”

  “Well, my rules were made to keep me from going to prison, and so far they’ve worked. I’m not really comfortable about this.”

  “If we didn’t have to move so quickly, we could take the time to find a better way. Maybe we could scout out a place where bodies would never be found. I know we said there really isn’t any truly remote places, but that can’t be true. I’ve been thinking about it more, and didn’t the Green River killer hide like fifty bodies?”

  Storm shrugged. “I guess. And I agree that we need to find a solution, but I don’t want to think we’re anything like Gary Ridgway, or any of those other monsters. They killed randomly. We aren’t killers. We’re more like executioners carrying out a sentence, doing what’s right. You get that, don’t you?”

  “Of course. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Good. So, let’s work this out. “

  Twenty minutes later Lauren got up stiffly.

  “Dang it’s cold,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “I’m going to find a drive-through coffee place and go home and get a hot shower. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Storm nodded. “I’ve got to get back to work. Tomorrow after work I’ll run home, feed the kids, and make sure they do their homework. I thought it would look weird if I went out at midnight, so I’ve arranged for the sitter to show up at eight. I’m going to park somewhere and do some reading, probably sleep in the car for a while.”

  “You could rent a hotel room for a few hours.”

  “Thought of that, but what if they ask for I.D.? It would look odd.”

  “Only if someone was looking.”

  “From what you told me, someone already is. Have you heard anything else from your investigator.”

  “No. Nothing. Last report I had was what I told you before. He has a lead on your mother and nothing at all on your father.

  “As far as the other investigator—the one someone else hired—he said he’s been asking some questions about you and Howard but doesn’t seem to have learned what he wanted to know. Anyway, he’s still out there poking around. If I hear anything new, you’ll be the first to hear it.”

  “I appreciate that,” said Storm. “Knowing someone’s out there asking about me—it’s a little disturbing.”

  “More than a little.”

  “Yes, more than a little. Well hey, I’d better go. I’m freezing,” said Storm.

  “Me to,” said Lauren, sniffling. “This damp weather is killing me. I may have to find a warm beach and bake for a while.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Storm said. She stood up then, reached down to tug the zipper of her coat up higher. As Lauren got in her car and drove away, Storm removed her scarf, then slowly rewound it around her neck. While she did this, she kept a wary eye on the woman at the other side of the park. She wasn’t surprised to see her tuck the paperback she’d been reading back in her purse, swing her legs over the bench, and stand.

  Storm moved fast. By the time she reached for the door handle of her car, Storm was standing there, blocking her way.

  The woman dropped her hand and looked over her glasses at Storm with an expectant lift of her brows. She didn’t seem at all surprised. Storm moved in close, invading the woman’s personal space. She knew it was unnerving, even confrontational. She wanted it to be.

  “Who are you?” Storm asked softly but clearly.

  “Who am I?”

  “Yes. Don’t play stupid with me. I saw you in the restaurant, in front of the courthouse, now here. You show up everywhere I go, and that’s not a coincidence. I know you’re a private investigator and that you’re following me. Who are you? Who do you work for?”

  Finally the dark-haired woman seemed to lose her calm facade. Behind her glasses, her eyes had grown wide. Biting nervously at her lower lip, she seemed to steel herself, then started to step aside and around Storm.

  Storm stepped right back into her path. “Come on,” she said, “you’re caught. You might as well tell me what I want to know. I’m not letting you leave until you do.”

  “I don’t know how you’d stop . . .” Then, seeing something in Storm’s expression, she said, “Look, I’m not an investigator, and I’m not following you.” Pointing with her chin in the direction Lauren had gone, she said, “I’m following her.”

  For a moment Storm didn’t know what to say, but then, “You’re following Lauren? Why? Who are you?”

  “Tristan. My name’s Tristan Garrity.” She reached into a pocket of her jacket and withdrew a hard-shelled card holder. From it she fumbled out a card and handed it over. Storm read the name centered in fancy script, Tristan Garrity, LMHC, and beneath it, in a sans serif font that was all business, Licensed Mental Health Counselor. “Let’s go sit down,” the woman suggested.

  Storm followed her back to the table she’d just vacated and sat down across from her.

  “I’m sorry if you thought I was following you,” the woman said. “It must have been disturbing.”

  “It was. At worst I figured you were related to one of my clients or at best a private investigator working for one of them. I seem to see you everywhere I go.”

  Pushing her glasses up on the bridge of her nose with one forefinger, the woman stared hard at Storm, a frown furrowing her forehead.

  “I see. Well, as I already told you, I’m neither of those things. I’m a counselor, and the only reason you keep seeing me is because you keep seeing Lauren.”

  Storm couldn’t control her nervousness. It was obvious in the way she kept moving her hands, smoothing her hair, tugging at her scarf.

  “So, you’re a counselor, and you’re following Lauren,” said Storm. “But why would you do that? Isn’t that sort of above and beyond, not to mention strange, for a counselor?”

  “Depends on how rich you are. Money can buy some interesting, and, yes, strange services.” She reached in her jacket pocket. “Hope you don’t mind,” she said, and, without waiting for an answer, shook a menthol cigarette out of a pack and lit up. She inhaled and made a small, contented sigh. “Also, if you’re rich enough, there isn’t anything above and beyond.” She took another long drag and blew the smoke out slowly. It spiraled away on the gathering breeze.

  “I guess not,” agreed Storm, waiting for the woman, Tristan, she reminded herself, to continue.

  “Her folks are rich enough, for sure. They hired me to be her full-time counselor. I thought it would be a great job. A single client, more money than I’d make at a nonprofit.” Tristan rolled her eyes, as if making fun of herself.

  “I gather it hasn’t been that great.”

  “The woman is, and I don’t use this term lightly, a nut cake. She spends half her time ducking out on me, the other half calling me to tell me where she is and how
I better hurry or she’ll do something self-destructive, like open a vein or jump off a bridge. I know it’s not right, but there are times I wish she would, if just to break the pattern.” Tristan gave a tired smile, but then drew herself up and said, “Anyway, I can’t talk about a client. I really can’t. Just telling you that she is a client is already over the line. That said, I also have an obligation to be sure no one comes to any harm so I don’t feel bad warning you.”

  “Warning me?” Storm asked.

  “Yes. You need to think about maybe not getting too close to Lauren. She may seem okay, but she’s not, and one of these days she’ll take off again. She’ll end up in some other drama. Anyway, I gotta go. She’s driven off, and I know she wanted to see me because she called this morning. I thought we’d talk after you left, but I guess I’m in for another game of catch-me-if-you-can. Round 225,” Tristan said ruefully.

  Obviously no tree hugger, she dropped the butt of her cigarette on the grass, and then stood and ground it out with the toe of her shoe. With a curt nod, she strolled to her car and drove away.

  Storm sat there as the light mist turned into a drizzle, and the drizzle into a torrent. When the roof of the pavilion began to leak and drops of icy water slid down her neck, her only reaction was to slide a few inches out of range.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  TOM HAD A LATE ENOUGH flight that Storm was able to drive him to the airport. She walked with him to the security checkpoint and then stood awkwardly, not sure how to say goodbye. During the drive, their usual banter had been replaced by a rare and lengthy silence.

  “I guess I’ll see you in a few days,” she finally said.

  “Yep. I’ll miss you, and the kids, of course.”

  “I’ll miss you too.”

  Their goodbye kiss was lacking in passion. As Tom broke away, Storm was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of loss. She turned and put her arms around him, hugging him to her desperately. He hugged her back, his strong hands pulling her hard against him. Storm closed her eyes and breathed deep, taking in the scent of Tom’s familiar cologne, feeling the warmth of his body.