Fettering Shadows: A Jake Dalton Investigation

by Amy Shannon

  “About two years,” she explained. “I know you probably think I’m a little nuts or paranoid. This guy, this serial killer, stalks me but kills others, but I know it’s the same guy.”

  “All right. You keep sayin’ that. Tell me, why do you think this Icarus is your stalker?”

  She stood up and unzipped her hoodie, exposing her black linen blouse. She turned around and lifted up the back of her shirt, exposing her caduceus tattoo on her lower back.

  Jake stood up instantly, as she lowered her blouse and put her hoodie back on. “When did you get the tattoo?”

  “When I was in med school. I graduated from Johns Hopkins University about fifteen years ago.”

  “Not to be nosey, but is that the only tat that you have?”

  “I’ve got one more,” she smiled. “It’s of a heart. Not an I-love-you heart, but a human heart. I’ve got it on my hip. Do you have any tattoos?”

  “Hmm, a heart, huh, I like that. It’s different and interesting,” he found himself flirting, but then quickly cleared his throat. “I’ve got six,” he patted his chest. “My Ranger star on my chest, ya know, the five point lone star, with the wheel around it. I like representin’ who I am and who I was, so I never lose myself. The sword with the letters USMC running down it on my right arm. My left arm has two,” he rolled up his sleeves. “Lasso and rope that wraps around my arm, and the word Helena on my upper left arm.”

  “Helena?”

  “My mother,” he sighed. “She died when I was ten, and I always keep her with me. My father and I moved around a lot, because he was in the army. I was an army brat who became a Marine.”

  “I’m sure he’s proud of you,” she smiled. “So that was four, where are the other two?”

  “I’ve got a bullet hole that covers a scar of an old bullet wound in my left thigh, and I’ve got an Eagle on my back,” he explained, but surprised that he opened himself up to her that easy. “I’m sorry. Probably too much information.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be nosey. I was just interested.”

  “Well, how did you know that the girls, these new girls that were killed around here, were from Icarus or your stalker, if they are the same person?”

  “Just like the other girls, the tattoo on their lower back. I had two of the three girls come across my autopsy table. When I saw the tattoo, I called the Austin M.E’s office, and they’re sending me the records. But I really got more confirmation from your friend last night.”

  “I was fixin’ to look at the files myself. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be dragged into this, but hell, I’ve already dragged myself into it,” he looked at his watch.

  “You got somewhere to be? I can leave.”

  “Nope, I’m good. What about you? You here to hire me, or help me?”

  “Would you accept my help?”

  “You already gave me a lot of details. I could use a look at the bodies.”

  “Well, Mr. Dalton, what if I hire you to find my stalker, and I could also help with the investigation.”

  “You wanna hire me to find this serial killer, which I guess I need to do anyway?”

  “Well, what if I’m wrong, and there are two different people, a stalker, and a serial killer. I’m tired of hiding and looking over my shoulder. I don’t wanna haveta move again.”

  “Well, if that’s what you want. I’ve got a contract with a list of my fees and services,” he opened his desk drawer and pulled out a piece of paper.

  She took the paper from his hands. “Looks straight forward. Uh, you do security, too, right?”

  “Yes, that’s my primary. I mean, I do investigations, but I get hired to do temporary security for different people, sometimes the mayor, or a businessman in town, or whatever. Is that what you’re looking for?”

  “I reckon I need it,” she sighed. “I don’t know if I’m safe. Well, I know I’m not safe, but I wouldn’t need it all the time. What does it entail?”

  “Sometimes I am by your side, and other times, I’m in the shadows. Depends on what you want and when you want it.”

  “Mr. Dalton,” she extended her hand. “I’d like to hire you.”

  “That’s fine,” he said. “On one condition, Doc.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Call me Jake,” he smiled.

  3

  Jake walked into the Main Street Eats diner and scanned the booths and counter seats, as Lorraine, dressed in a black waitress-dress, wiping her hands on her white apron, walked over to him. “Mr. Dalton, you just lookin’ or you gonna eat,” she smiled. Her blonde ponytail swayed as she spoke.

  “I’m meetin’ someone. A Texas Ranger visitin’,” he explained, as he removed his Stetson.

  “Sully. Uh huh, he’s in the back with Janice, but he’s planning on sittin’ in booth three. Want me to get him?”

  “Nah, I’ll just sit down at the booth and take some coffee. I’ll wait on lunch ‘til he gets back.” Jake followed her over to the booth; he took off his long suede overcoat and hung it on the coat hook that was attached to the back of the booth. He placed his Stetson on the booth and sat next to it. He turned the coffee cup over, waiting for Lorraine to fill the cup.

  She walked behind the counter and picked up the pot. “You need cream or anythin’?”

  “Nah, there’s some here on the table,” he picked up the bowl of cream cups. “Looks like Sully was here for a while.”

  “Uh huh, sat in that booth all morning, and then went in back with Janice about an hour ago,” she walked over to the table and poured him a cup. “I reckon they like each other.”

  “Sully has that way about him,” Jake sighed. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “I’ll be back for your order when Sully comes out,” she smiled. “Oh, Mr. Dalton?”

  “Yes?” he looked up at her.

  “You’d have that way about you, too, if you let anyone get close to you.”

  “I’m good, but thanks,” he nodded.

  She nodded and walked away with the pot.

  Not ready for closeness, don’t need friends, just solitude... he sighed heavily as his thoughts wandered... just need to find Icarus. Goddammit, and maybe see Doc more. She was quite a woman. A real looker. Goddammit. Can’t think of her that way. She’s a client and she’s in trouble.

  Sully dropped a quarter on the table. “Hey, Dalton, you in there?” he dropped down in the booth across the table from Jake.

  “What?” he looked at the quarter. “What’s that? A friggin’ tip?”

  “No, a quarter. For your thoughts. You seemed lost.”

  “I ain’t friggin lost. I thought it was penny.”

  “What? Penny?”

  “For my thoughts,” he lifted up the quarter and put it in his pocket.

  “Oh, that. Uh huh, inflation. And you took my quarter without telling me what’s on your mind.”

  “Oh, well, I read the file,” he said. “And I met someone.”

  “Dr. Constantine?” Sully raised an eyebrow.

  “Uh huh, she came to my office this morning. I reckon she has a lot to offer.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she does,” he snickered.

  “You’re the one screwing in the back room, not me.”

  “It wasn’t screwin’. At least this last time. I like Janice. She’s very... uh, sensual. Anyway, you hungry?”

  “Uh huh,” Jake waved to Lorraine. “We’re ready to order. I’ll have my usual.”

  “Sounds, good, the roast beef club, on toasted white bread, with pickles and extra mayo and the house horseradish sauce,” she looked at Sully. “And you, sir?”

  “What he’s having, but without the mayo and horseradish, and add mustard.”

  “You want the pickles on the sandwich or the side,” she asked. “He eats them on the sandwich.”

  “The side is fine,” Sully nodded. “I know. He eats weird.”

  “I like my sandwich a certain way, that’s all,” he sighed. “It’s not like I eat peanut butter and chocolate on my cer
eal.” His eyes shifted to Sully.

  “Oh, well, all right,” she smiled. “I’ll bring them right out,” she walked away quickly.

  “Tellin’ my secrets to a waitress?” Sully asked.

  “Better than mine,” Jake said. “I like my privacy. I don’t need to share with the world.”

  “I bet you share more than you know. How many times a day do you eat here?”

  “Lunch and supper. I grab donuts or bagels at the bakery down the road for breakfast. I don’t cook much.”

  “You should. You’re a great cook.”

  “Well, it’s not the same when it’s just me. I do get some food, you know, for when I wish to stay in or eat late at night while I’m reading or whatever,” he stopped and glared at Sully. “I hate when you do that.”

  “What’d I do?”

  “Get me to talkin’ ‘bout myself. I’m a private person here, and that’s the way I want it.”

  “The more private someone thinks they are, the more public they actually are.”

  “Uh huh, right,” Jake muttered.

  “I’ll prove it to ya,” Sully smirked, motioning to Lorraine.

  “Can I get you two somethin’ else?” she asked.

  “Just a couple of questions,” Sully asked. “He says he’s a private person.”

  “That’s why he’s here every day,” she smiled.

  “I haveta prove a point to him. Can you tell me his favorite color?”

  “I think it’s black.”

  “Why’d ya say that?” Jake raised an eyebrow.

  “That’s all you wear. Black clothes, doesn’t matter if it’s denim or slacks, tee shirts or button-downs, always black. Black suede coat. Black cowboy boots. Black Stetson and I’m guessing you take care of that hat better than any of your clothes.”

  Sully laughed. “OK, that was too easy. Hasn’t changed that in fifteen years. All right. What’s his favorite food?”

  “Beef,” she crossed her arms. “Is this some kind of easy trivia game? He always orders beef. Roast Beef for lunch. Steak and potatoes for supper, but sometimes, it’s Prime Rib, when it’s on special. Never heard him order chicken or pork.”

  Jake crossed his arms. “I bet you don’t know my favorite drink.”

  “Coffee, with or without Whiskey, always with cream. You like that Jameson Whiskey, you know that fancy Irish stuff. Sometimes, on a whim you might drink a coke.”

  “How’d you know that?”

  “It’s a small town. On this strip is where the markets are. The bakery. The drug store slash ice cream parlor. Fanning’s Grocer. J & T Liquor store, and then there’s that pork BBQ place on the other side of Main Street. You should know it, you work and live across from it, but I heard you never go in. We ain’t the only food in town, just where you eat.”

  “This is all very enlightening, but is our lunch ready yet?” he muttered, crossing his arms.

  “Order up,” the man’s voice said from the kitchen, as he placed two plates on the food counter, which separated the diner from the kitchen.

  “That’s yours,” she smiled. “I’ll be right back.”

  “I get your goddamn point. So? They know me. It’s a friggin’ small town. They don’t know everything.”

  “The stuff they don’t know, they probably assume or guess. It’s the ones who try to keep to themselves that everyone wants to figure out. You’re not the town creep or recluse, just the one everyone is curious about if they don’t wanna hire you for whatever reason. People live in small towns for a reason.”

  “I guess,” he said as Lorraine set their plates in front of them. “I’m sorry I was an ass, Miss. Lorraine.”

  “It’s all right, Mr. Dalton,” she nodded. “You weren’t,” she walked away toward the kitchen.

  “After we eat, you and I really need to talk,” Jake said.

  “Your office,” he said. “As I said, small town, everyone is curious. The town doesn’t know who or what just hit it yet. I’d like to keep it quiet right now.”

  “I agree,” Jake took a bite of his sandwich.

  4

  Jake walked into his small home, tossing his jacket on the coat rack by the front door, and carefully laying his Stetson on the shelf made just for his hat. He walked through the living room, turning on the turntable of the stereo, blaring Elvis Presley, making his way toward the kitchen. He turned on the coffee maker, grabbed his large plain black mug from the dish strainer, and set it in front of the pot.

  He opened the cabinet above the coffeemaker, grabbing the smaller bottle of Jameson. He filled the mug half way with the whiskey, and then put the bottle on the counter. When the coffee finished, he poured some in the mug to top it off. He took his mug toward the living room, grabbing the half bag of Ginger Snap cookies on his way. He turned up the sound on the stereo, listening intently to I’m so lonesome I could cry. He sat on the sofa that was in the middle of the living room and faced the television. He pushed off his cowboy boots with his feet and put his feet on the table, as he picked up the remote. He turned on the television and the Blu-ray player, and clicked on the next episode of The Rifleman. He liked watching the show, volume turned down as he listened to his music. He didn’t think of himself as a cowboy, but he was able to relate to the comfort of the clothes, boots, and Stetson and he thought some of his tastes defined him. Though, as far as Texans would go, he only wanted to ever ride one horse in his life, and that was Patches, a loving eight-year old Mustang mare. She was unable to make the trip with him, so he sold her to the stable owner where he kept her boarded. Her photo was the only one he kept on the living room wall. Other than that, it was white and blank.

  I’m more complicated, ain’t I? He thought to himself, dunking his Ginger Snaps into his coffee. He wasn’t even sure why he was contemplating his life now, as he was satisfied. Well, he was until Sully stirred things up. It wasn’t just about Icarus, or that looker Dr. Constantine, but how he liked being private, but he wasn’t as private as he thought. He pushed the old thoughts of Elaine out of his mind. He tried not to think of his father, who disowned him the minute he joined the Marines. General Gerald Dalton. Yeah, five star general who cared more about the Army and his reputation than the happiness of his own son. Whatever! Goddamned thoughts. He stood up quickly, turned off the music, and turned the volume up on the television. Now that’s a father, he said aloud to the television, watching intently at Lucas McCain, the rifleman who raised his son, Mark all by himself. He placed his feet on the coffee table, dunking another cookie in his Whiskey slash coffee.

  For three hours exactly, he watched several episodes and then, he turned everything off, the television, Blu-ray player, and grabbed his empty coffee mug and headed through the kitchen. He turned off the coffeepot and rinsed out his mug, setting it in the dish strainer, and headed toward his bedroom door.

  Everything in his home was in a straight line, from front door, to living room, to kitchen, and to his bedroom. The only thing not so linear was his basement, where he had his laundry room and darkroom for his photos, and his master bath that was off his bedroom. His home was just the way he designed it perfectly to meet his needs, as he was a man of simple needs. He removed all of his clothes, including his boxers, and tossed them in the hamper that was in the corner of the room.

  He walked over to the queen-sized bed, pulled down the black and white print comforter, followed by the black blanket and white top sheet. He got into bed, resting in the middle, where his head met the pillows piled high. He reached over to the right nightstand, turned on his alarm clock for the morning. He pressed down the play button on his cassette player that started to play Marvin Gaye’s Greatest Hits. He pulled the sheet and the blanket over him, covering his naked body up to his chest. He picked up the paperback book that was on the nightstand on the left side of the bed. He removed the bookmark and started the next chapter in The Lone Gunman: A Sniper’s nest. It was a book written by one of his friends in the Marines. They were in the same battalion together, an
d even went through the same sniper training. He always felt like Smitty aka Joseph Allen Smith was brave for putting his thoughts on paper, where Jake kept most of his in his head. Jake lost count of how many times he’s read this book, but this iteration set him on chapter 10, and tonight, he would end on chapter 14.

  His bedroom was a basic room, where one wall displayed ten belt buckles, hanging on a pegboard. His bed was positioned in the middle of the room against the far wall. One wall consisted of sliding glass doors that led to his yard and they were always locked, but the large dark curtains were always closed. He had windows on each side of his bed, over the nightstands, and a skylight above the bed. His dresser sat between his closet and his bathroom, which had shelves between the room and the bathroom area, for his linens. On top of his dresser was a photo of him and his parents, when he was younger, and another photo of his mother, taken a few years before she died. He had one picture of his father, hanging on the inside of the closet door, so he could still torture himself now and then. A large mirror hung above his dresser. Everything was in its own place, just as he needed it to be. Structured with the things he could control, since not everything in life was controllable.

  The alarm blared in harmony with the radio, set to Jake’s favorite oldies station, as he stirred and opened his eyes. Jake rolled over and pressed the off button on his alarm, leaving the radio to continue to play. He climbed out of bed, then straightened his white top sheet, his black blanket, and then pulled the black and white print comforter to cover the entire bed. He fluffed the four pillows and headed directly into the bathroom, grabbing his towel off the shelf on the way into the bathroom.

  After he got dressed in his black tee shirt and black denim jeans, he tightened his belt around his waist, attaching his silver oval belt buckle depicting the Marine symbol of the eagle, globe, and anchor. All of his belt buckles symbolized his days in the Marines. He had to stop wearing his Ranger belt, but he still displayed it on his wall of buckles. He was proud to have served in Desert Storm, especially being a part of something so important at such a young age. He entered Desert Storm when he was 19. And he was proud to return home to continue to serve his country, even if it was just the country of Texas, as a Ranger. Now, he had his own thing to do. He learned early enough that nothing was set in stone, and no plans could change the obstacles that life tossed at him. He learned that when he found out why Elaine really left. He figured it was from the scar, but that was only part of it. Now, he hoped that Sully didn’t find out the truth about that. Sully was too damn good of a detective, and that’s why he stayed with investigations, instead of moving to one of the more organized and specialized units of the Texas Rangers.