by Lori L. Lake
"Nothing, Daria. Into every life a little rain does fall. It's our turn for the deluge."
"It's not funny."
"No, it's not."
"Then why are you taking it so lightly? This sucks."
"I know, but we just have to keep on track as best we can. And I've got to go now."
Daria sat up. "You're kidding, right? You should stay home and rest."
"Oh, please. I've got work to do. Besides, my car is still over at DHS."
"I'll drive you then." She slid off the bed and nabbed one of her shoes with a toe.
"You don't need to. My coworker Thom is out front waiting."
Daria slumped back on the bed. "Jesus, I need a drink."
"Go take a whirlpool instead. Please don't get drunk. I'll be home in a few hours, and we can go out to dinner and commiserate."
Daria put her forearm over her eyes and mumbled something noncommittal. All Leo could do was lean down and kiss her jaw.
"I'll come home once these case details are sorted out."
Chapter Twenty-Six
LEO ARRIVED HOME shortly before five p.m., but Daria wasn't there. Once she lowered herself into the recliner, Leo fell into a deep sleep and wasn't awakened until much later when a booming crash of thunder shook the house. Lightning flashed so brightly that it stabbed through the cracks in the blinds and illuminated the room briefly. Even after the storm moved off into the distance, Leo continued to hear wind howling and rain crashing down against the side of the house.
She didn't move from the chair. Her arm throbbed in concert with a pulse beating behind her eye. A painkiller would help, but she was too tired to get up for it. She didn't feel at all rested, but a feeling of satisfaction kept her from grumbling about her cuts and scrapes.
After her hospital visit and as soon as she'd arrived at DHS, Ralph Sorensen summoned her and Thom to his office. He heard their story, congratulated them, and gave a five-minute speech about how their jobs weren't to solve crimes but to clear DHS cases. He was pleased they'd helped catch a murderer, but he encouraged them to quit being hotdogs and focus on the backlog.
She did have to chuckle at Fred Baldur's expense. He still hadn't gotten the report he kept demanding.
Sorensen sent them off to the Minneapolis Police Department, and they were there for hours answering questions and sharing their findings and paperwork. The time passed quickly with the exhilaration of closing the case keeping her going every bit as much as the coffee she kept downing.
But all that caffeine had worn off, and she was glad to be home. She hoped Ted Trimble had been cleared of the charges against him. She was certain he was innocent. She hadn't often come into contact with such a cold, heartless bitch as Victoria Bishop. She recalled a drug dealer who'd sold poisoned crack despite knowing it was bad. Three people died, but he didn't care. Over the years, she'd arrested a number of other felons who lacked consciences: thieves, rapists, wife beaters, and child abusers, but it was amazing how often lying con artists like Victoria Bishop could stay hidden. They put on a good show and simply didn't care about anybody else but themselves.
Because Bishop couldn't care about other people, Leo had a hard time believing Ted Trimble had anything to do with her. Sociopaths like her didn't have the capacity to collaborate with others. They hatched and carried out their devious plots alone. If they had a sidekick, he was usually a real dummy—and real temporary as well.
She shifted in the chair and lowered the footrest. Already her cuts and abrasions had sealed up, and if she moved the wrong way, it felt like she was ripping open the scabs. Shuffling along like an old woman, she went to the kitchen to make a snack.
In the middle of eating toast and tea, her cell phone rang. The connection was scratchy, and she didn't understand the caller's accent at first. After twice asking the man to repeat himself, Leo realized it was Franklin Callaghan from Rivers' Edge.
"I am sorry to call so late, lass, but I am concerned about Eleanor. We heard that Miss Callie's killer is arrested, so has Eleanor been with the police today?"
"Not that I know of. What's wrong?"
"She's not been home all day. She whisked out of here last night like a bampot. Not even a word of goodbye to me."
"A—a what? Like a vampire?"
"Oh, no—like a bampot. As though she was slightly unhinged."
"When was this?"
"Around dinnertime last night. She jumped in her auto and roared off and didnae come back all through the night. Habibah listened for her. I meself was up until midnight, and she never returned."
"Has anyone called the police?"
"Mrs. Hoxley said she would if Eleanor didn't arrive by tomorrow morn, but I'm fair worried now. I know she's only been here a few months, but it's not like her to bolt with not a bit of explanation."
"I'll check on this. Thanks, Franklin."
"It's me pleasure to help, lass. I hope she turns up and the ruckus is all for nothing."
After they hung up, Leo sat for a moment contemplating. Did Eleanor have a cell phone? She didn't recall ever getting a number from her. Leo stood, bones aching and skin pinching, went to her valise, and pulled out her notebook. The only phone number she had listed for Eleanor was marked "LL"—landline.
She called Thom's cell and explained the issue.
"Have you talked to Flanagan or DeWitt?" he asked.
"Not yet."
"You ring Flanagan, I'll try DeWitt. Call me when you get off the phone."
When Leo reached the homicide cop, Flanagan was curt. "She's a big girl," he said. "She can go wherever she wants."
"But she's reliable. This doesn't sound like her."
"Contact me in 72 hours if she doesn't turn up." He terminated the connection.
Leo cursed under her breath. She knew he was tired and overworked, but she hated when cops weren't helpful. She called Thom back.
He said, "I couldn't reach DeWitt."
"I probably got through to his ass of a partner quicker, so he knew not to pick up." She told Thom what Flanagan had said.
"Guess it's up to us, Leo. Let's go looking."
"But where?"
"Let's start with the family. I'll come by and pick you up in the van."
Leo grabbed a shoulder bag and stuffed in her badge, notebook, and wallet. On second thought, she added her holstered off-duty weapon. She didn't think she'd need it, but it never hurt to have it. Cell phone in pocket, and she was ready to go.
VISITS TO THE houses of Ted Trimble and his father, Howard, turned up no news. Ted informed them he'd been trying to call Eleanor all day and requested that when they found her she should call him ASAP.
Back in the van, Leo suggested Thom drive by the library in Saint Paul. Eleanor's branch was open, but they didn't see her car in the parking lot, and Leo verified she wasn't at the weekly book group.
Back in the van, Thom asked, "She took her own car, right?"
"That's what Franklin Callaghan said."
"Where else do we look?"
Neither of them had an idea, so they cruised around Saint Paul, up on Rice Street behind the capital, down into Frogtown, and along Snelling Avenue toward Hamline University.
Leo sat delicately, wincing with every bump they hit. Her stomach felt like she'd swallowed lead. Strange thoughts bothered her. What had Victoria Bishop said? You're not as smart as you think you are… Something along those lines.
"Thom, did we ever discover where Victoria Bishop lived?"
"No, I didn't. Maybe the police did? Call 'em."
She was shocked that Flanagan picked up again, but he was surly. "What now?" he demanded.
"Did you ever find out where the Bishop woman lived?"
"Yes. In Saint Paul. Crime scene techs have been processing the apartment all day."
"What's the address?"
"Why the hell do you need to know that? You can't get in there now. It's a crime scene."
"I don't want to get in, Detective. I want to know if there's a basement or
laundry room or storage locker or someplace on the premises that Victoria Bishop could have stashed an old lady."
"You still all het up about the Sinclair woman?"
"Yes. I've got a bad feeling something's wrong and that Bishop's responsible."
He let out a sigh. "All right. I'll tell you the address, but you promise me you won't step foot across the threshold."
"I promise." For a moment she thought of sending Thom in—he couldn't "step foot across"—but she wasn't going to press her luck.
"Ring the bell if you like and tell the techs I sent you to ask about a damn hidey-hole. They'll let you know you're worrying about nothing. I'm sure they've gone over the place with a fine-tooth comb."
The address he gave her was just off Lexington Avenue. Thom reversed course and headed that way.
"You going to claim this as overtime?" Thom asked.
"Didn't occur to me. You?"
"Nah, no need to. I didn't have anything else to do tonight anyway. Twins got rained out in Oakland, and my pals are crashing early. Or hey wait—maybe we should claim the OT and torture old Baldurdash. He gets his knickers in a knot anytime anyone gets comp time or OT."
"You torture the man way too much, Thom."
"He deserves it."
The rain had stopped, but the sky was overcast and the sun nowhere to be seen. "It's getting late," Leo said.
"Yup." Thom waited at a light and turned down a side street.
Up ahead, a couple of blocks down, Leo saw the spire of a church steeple. "Isn't that Saint Vladimir's?"
"You bet."
"No wonder Victoria, or whatever her name is, went to that church. It wasn't far from her house after all."
"Nope. Here's the address for Ms. Bishop, oh she of the Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Or maybe it's Anti-Social Personality Disorder. She's definitely disordered—"
"Thom," Leo interrupted, "I think we should swing by the church, then go to the apartment."
"Ohhh-kay. Why?"
"I don't know. I just have a hunch."
Leo pointed to a car parked on the street near Saint Vladimir's side entrance. "Wonder if that's Eleanor's car?"
"Long shot."
"I'm checking." Leo phoned the Saint Paul Police Department, identified herself, and asked to run a license plate on a green Saturn sedan. After a moment she flipped the phone shut. "Unbelievable. It's actually hers."
"Let's go," Thom said.
Leo was already exiting the van. She ran up the stairs and pulled on the handle for the side door. Locked. By the time Thom was in his wheelchair, she'd jogged to the front entrance and found it closed as well.
"Did you knock?" Thom asked.
"I bet no one's there." She hurried past him to the van, pulled out her bag, and dumped the contents on the seat.
Thom rolled the chair over and waited on the sidewalk. "Hey, you brought your gun."
"I did. I've felt naked these last few days without it."
Jokingly he said, "Are you going to use it to shoot the locks off the church door?"
"Nope." She scooped up her notebook and thumbed through it. "I'm calling Jo Ellen Wiesniak and hoping she's home."
Jo Ellen picked up on the second ring, and Leo quickly explained what she needed. She hung up and, still standing, leaned back against the van's seat. "She said she'll be here in a few minutes. She has a key."
Leo felt like a bird dog on the hunt. She could smell her quarry, and she was antsy to start tracking. She looked up at the darkening evening. As she gazed up at the unfinished church roof, she saw movement in the steeple, and a flock of birds rose into the dark gray sky. Squinting, she realized the creatures weren't birds—they were bats. The sight gave her the shivers.
A sleek red sports car motored down the avenue and came to a stop across the street. Jo Ellen hefted herself up out of the low-slung convertible and hurried across the street, keys in hand.
"I got here as fast as I could."
"Thank you." Leo slammed the van door and hastened down the sidewalk, introducing the woman to Thom as they headed to the front of the church.
It seemed to take forever for Jo Ellen to force the door open. "I never use this key," she said. "It's an ancient old thing."
Once inside, all was dark. Leo said, "Thom, why don't you check the back halls and the pastoral offices?"
Jo Ellen said, "I'll look in the balcony."
Leo went up the center aisle of the church, moving quickly toward the bloody Jesus dangling overhead. The body hanging above still gave her the willies and a deep sense of foreboding. Under the dimness of the sanctuary candle, she hunted around the altar area and in the sacristy and its walk-in closet. Nothing. She stood thinking behind the chancel rail. Where could a slender older woman be hidden? Obviously not here in the commonly used section of the church. She almost missed a door across from the choir area. When she opened it, she found the giant pipes from the organ, but no Eleanor Sinclair.
Jo Ellen came hustling down the center aisle and called out, "Nothing upstairs or in the Cry Room or the front restrooms."
Thom came through the side door and wheeled swiftly along the west transept to meet Leo and Jo Ellen at the sanctuary crossing. "I couldn't get into every office," he said, "but they all have windows in the upper half and I couldn't see anything out of order."
Jo Ellen said, "Let's go downstairs." She led them to the elevator around the side of the sanctuary. As soon as she pushed the call button, the door opened.
Leo's stomach was tight, and her head had gradually begun to pound. As the door opened to the lower level, she remembered the bats outside and shuddered.
The basement was dank and chilly, and the air smelled like nothing fresh had made its way down there for ages. A sharp pulse of pain ripped through her right temple. She didn't know why odors did that to her. She hoped they could make a quick search and find Eleanor so she could get the hell out.
The walls were a sinister green, and the dim passage didn't afford enough light for Leo to see very far ahead.
Thom said, "I feel like we should be saying, 'Lions, and tigers, and bears, oh my.'"
"Yeah," Jo Ellen said, "it's creepy down here. Even during the day. I'm not looking forward to searching these little rooms."
"They're like cells," Leo said. "Let's each take a room and look, then move on. I wish I'd thought to bring a flashlight. Is there a main light panel we can access?"
"No," Jo Ellen said, "just feel inside the door. Each room does have a light switch—they're just not all in the same place on the wall. You have to hunt."
Great, Leo thought. I'll just feel around while saying, "Spiders, and insects, and bugs, oh my," and hope nothing drops into my hair.
The first room she entered was full of janitorial supplies. She couldn't find any secret entrances or hidden alcoves, so she left the light on and moved down the hall to the next darkened room. She felt around for the switch and illuminated thirteen upright vacuum cleaners standing along the wall three rows deep, like skinny metal soldiers kept from the battle. Along the interior wall adjacent to the corridor sat six more canister vacuums that weren't viewable from the hallway. Leo opened a closet door and dust wafted out. She sneezed.
"Bless you," Thom hollered. He rolled by the doorway. "Nothing so far."
Jo Ellen said, "When I get to work tomorrow, I'm going to arrange to have all this crap carted off to the dump. I mean, really! Do any of those vacuums even work?" She flicked on the light for the council room and stepped inside.
Thom wheeled out of the last room. "I don't think she's down here, Leo."
"Her car's here. Where else could she be?"
"Bishop could have taken her from the car and never come in the church."
"Let's look one more time upstairs," Leo said.
"Maybe we should look more carefully in the offices. From chair level, maybe I missed something."
Jo Ellen snapped off the light to the council room. "I'll get the keys to the offices."
But back upstairs, nothing new was revealed. Leo's head kept on pounding, and her sense of doom intensified. "Maybe we should walk the grounds and check in the flower beds."
Jo Ellen took the lead from the altar toward the entry, and Leo followed Thom. With every step Leo took, her head pounded more. She put her fingertips to her temples and rubbed. At the doorway to the narthex, she paused and closed her eyes, breathing deeply as she tried to soothe the pain. When she opened her eyes, she nearly missed it. She'd even taken a step toward the front door when the realization hit her, and she turned back and squatted down. Her bandaged knee screamed with pain, but she ignored it.
"You guys, wait!" She reached down to the bright red carpet and touched a misshapen spot the size of the palm of her hand. "I think this is blood." The fibers in the short nap were stuck together by something dry and dark. If it had been fresh blood, she might never have noticed, but it had been there long enough to turn rust brown and contrast with the carpet.
She rose and inched down the aisle, followed by Jo Ellen and Thom. She didn't find any more stains down the east transept, but when she went to the west and around the corner to the elevator, she found several more spots they'd overlooked.
"Is there an exit from the basement?" she asked.
Jo Ellen shook her head. "No. There are only those fake windows in the council room, and you can't open them. If there's ever a fire we'll all roast."
"We must have missed something downstairs," Leo said. "Let's look again."
Back in the creepy passageway, they agreed to search different rooms than they had examined the first time. This time they knocked on walls and searched for any kind of cabinet or alcove. They found the same supplies and vacuums, boxes, and junk. Jo Ellen even moved the boxes out of the way in one cell to see if there was a secret door behind them. No luck.
Leo turned on the light to the council room. The bookcases looked suspicious. She tugged on shelves and knocked on the walls behind the books. Everything was solid. There were no secret passageways behind the faux windows or where the Stations of the Cross hung. The room was empty of all but the giant council table and chairs.
