Teffinger raked his hair back with his fingers.
“It’s all hocus-pocus,” he said. “I don’t believe in anything like that. Never have and never will.”
“Well, my advice is that you start,” she said.
He chuckled.
“You can’t believe how much advice I’m getting today.”
“Are you taking any of it?”
“Of course not.”
“Not even mine?”
“Especially yours.”
She punched him on the arm.
“Think about it Nick,” she said. “Ripley puts a curse on you—obviously within the last three weeks because of the date of the article. And then yesterday, you almost got shot.”
“That’s something from an old case.”
“Is it?”
AFTER SUPPER, they hiked up the draw to the top of Green Mountain. From there, they could see Denver, the airport, and halfway to Kansas.
“You said commissioned before,” Teffinger said.
“Huh?”
“You said the curse can only be undone by the person who commissioned it,” he said.
“Right.”
“I’m glad you said it that way because otherwise I would have never thought of what I’m thinking,” he said.
“What are you thinking?”
“What I’m thinking is that even though Ripley’s dead, the person who actually performed the curse isn’t. That would be a person worth talking to. I’ll bet he or she has a bunch of answers to a bunch of questions.”
Venzelle studied the horizon.
Then looked at him.
“Do you ever turn off the detective brain?” she asked.
“Only when I’m thinking about sex.”
“And how often is that?”
He chuckled.
And took the 5th.
Then he pulled out his cell and said, “What’s your old roommate’s number? I want to ask her a question.”
She didn’t know offhand.
But found it in the memory of her cell phone and gave it to him.
Teffinger dialed and said, “What’s her name again?”
“Reanne. Don’t ask her what I said about you.”
“Why?”
“I’d be embarrassed.”
“In that case, now I have to.”
“Nick—”
“Thanks for giving me the idea,” he said. “It would have never crossed my mind.”
“You are so evil.”
He nodded.
“That’s why voodoo curses don’t work on me.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Day Two—July 13
Tuesday Evening
______________
THEY MICROWAVED LOW-FAT MEALS at the sailboat. Halfway through, Raven said, “We’re not going to find this guy sitting on our asses.”
“So what do you propose?” Erin asked.
“Let’s take a drive to Lindsay Vail’s house.”
They got there shortly before dark and made two passes. The house showed no signs of life. Yellow crime-scene tape stretched across the front door. Raven parked a block down the street and killed the engine. Even though the thin Rocky Mountain air was cooler now, the heat of the day still radiated from the asphalt. Most of the houses had open windows. A half-block away, a dog barked, which set off another one. Hip-hop music came from down the street.
“So what’s the plan?” Erin questioned.
Raven frowned.
“On the way over, I was thinking that we’d take a peek inside and see if we could find something,” Raven said. “The more I think about it though, we’d probably be committing two felonies—breaking and entering, plus messing with a crime scene. If I got caught, I’d be disbarred.”
“Then I’ll do it,” Erin said. “You keep a lookout.”
“You’ll go in?”
“Yeah. It’s my problem anyway, not yours.”
“You sure?”
Erin nodded.
“Just keep a lookout and call me if I need to get out of there.”
They decided to wait until dark and spent the time driving around until they found a place to buy latex gloves, a flashlight, and blank CDs to download computer files, assuming there was a computer. Then they came back and parked the 4Runner as far away from the house as they could while still having a view of it. They tested their cell phones to be absolutely sure there were no problems with the batteries or reception.
There weren’t.
Then it was time.
Erin kissed Raven on the cheek and said, “See you in hell.”
FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER SHE RETURNED and said, “I didn’t find anything but I downloaded the computer.”
“Excellent. How’d you get in?”
“All the windows were locked so I had to break one.”
They headed back to the sailboat, brought Raven’s laptop on deck and fired it up, with glasses of white wine in hand. The marina was pitch-black and quiet. There were probably a few people scattered around spending the night—there always were—but they weren’t partying or obvious.
Raven popped in the CD and said, “Okay, Lindsay Vail, talk to us.”
They opened file after file.
The woman ran a website business.
There were project memos; billing statements; a corporate checkbook in Quick Books; correspondence with clients; and similar business files.
“The pirate could be one of her clients,” Raven said.
“You never know.”
They kept searching.
Raven went below to use the facilities. When she returned, Erin had one of Lindsay Vail’s old resumes on the screen and said, “I’m so jealous of this woman.”
“Why?”
“Right there,” she said, pointing. “Tattoo artist.”
Raven took a long sip of wine and studied the resume. It appeared that the woman supported herself as a tattoo artist while working her way through college.
“So why are you jealous?” she questioned.
“Because both sides of her brain work,” Erin said. “Only my right side does.”
Raven chuckled.
They kept going without success until the wine made their eyes heavy. Then they crawled into the cabin and went to sleep.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Day Two—July 13
Tuesday Evening
______________
DALTON CHECKED OUT THE BLUEJAY, still amazed that he actually hit it. He nudged it with his foot and jumped back when it actually moved. Then he said, “This is for your own good,” and stepped on its head.
He nudged it again.
No movement this time.
Then he headed back to civilization with Lindsay Vail in the trunk, not sure yet what he was going to do with her. Then it came to him. He drove back to the machine shop, picked her hogtied body up and set her in the bottom of a rusty steel dumpster in back of the building.
“Do you want me to slit your throat?”
“No.”
“Then don’t even think about shouting out. Is that understood?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not going to gag you because you’ve been good today. But don’t make me change my mind.”
“I won’t.”
He closed the lid and then picked up Samantha Dent, who was more nervous than he expected, but looked nice and smelled like strawberries. He gave her $5,000. She stashed the cash in the bedroom and then said, “Okay, I’m ready.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“If you say so.”
Two blocks from her house, he handed her a bandanna and said, “Time for your blindfold.” She wrapped it around her eyes, tied it in the back of her head, and then put sunglasses on so no good Samaritans would think she was being abducted and call the police. Dalton punched the radio buttons and stopped on an old Rhianna song, “Umbrella.”
A HALF HOUR LATER THEY ARRIVED at the machine shop. Dalton led the woman into the dungeon and let her
take the blindfold off. Then he called Malcolm and said, “We’re here. When’s he going to come?”
“We’ll be leaving in a half hour or so.”
“You’re coming with him?”
“Just to drop him off and check the place out.”
Dalton looked at his watch—7:15 p.m.
“I’ll tie her down at eight and then leave,” he said. “The front door will be unlocked.”
“That’ll work.”
He hung up and told Samantha, “We have a little time to kill.” They chatted, dropped names and swapped stories. Then, at five minutes to eight, she removed her clothes and laid down on the bench with her arms over her head. He tied her firmly and inescapably, but not uncomfortably.
“Is that okay?”
“Yes.”
He blindfolded her.
“Can you see anything?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
He patted her stomach, kissed her on the lips and said, “Remember, you’re getting paid well. Focus on the money.”
He was almost out the door when she said, “Dalton?”
“What?”
“Remember what you promised before.”
“You’ll be fine. Stop worrying.”
HE LEFT THE FRONT DOOR UNLOCKED and headed around to the back of the building to check on Lindsay Vail.
No sound came from the dumpster.
She was being a good girl.
Not calling out.
He opened the lid and asked, “Are you okay?”
“The ropes are killing me.”
For a split second he thought about untying her legs, but got an image of her kicking the side of the dumpster, and said, “There’s nothing I can do about it. This is only going to be a couple of hours.”
He closed the lid and headed for the BMW.
He drove a mile down the road and parked. He doubled back on foot along the railroad tracks and found a spot where he could keep an eye on the dumpster, just to be sure nothing unexpected happened. Twilight was coming. Shadows were longer. Five minutes later a black Lexus came up the road.
Malcolm drove.
G-Drop sat in the passenger seat.
Animated.
Jamming.
They pulled up to the building tentatively, not sure if they had the right place. Then G-Drop stepped out and howled.
Again and again.
A werewolf gone wild.
Obviously jacked up on drugs.
Dalton swallowed and pictured Samantha stretched out on the table.
“Where are you bitch? Here, bitchy, bitchy, bitchy.”
They entered the building, which immediately swallowed their sound. Dalton had a bad feeling. So bad that he trotted over and took a position next to the dumpster. Lindsay Vail wasn’t making a sound. Good thing, too.
A few minutes later, the Lexus disappeared down the street with only Malcolm inside.
Dalton crept to the front of the building.
He opened the door.
And stepped inside on cat feet.
The sounds from the dungeon were disturbing.
Insane, almost.
He pictured Samantha being killed.
And ran that way as fast as he could.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Day Three—July 14
Wednesday Morning
______________
TEFFINGER WOKE UP WEDNESDAY MORNING when Venzelle straddled him and bounced up and down until he opened his eyes. Enough light snuck in from the hallway to see that she was already dressed and wide-awake. “Rise and shine, sleepy-head.”
“What time is it?”
“Five,” she said. “I’m your new alarm clock.”
He stretched and said, “I like my new alarm clock.”
She hopped off, lifted a short white dress just long enough to flash a black thong, and said, “I have to get to work.”
He reached a hand towards her and said, “Give me that.”
She grinned, headed for the door and said over her shoulder, “Men.”
“At least show me the other side.”
She flashed her ass.
Then left.
Ten seconds later she popped back into the room and said, “Be careful today.”
“I will.”
“I mean it, Nick. I woke up with a bad feeling.”
He jogged, showered, and discovered that his new alarm clock made coffee. He filled a thermos and ate cereal in the Tundra as he drove to headquarters. Then he did something he knew he shouldn’t.
He called Coyote.
Knowing she was sleeping.
But needing to find out what happened at the sailboat last night, if anything.
She didn’t answer.
Naturally.
Because that’s the way his life worked.
SHE DID, HOWEVER, CALL BACK a half hour later. “The pirate didn’t show up and I don’t think he’s going to,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t think Raven Lee is his lawyer. What I do think, though, is that she’s trying to find him.”
Then she told Teffinger an interesting story.
Raven showed up about six-thirty last night. Ten minutes later, another woman showed up, well dressed. They ate, left in Raven’s 4Runner, and didn’t return to the boat until 10:30. They brought a laptop on deck, popped in a CD and opened files for a long time. Coyote amplified their conversation and listened.
“From what I could tell, they broke into Lindsay Vail’s house and downloaded her computer on to the CD they were looking at,” Coyote said. “They were trying to find something to figure out who the guy was.”
“You mean the same guy we’re looking for? The pirate?”
“Exactly,” Coyote said.
“Why?”
“That didn’t come up,” Coyote said. “But they’re serious about the whole thing, that’s for sure.”
Teffinger cocked his head.
“So who was this other woman?”
“Funny you should ask,” she said. “She ended up sleeping on the sailboat with the lawyer. Since they didn’t initially show up at the same time, I figured she must have driven her own car to the marina. So after they went to bed, I wrote down all the license plate numbers of the vehicles in the parking lot. I got their registrations and then pulled up driver’s licenses. The woman turns out to be someone named Erin Asher. I did a background check on her but didn’t turn up anything.”
“Damn you’re good,” Teffinger said.
“I took pictures of them on the boat, but they didn’t come out very good,” she added.
Teffinger questioned her for another few minutes.
Then he hung up, printed a color copy of Erin Asher’s driver’s license, topped off the thermos and headed for the stairway. The elevator opened as he walked past and Sydney stepped out.
“Want to take a ride?” he asked.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Where?”
“With me.”
“Yeah, I know that, but where?”
“To the place I’m going.”
She gave him a sideways look and said, “It’s going to be a long day.”
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER they arrived at Lindsay Vail’s house. When they saw the busted window in the back, Teffinger took a long sip of coffee and said, “I can’t believe it. They really did break in.”
“That’s a big no-no,” Sydney said.
Teffinger nodded.
“Keep it under your hat for right now,” he said.
“Why?”
“I want it in my back pocket in case I decide to put a little pressure on our friend Raven Lee at some point.”
“You’re so devious,” she said. “Hey, I just thought of something.”
“What?”
“How can I keep it under my hat if it’s going to be in your back pocket?”
“Bad,” he said.
“If you think the top of my head is
going to be anywhere near your back pocket, you’re so wrong—”
Teffinger pictured it.
And chuckled.
ON THE WAY BACK TO HEADQUARTERS, Sydney turned the radio to FM 104 Hot Talk and said, “Did you know that your two friends are talking about voodoo this morning?”
Teffinger swallowed.
No.
He didn’t know that.
He didn’t know that at all.
“They’re taking calls on whether people believe in voodoo and whether they’ve had any experiences,” Sydney added. “Judging by the calls coming in, there are a lot more nuts in this city than I knew about.”
Teffinger turned up the volume and concentrated.
Concerned that Venzelle might have broken her promise to not talk about what they found at Ripley’s house. Then, as the words clicked off, he realized that the discussion was general in nature.
And that she had kept her word.
No mention of Ripley.
Or lawyers.
Or dolls that had been sliced.
Or burned.
Or found next to newspaper articles.
“You should call in,” Sydney said.
Teffinger tilted his head.
“And say what?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Ask Venzelle out for lunch and see what she does.”
“On the air?”
“Yeah. It would be romantic.”
Teffinger actually considered it before remembering that he had someone in his shadow trying to kill him. The last thing he needed was a public announcement of who meant something in his life.
“Maybe some other time,” he said. “Did I tell you that she carries my spare gun around inside the house?”
“What for? The shooter?”
Teffinger nodded.
“I had to let her, otherwise she was going to buy her own.”
“Well, don’t piss her off while she has it in her hand,” Sydney said. “That’s my advice.”
“Yeah, right,” he said. “As if guys have a clue how to do that.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Client Trap (Nick Teffinger Thriller) Page 9
