by Susan Slater
“Here, quick.” Scott grabbed her arm and sprinted for cover. Back to the bushes—good protection and a great vantage point. “You okay?” She nodded. “Then listen and learn; this could get interesting.”
And it did. Rapidly. First the man opened the door and stepped out craning his neck to see where the siren was coming from. The fact that he was putting on his slacks at the same time was pretty impressive, Elaine thought, as she snapped a picture. Someone had switched on big oversized, loft ceiling lights in the barn and now his companion appeared with his shirt. The man seemed to be really upset—yelling and punching his fist in the air for emphasis.
“If that son of a bitch had us followed, I’m not going to promise I won’t hurt him.”
“Stanley, control yourself. Nothing has been compromised.”
There it was—“Stanley.” Dan’s mother’s boyfriend. The lead cruiser skidding to a halt a bare thirty feet in front of her interrupted her thoughts. Now what?
“Hands in the air.” Two uniforms, both with guns drawn stepped out of the cruiser and walked toward Stanley and the girlfriend.
“Listen, Officer, I can explain—”
“Ron, let’s make sure we don’t have any surprises.” The younger officer stepped forward and not so gently turned Stanley toward the side of the building, pressed him forward, kicked his legs apart and patted him down.
“Clean.” This time he was gentler in helping Stanley regain his balance and turn around. Meanwhile the older cop had instructed the girlfriend to hold her arms straight out and he also did a quick pat-down.
“Likewise, no problems, but I need to know what you’re doing on private property.”
“I just rented a corner of this building for my bass boat and a few odds and ends left over from moving. I got a key to the padlock, for God’s sake.”
“And I’m just here to help him retrieve his garden elf.”
“I’m not going to touch that one,” Scott muttered under his breath.
The blonde pointed behind her and sure enough in the doorway, spotlighted by both cop’s flashlights, was a molded cement troll crossed with a leprechaun holding a lantern.
The officers seemed satisfied after looking at drivers’ licenses, checking addresses, and asking questions as to length of residency.
“Sorry about the inconvenience but there’s been some break-ins over this way. We saw the car parked off the road back there and thought we better check.” Elaine couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation but it was handshakes all around before the officers walked back to their cruiser.
Stan and the girlfriend watched them go, then went back into the storage barn and closed the door. Scott checked his watch and made a note of the time.
“You think they’re going to finish what they started?”
“Looks that way. Now comes the tough part of our job—wait and see.” Scott took a picture of the Chrysler. “Need a time stamp on this photo and then another time-stamped photo when they leave. Indisputable evidence.”
Two hours later, broken only by Stanley returning to his car to get a bottle of wine and paper cups after the first hour, both emerged and walked arm in arm to the car. Another kiss—far less rambunctious this time, Elaine noted—and they took off.
“It’s ten fifteen. Looks like she’s going to make curfew.”
“That’s right, home by eleven. So, what happens now? Will tonight be enough to convince the husband of hanky-panky?”
“Should be. The kissing, amount of time spent alone, remote hideaway…not sure retrieving a garden elf should take a bottle of wine and two-and-a-half hours. And I’ll bet my client agrees. I’d like you to write the report as part of your class assignment. Let’s get together tomorrow, compare pictures, pick the best ones, and finish this up.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Dan, she’s in Chicago, closing out her apartment and moving to Florida. I’d think under the circumstances, you’d want her to know about Stanley—before she commits to a move and all that expense.”
Elaine poured each of them a second cup of coffee. Breakfast had been sour cream blintzes with fresh strawberries—Dan’s favorite. Well, one of his favorites. She suspected things hit the favorite list pretty easily just to keep her doing the cooking and saving him the agony. Actually, that was saving them both the agony. She remembered his story about having to buy a second freezer just to keep all the frozen dinners. Did that qualify as hoarding? Maybe a reality TV show—never met a potpie I didn’t want to take home. That might even be too much plot for the shows she’d seen. But you had to love a guy who thought boiling water took special talent.
“Guess I’m thinking that a move down here might not be a bad idea—with or without Stanley in the picture.”
“How can you say that? She doesn’t have friends here, no doctors, dentists—no base…we have no idea how long we’ll be here.”
“What if that were to change?”
The look was more than a little part Cheshire cat. “Why do I think you know something I don’t?”
“Elaine, I’m not keeping anything from you. Honest. The home office emailed last night.”
“And?”
“There’s an offer of a permanent position in Florida. Not that I wouldn’t have some travel, I would. But I’d spend some time in the office, too. For one thing, I’d be doing some training. You know, get recruits off to the right start. The Orlando office would be home-base. You could get your license. There seems to be plenty of work down here. And it’s pretty wide open as to where we could live. Ocean-side, gulf-side—”
“Ocean-side.”
“So, you’re in?” The sigh was almost palpable. “You know that means giving your resignation? A tenured, faculty position doesn’t grow on trees. Are you sure you’re ready?” He waited a second before he saw the nod.
“More than ready.” There simply comes a time in life when embracing the unknown and leaving the known was the only thing to do. Elaine had always thought this. No better way to lose unwanted baggage than to just leave it stacked somewhere, walk away, and start over. She’d still have that heart-to-heart with Dan’s mom—that was only fair—and she hoped Maggie would move to Florida. And Jason—would she have a tough time luring him to the beach for spring breaks and holidays? She doubted it. This just felt right. A family in the making. And home, Roswell, New Mexico, in the dust.
“What if I wanted to have that second cup of coffee in bed…among other things.”
“Hey, those blintzes were pretty filling. Don’t I have to wait an hour before any strenuous exercise?” There was that grin she was in love with.
“I think that used to pertain to swimming and that’s even been proved wrong. No excuses, pal—especially if I volunteer to do most of the work.” That caught his attention. She picked up both mugs and started up the stairs.
***
It was lunchtime in Chicago, and Elaine wasn’t sure she’d catch up with Maggie but she answered on the second ring. Elaine quickly filled her in on Scott Ramsey’s surveillance assignment and her shock when she realized it was Stanley Evers being tailed. Elaine offered her condolences and said she was so sorry to have to tell her but hoped she would want to know. There was silence and the sound of a sigh.
“First of all, never be sorry about giving me the truth. I can take it and in this case it’ll probably save me a lot of anguish. You know that adage about old dogs and new tricks? Well, it applies to smarts, too. Wouldn’t you think seventy-two years would have improved the gray matter?”
“There are no guarantees as they say.”
“I knew something just wasn’t right. He seemed to have a lot of friends in Florida. I understood that—he’d lived in Florida for a few years. But I think I told you that some calls always necessitated taking them out of earshot. I should have known there was another woman—probably some old girlfriend. He’s
Italian on his mother’s side, you know.”
Elaine didn’t know what being half Italian had to do with anything, but she couldn’t help thinking secretive calls could pertain to his undercover status and not necessarily his extra-curricular activities. But she couldn’t say anything .
“Of course, Dan and I would love to have you move to Florida.” Elaine explained UL&C’s job offer and their acceptance and how excited they both were to be starting out together—new place, new life.
“You know, I don’t rule out going ahead with my own plans to move to Florida. The realtor in The Villages had found a darling townhouse that I liked, and Stan thought was too small. I’m going to give her a call. If it’s available, I’ll take it. I like the concept of a planned community. I’ll let you know what happens. I feel a symbolic burning of snow shovels coming on.”
Elaine laughed, offered her help with anything that Maggie might need. With a big feeling of relief, she hung up.
“I take it Mom was okay with the news?”
“She even seemed relieved. She’s calling the realtor from The Villages. I’m a little surprised that she’d move somewhere close to Stanley, but I truly hope the townhouse that she liked hasn’t been taken. I’d love to have her in Florida. I can’t imagine her enduring another Chicago winter.”
“Me either. Last year was brutal. Do you have the car keys?” Dan held up her shoulder bag.
“Look in the front pocket.”
“Did that, not there.”
“Just dump everything on the table. They’re probably at the very bottom. Here, let me do it.” She took the purse from him and upended it over the dining room table. A jumble of lip-gloss, coin purse, billfold, Kleenex packets, paperback, comb and…she hesitated…the zip-lock bag holding a latex glove with brown stains.
“Oh no. You’re not going to believe what I did.” She reiterated how Sadie had presented her with this “present” the day she’d found her hiding in the bushes. She’d carefully preserved it only to promptly forget about it. “And no comments about how anything could get lost in there or my diminished mental capabilities. I’m not an Alzheimer’s candidate quite yet.”
“No jokes. It’s interesting that Sadie would have had it—that she had obviously hung onto it. Could be garbage from the area or something else. I’ll ask the lab to take a look when I pick up the floor samples.”
***
“Well, you were right about a couple things—it’s blood and it’s human.” Marie Hunt met him at the door to her office, a bag with the samples of tile flooring in hand. “Let’s talk.” She motioned toward a chair in front of her desk. “The surprise is that it’s not from Jackson Sanchez.”
“That’s interesting. Fucher reported slipping in ‘a pool of blood’ in front of the office door. And he found the body there—in the blood. We know the blood was fresh the night of the fire.”
“And let me add that, based on the depth of the blood caked on these pieces of tile, the victim lost a lot of it. I’d venture to say that you have more than one dead body to worry about.”
“And only one found.” Dan leaned back in the chair. This was not what he expected to find out.
“You seem to believe this Fucher.”
“I don’t think he’s capable of lying. Yes, I believe he stumbled over the body of Jackson Sanchez, but he didn’t kill him. There’s no way he could have force-ingested Jackson with the alcohol.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask if there is some reason you haven’t used the police labs for testing? I’m not complaining, just curious.”
“Haven’t gotten a warm fuzzy feeling from them. They seem overworked and set on closing this case out as quickly as they can. Looking at only the obvious. And speaking of labs, what are my chances of having this checked?” Dan placed the plastic bag with the stained latex glove on the desk and explained how he got it. “This is a real long shot. I sort of suspect the dog was going through garbage nearby and this was appealing for one reason or another.”
“I’ll get the results to you by close of business.”
***
The call came quicker than he’d expected. Dr. Hunt was succinct—the blood was human and, no, it didn’t match Mr. Sanchez, but it did match the phantom body which had left blood on the tile chips she’d analyzed.
Another surprise. But just who was missing? It would seem someone from the track. A grounds worker? Handler? Driver/delivery person? No one had been reported missing. There had to be a reason for that and suggested some peripheral worker—maybe not even on the track’s payroll. Might be a good idea to just stop by the track—unannounced.
Rebuilding was in full swing. Dan parked in back beside the six-foot chain-link fence separating the track and casino’s property from the flea market. He was amazed to see the progress in just a couple days. One section was ready for stucco. The silver BMW K 1600 motorcycle caught his eye. One of the workers had good taste. Something like the BMW had always been on his bucket list. Wasn’t there a part of him that hoped partnering up wouldn’t mean taming down? He was about to find out.
He continued through the restaurant area to the casino’s front desk and asked to have Mel paged. He wanted to tell her about the sighting of Maximillian and ask a favor. He needed samples of the ashes from the urns on Dixie Halifax’s desk. Could she help him? He thought she was his best bet.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” wasn’t the response he’d hoped for. Mel seemed absolutely scared to death. “You don’t know the woman. If I got caught…”
“Okay, point well taken. Do you know of anyone who might be persuaded?”
“Maybe. There’s a guy on the custodial night crew who used to skydive.”
Dan didn’t see the correlation between helping himself to a tablespoon of ashes from each urn and falling out of a plane, other than the risk element.
“Is he here today?”
“Let’s see, it’s four. He should be coming to work just about now. Give me a minute, I’ll check.”
In scarcely five minutes Mel was back with a young man in tow. Coveralls, a baseball cap, and shoe coverings over a pair of biker boots.
“I’m getting ready to do some waxing.” Not hello, not I am Tom, Dick, or Harry, just a reference to the blue paper pull-ons covering his shoes. The kid had the sullen look of the street—too many pills, too many lines—too many times busted. And his teeth screamed meth addiction. Could he trust this kid? Did he have a choice?
Dan quickly explained what he needed and pulled five zip-lock bags from his jacket pocket. Each bore the name of one of the five dogs in indelible ink.
“What’s in it for me?” Hard eyes, lowered head, slightly curled lip—all the posturing of a wannabe bad-ass.
“Look, uh, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Roddy.”
“Okay, Roddy…am I correct to assume that you’ll do it if the price is right?”
A nod. “You the one with the cheese?”
Dan’s turn to nod.
“Then let’s say five Bens.”
Dan would be damned if he’d ask how much that was. Benjamin Franklin was pictured on a hundred-dollar bill and he believed he’d just been asked for five of them.
“One hundred dollars per urn—five total.” Dan looked up to catch the slight nod. “It’s a deal.” No shaking of hands—did that even mean anything anymore? Dan simply handed the bags to Roddy. “I need these as soon as you can get them. At least a rounded tablespoon of ashes from each urn put into a bag with the matching name. Payment on delivery.”
“Not a problem, Pops.”
Dan started to correct him—demand the use of his proper name. But did it matter? He doubted he’d see much of Roddy. And there was no doubt that Roddy was cut out for this type of work. Dan considered himself lucky. If he’d had to get a subpoena, it would have tipped his hand and he wasn’t quite re
ady to do that until a few more pieces of the puzzle fell into place. It was always better when people didn’t think you smelled a rat.
He thanked Mel and got directions to the manager’s office. He was hoping to pick up a list of workers—everyone, even part-timers, who had anything to do with the running of the track and casino. The phantom body that had left a puddle of blood in the hallway intrigued him. Had to be connected with everything…but then, maybe not. Hadn’t he learned it was better to not assume? Yeah, only a few hundred times.
The office door was open and Carol Taichert, according to her name plate, just oozed efficiency behind the desk. Or maybe it was the large, round, black plastic-framed glasses. Gray hair, severe bun at the base of her neck, muted paisley patterned dress in tones of black and white. Very much in charge. He stepped through the door.
“Can I help you?”
Dan handed her a card, explained his involvement in the investigation and asked for a list of employees under the pretext of possibly needing to conduct interviews.
“Let me print out what we have. Each contractor, kennel owner, even the custodial company, adds and deletes workers all the time. I honestly don’t think we could keep a list that was correct every second. There are over a hundred people here at any given time. We ask for updates on a monthly basis.” She reached to pull three sheets out of the printer beside her desk. “But this one is already three weeks old.”
Wow. This complicated things. The owner of the pool of blood had just become a needle in the haystack.
“I know Mr. Warren would be of more help. I expect him back Monday. I don’t know how he does it, but he keeps tabs on everyone.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Warren is…?”
“Head honcho around here. Well, that’s a shared position. I like to say he’s Ms. Halifax’s alter ego. This is, after all, the Daytona Beach Kennel Club and Poker Room. A staple in this community.” Her surprise at his lack of knowledge exhibited itself in raised eyebrows and a barely concealed, derisive snort. “We have a fifty-five-table card room, private betting carrels, three hundred flat-screen monitors displaying simulcast races. We feature thoroughbred, harness, and greyhound racing—most of the dog racing is live. We have an absolutely superb track out back. And, in addition, we have jai alai.”
