Daddy's Little Killer

by LS Sygnet

  "Thanks." Translation: no way in hell.

  Chapter 3

  I hate hard liquor. My father always said that hard liquor was for hard women. A hard woman could never appreciate the subtle nuances of weaving an effective tale that could save her life. Personally, I see his point, but think the stuff tastes like kerosene anyway. I never believed anyone drank it for the delightful flavor. Its numbing effects however, are another story.

  My hands shook hard enough to cripple easy opening of the tiny bottle of scotch from the mini-bar. On the third attempt, the metal band broke and the cap yielded. I poured the amber liquid into the crystal glass at the bar and downed the pungent liquid. Gagged. Twisted off another cap. Repeat.

  After three, the shaking had subsided enough to dial the tiny buttons on the cell phone I purchased earlier today. I remembered the number George Hardy left on my voicemail at home. Three hours earlier on the west coast, Hardy might still be in his office at four in the afternoon.

  "Commissioner Hardy's office, may I help you?"

  "Yes, I'm returning a call to the commissioner," I said. "He telephoned me early this morning with a job offer."

  "May I have your name please?"

  "I'm with behavioral analysis at the FBI." Maybe David hadn't processed my graveside resignation yet.

  "One moment please."

  There was a scarce pause, then, "Dr. Eriksson?"

  "Is this Commissioner George Hardy?"

  "Yes, yes."

  "This is Dr. Eriksson, Mr. Hardy."

  "I wasn't sure you'd call me back today. I understand you had a funeral this morning. My condolences, doctor."

  "Thank you. I was surprised by your call. You said you had business to discuss with me, yet you called my personal number at home. Most requests for bureau assistance come through official channels."

  "Well, that's true enough. We're not interested in asking the FBI to come help us, Dr. Eriksson. We want you."

  "I see. May I ask what gave you the impression that I'm authorized to take on private contracts for work in addition to my duties assigned by my employer?"

  "You come highly recommended, and one of our police captains says he knows you. Rodney Martin?"

  "I remember Rodney." Remembered being abandoned by him while he pursued his obviously successful ladder climb in law enforcement. "Still, that doesn't explain why you would contact me directly, Mr. Hardy."

  "Rodney heard about your husband's death last week, ma'am. He thought … well, we all wondered if you might be up for a change of scenery after such a tragic event."

  "I see."

  "I realize the timing of my phone call was inopportune. Pardon the intrusion if you will."

  "It's quite all right, Mr. Hardy. I'm afraid at this time, I'm not interested in taking on additional work."

  "And the FBI isn't going to insist that you take some time off?"

  "Rick was my ex-husband."

  "Oh. Well, I suppose that does put a different face on the matter. Don't suppose I could interest you in a short term arrangement in any case, could I?"

  "Like a consultant arrangement?"

  I heard creaking over the phone connection.

  "At this point, Dr. Eriksson, we'd be willing to offer you whatever it takes to get your help. I'm not sure how much you know about Darkwater Bay."

  "I visited once, which I'm sure Rodney already told you. Other than those two weeks, I know very little about Darkwater Bay." Except that target number two lives there.

  "Do you find that odd, considering of course, that you work for the FBI?"

  "No, Mr. Hardy. There are hundreds of local jurisdictions that rely on the bureau's field offices for assistance rather than making requests to Quantico."

  "The situation in Darkwater proper is dire, doctor. May I be frank?"

  "Please." I wobbled with my glass of scotch toward the sofa and hunkered down.

  "For a number of years, our crime rate in the city proper has grown exponentially. For awhile, we believed it was shoddy work out of the county medical examiner's office."

  "I see."

  "No, you really don't. We got ourselves a new chief medical examiner, a gal from your neck of the woods."

  I dropped the crystal on the table at the end of the sofa and sat up straight. "You got someone from Quantico?"

  "No, but east coast. She's a go-getter all right. I know it's a big place out there, but maybe you heard of her over the years. Maya Winslow?"

  "Baltimore, worked for the state medical examiner's office," I said. "We met several years ago on a case I helped close. I've seen her a few times over the years at conferences held at Quantico. I wasn't aware she had relocated."

  "Well, she's been out here for six months, and nobody can fault the quality of the work she does."

  "I don't imagine they could." Maya was a meticulous forensic expert in the field of pathology. "Yet you're calling me, which leads me to believe that the turn around in your success rate is unsatisfactory."

  "Well that's the truth. It seems that Central Division has a bit of tunnel vision when it comes to solving crimes."

  "And you want me to come profile crimes to help broaden their perspective."

  "In short, yes, but that's only part of it, doctor. See, I don't entirely disagree with the detectives. The guy they look at for every single crime is a slippery bastard, and from what I've heard, he's got connections to some folks who are nothing but bad news out on your side of the world."

  He had my full attention. I could feel my liver pumping liquor out of my blood and clearing my foggy mind. "Oh?" Don't sound too interested, Helen. "Who is that, Mr. Hardy?"

  "The guy's name is Danny Datello."

  I almost dropped the telephone. "I see."

  "And he's Sullivan Marcos' nephew. Now to hear him tell it, Danny's distanced himself as far as humanly possible in the lower 48 from his east coast kin, and runs only legitimate businesses."

  "But nobody believes him."

  "I wouldn't say nobody, but those of us in law enforcement think his legitimate businesses are a front for something illegal."

  "Mr. Hardy," I began.

  "Call me George."

  "George, there's something you should know. As of this morning, I have resigned my post with the FBI. It's my intention to retire."

  "Oh." Deflated. "Then I've wasted your time with all of this."

  "Which isn't to say that I'm not intrigued by the notion of a contract only position elsewhere."

  "Really? I mean … I doubt we could afford to pay you a whole lot of money, doctor."

  "Money isn't an issue." I felt his breath catch in my ear. "My parents were wealthy and left me a generous trust fund when they passed. My ex-husband's attorney has also informed me that I am apparently the beneficiary of his life insurance. I can afford to retire young. Any work for Darkwater Bay would not be necessary to my income."

  "Well then … will you consider my offer?"

  I sucked in a deep breath. If the goons that accosted me were Marcos' men, I could be walking into certain death if I suddenly showed up in Darkwater Bay. On the other hand, my last conversation with Rick burned like the breath of a Fury in my mind. Dad didn't believe in coincidences. Wasn't this a little too coincidental? I ached to turn to the one person I trusted for advice.

  That wasn't possible.

  "I could come to Darkwater Bay and discuss it with you further," I suggested. Vengeance wanted to leap into a commitment. Dad lived in my brain and urged caution.

  "How soon could you arrive?"

  "A day or two. I'll call you when I get the details ironed out, George."

  The soonest flight I could get to Darkwater Bay departed Wednesday morning. I booked a first class seat and started packing the mounds of clothing, shoes, undergarments and makeup I had delivered to my room throughout the afternoon. I left two outfits hanging in the closet for tomorrow and Wednesday. Even though I had no intention of being seen out and about in D.C., I didn't plan to lay around doi
ng nothing.

  The knock on my door startled my heart into fibrillation. "Who is it?"

  "Todd Hunter."

  "Great," I muttered under my breath. Regret over the surrendered sidearm filled me. I wondered if the neighborhood Costco sold mace. "This isn't a good time, Mr. Hunter."

  "Could you just open the door so we're not shouting through it?"

  I cracked the door but left the security bar in place. "What is it?"

  He grinned sheepishly. "I called hotel security. I got to thinking about what happened after you went to your room, and the whole thing made me really uncomfortable, Diana."

  I cursed softly and started to close the door.

  "Let me explain," he said quickly. "The conference I'm attending, it's for guys who run private security companies. That's what I do. Anyway, that's why I got the vibe that those guys were hauling you off against your will. One of the guys at the conference over the weekend runs security for the Ritz-Carlton properties, so I gave him a call. I didn't want you feeling like you're being held hostage in your room."

  "I see." My mind screamed, remain calm. He may not say Sully Marcos.

  Hunter continued. "I couldn’t let what happened go without telling someone. I hope you don’t mind, but I contacted hotel security. They reviewed their security footage, and are keeping an eye out if these guys return. Even if they don’t, if you want to file a report with the police, I’m sure they could ID the guys from the tape."

  I rested my head against the door frame. It wouldn't stop Marcos, but for all I knew, I could be walking into his carefully laid trap. In any case, I doubted Marcos would be so foolish as to send someone else to the hotel for me after security's alert that a guest had been nearly taken from the premises against her will.

  "Does that help at all?"

  I glanced up into one concerned eye peering at me through the crack in the door. "Yes. Thank you again, Mr. Hunter."

  "Todd," his grin widened. "Now maybe you'll have dinner with me?"

  "I'm not feeling up to –"

  "We can order room service. You can call security and ask them if I really called if it makes you feel safer."

  "Just a minute." I closed the door and debated whether or not to consider his offer. The only thing that had buoyed my spirits today was the illicit thrill of being someone else, if only for a little while. What would Diana Farber, single vacationer and power shopper do in this situation? Would she let a strange man who saved her life into her room? Would she call security to verify his story? She should, if she had any common sense at all.

  Diana Farber wasn't a black belt in jujitsu. Helen Eriksson was. Diana Farber should be scared out of her wits. History told me that women tended to trust the knight in shining armor unconditionally. Was that the kind of woman Diana was?

  I flung the door open. "I'm sorry, Todd. You've got to understand that what happened made me more than a little wary of strangers."

  "And I'm a stranger." His fingers raked through his short, golden hair. "I debated whether I should come over here at all. Believe me, I get it."

  "I'm not being a very gracious damsel in distress, am I?"

  "Understandable."

  "Please come in."

  Todd stepped into the suite and immediately stared at the pile of luggage in the living area. "You got an earlier flight out of town?"

  I moved to the bar and wrestled open two single serving size bottles of merlot. "Not a chance. I still can't leave until Wednesday, but I was hopeful that I could get out of here in the morning. No offense to you of course."

  "None taken." Todd took the wine glass I offered and sipped. "So. Dinner in?"

  "I think there's a room service menu on the desk." When was the last time I'd eaten anyway? I couldn't remember. Then again, given the events of the past week, it was no wonder my diet had veered in a decidedly liquid direction.

  "Can I ask what you do for a living?"

  "I'm a psychologist," I said. Dad's advice – don't stray too far from what you know – seemed appropriate. I was too preoccupied to successfully adopt a new profession on the fly.

  "That explains your instincts." The smile turned his dimples into craters. Todd had stripped away the suit in lieu of jeans and a form fitting t-shirt. The muscles that bulged left no doubt in my mind that my would-be kidnappers were no match for him. Unless my gun theory was correct, and if they were on Sully's payroll, it would've been right on the money.

  "I suppose it would if that were the kind of psychology I deal with."

  "What kind?"

  "Kids." Lie. Mostly a lie.

  "Ah, hell. That must be rough."

  "Vacations are sacrosanct. At least they used to be." I took the menu he offered and scanned the page. "Hmm. Nothing grabs me."

  "Maybe you can advise me. Is the seafood in this area as good as the rest of the eastern seaboard?"

  Something niggled in the back of my brain. "I never said I was from the east coast, Todd."

  "Your accent says you are. Not most of the time, but this afternoon when you were upset, you sounded very … New York?"

  For a security guard, he was pretty damned observant. I nodded. "That's correct. Not home for a very long time now, which is why I suppose I don't always sound like a native New Yorker. What about you?"

  "West Coast. Small place south of Seattle, north of San Francisco."

  "Remarkably vague. If you're in the mood for seafood, I'd suggest the scallops."

  "I was thinking something lighter. Appetizers maybe. We had a late lunch this afternoon."

  "Calamari then?"

  "Sounds great."

  I grabbed the phone and dialed the number for room service. Calamari, marinated olives and garlic bread, a Caesar salad, crème brûlée – and a human sized bottle of merlot instead of the mini-bar variety. "Thirty minutes," I said.

  "Are you really all right after what happened earlier?"

  I sank into one of the chairs and drew my knees to my chest. "To be honest, it was very unsettling. I suppose I'm more concerned about the woman they were looking for, hoping they didn't find her."

  "Makes you wonder what she did, doesn't it?"

  "Maybe she didn't do anything. If they were private investigators, my theory earlier was probably correct. She's running away from a bad husband. That he would hire men to basically abduct her like that is a chilling thought."

  I felt his eyes fix on me, deep and probing. "I can't imagine that made you feel very safe either. They take the safety of guests seriously at the Ritz. I don't think you'll have to worry about anyone bothering you during the rest of your visit. I'd hate to think that you're curbing whatever you had planned for the rest of your time here because of what happened."

  His concern was touching, and genuine as far as I could tell. I smiled. "Power shopping was finished. All's well that ends well."

  "Is this your first trip to D.C.?"

  "No, I've been here a couple of times in the past. In fact, I had a summer internship at the Smithsonian between my junior and senior years in high school. This is my first trip back recently. I spent a day roaming through the museum, walking the mall, visiting the monuments. It's very relaxing, being surrounded by all of that history and architecture. Have you had time for any sightseeing?"

  "Not this trip," he smiled. "They've kept us pretty busy at the conference."

  "May I ask where it's being held?"

  "It's uh … it's at Quantico actually."

  Was that hesitation?

  "Isn't that pretty far from here?"

  Todd nodded. "I wanted some place close to the airport."

  "You flew through Reagan?" I had to remind myself that I don't live here, at least as far as Todd is concerned. Most people visiting the capital fly in through Dulles International Airport, not Reagan. Locals know this. Visitors do not.

  "Yeah, my assistant is the flight booking Scrooge. She found a cheaper flight to Reagan, not that I need to worry about a few bucks, but that's my girl Friday for you. She
'd have a fit if she knew I upgraded the closet she booked for me downstairs to a suite. What can I say? I need the space."

  It drew a nervous laugh. "I noticed. You're very tall. NBA tall."

  "I have no skills with a basketball," Todd grinned. "You're not exactly petite, Diana. You must be six feet tall."

  "Close. Not quite."

  "It must've been why those guys thought you were Helen. I don't imagine there are a lot of women your height running around the greater Washington area."

  Curse the man, but he was right. I could do just about anything to disguise my physical appearance, but my wretched height couldn't be changed.

  "I can't imagine it," he continued despite the fact that I was only half listening to what he said. "Two women in one city as beautiful as you are."

  "Hmm." My head went to the odds of getting that standby flight to Darkwater Bay that would leave tomorrow night. I wondered if extra money might buy my way onto it. If I showed up at the airport and offered to pay someone to take a later flight … paid their expenses for an extra night in D.C.

  He snapped his fingers. "Hello? Where did you go?"

  I glanced at him. "Hmm?"

  "You've said that three times now. You're not still worried about those guys are you? I promise, they're not gonna get near you again."

  "They realized they made a mistake." Bullshit. They recognized me and I was terrified that Marcos would send somebody else. Maybe even Hunter could be talked into a job before he left town. I started wishing I had called security to verify his story after all.

  "I asked if you've ever been married."

  "Oh. Sorry I'm a little distracted. No, I've always been single." I wiggled my left hand. "No tan line."

  He grinned again. "Me too."

  "Do you have an aversion to marriage?"

  "All but the sex part of it, but what I hear from my married friends, the sex isn't so great after awhile."

  Dawning washed over me. "Are you hitting on me, Mr. Hunter?"

  "Will you toss me out if I say yes?"

  I would yes. In a heartbeat. Would Diana? She smiled on my behalf. Apparently neither one of us was blind. Todd was unlike most men in my world, a polar opposite of Rick truth be told. Not that I had married an ogre of a physical specimen. Rick was bookish, more like what people would expect to see as the spouse of a psychologist. Upstanding banker man. Unconcerned with physical fitness beyond not getting too fat or too thin. He wasn't going bald before he died, or even getting a little gray around the edges.