The 13th Victim

by Linda S. Prather

  Fury started somewhere low in her gut as she turned toward the hallway, which was littered with shattered pictures, and headed to her bedroom. The scene there was almost more than she could bear. Her clothes had been shredded and strewn about the room, the mirror on the antique dresser shattered. Each drawer had been placed on the floor and stomped, the bottoms now nothing more than scraps of wood. She bit down hard on her lower lip to stop a scream of rage just as the doorbell rang.

  She stomped through the broken glass then jerked open the door. “What the hell do you want?”

  Jerry Palano gasped, taking in the mess in the living room. He pushed his way past her. “Jesus, Andi, what the hell happened?”

  Andi crossed the room and flopped on the couch, wishing she had stopped for that bottle of liquor. “Ask your friends down at the station. Shamus said they were here when he left.”

  Jerry did a quick walk-through before coming back to the living room. “Anything missing?”

  Andi grunted and waved a hand at the mess. “Look around you, Dick Tracy. How could I possibly know if anything is missing?” Feeling faint, she bent forward and cradled her head in her hands. “It wasn’t a robbery. They wanted to send a message.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Andi ignored him, and he left, returning minutes later with a camera. She sat motionless as he went through the rooms, photographing each one. “Andi, did you look in the bathroom?”

  “No.”

  “I think you better come in here.”

  “What is it?”

  He pointed to the shower wall. His voice should have warned her, but she’d been too angry to hear the concern. Fear took hold, squeezing her chest and pushing the air from her lungs as the words scrawled in red paint sank into her brain and his voice echoed in her head with the same message. Tell me what I want to know, and I won’t hurt you again.

  ~ ~ ~

  Shamus parked in the parish parking lot and put the package together. He’d actually bought three outfits, hoping at least one of them would be the correct size, as well as sandals and underwear. Bowing his head, he prayed, made the sign of the cross, then picked up the package and locked the doors. It had been months since he’d been to confession, and he was sure Father Brennan would impress upon him the necessity of regular visits, just as his mum did. The way this story is going, I would have to come daily to appease my sins.

  The steps leading to the massive oak doors were steeper than he remembered, and the light shining through the stained-glass windows was brighter and more colorful. The girl he was about to help had killed at least two men. If they were wrong, and she wasn’t young, scared, and simply trying to stay alive, then they were enabling her to kill again. Andi’s instincts were good, and the huge thug that had knocked him out was definitely not looking for a free laptop and suitcase. Father Brennan would understand once he knew the truth.

  Shamus pushed open the doors, breathing in the fragrance of fresh flowers and lemon oil. Father Brennan was waiting for him at the altar, and Shamus hurried that way. “Thank you for seeing me, Father.”

  Father Brennan smiled and led the way down the hallway to his office. “How is your mother?”

  “Busy, but very happy at the moment. My brothers are expected for a visit next week.”

  “Yes, that would be enough to warm a mother’s heart. Have a seat, and tell me what you need.”

  Shamus sat on the edge of the chair, balancing the package on his lap. “I need to leave a package here for a young girl.”

  “Are you in trouble, son?”

  “No, Father, but she is. There are men searching for her that want to kill her.”

  Father Brennan leaned back and steepled his fingers, his bushy brows knitting together in the center. “And you don’t think this is a matter for the police?”

  “Aye, but we don’ know who we can trust just now.”

  “Do you want me to offer her sanctuary?”

  “You can offer, Father, but I don’ believe she will take it. She’s young and scared. She doesn’t know who to trust, either.”

  Father Brennan stood, and Shamus handed him the package. “I’ll take care of the package, and if she’ll allow us to, we’ll take care of her.”

  “Thank you, Father. You I know we can trust.”

  They walked together toward the front. “Will I see you Sunday, Shamus? I think it would make your mother very happy.”

  Shamus turned at the door and clasped the older man’s hand. “Aye, Father. If all goes well, I will be here.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Andi woke to a light tap on the door and Irish’s voice. “Are you decent?”

  Rolling over, she tossed off the covers and pulled on the pants she’d discarded by the bed the night before. Thanks to Patrick’s generous offer of the room over the bar, she’d at least had a bed to sleep in. She’d have to go shopping for clothes, furniture, and supplies, which would wipe out the rest of her savings. “Come on in, Irish.”

  “I brought you a cup of coffee.” Shamus sat on the bed beside her. “Although from the looks of you, it will take more than that.”

  Andi reached for the cup, taking a moment to inhale the aroma. “Have you looked in the mirror? You don’t look so great yourself.”

  “Aye, but I’m Irish. Sporting a black eye is a token of manhood.”

  “Seriously, Irish?”

  “It means I survived the fight.”

  Andi didn’t bother to tell him that here he was supposed to say “you should see the other guy.” She nodded. “Did you take care of the money?”

  “Aye. I left it with Father Brennan, and I took care of today’s post. Sinclair says we should steer clear of the office until Monday. Said to tell you to call him later.” His voice dropped, and he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Patrick told me what happened at your place last night.”

  Andi swallowed the remainder of the coffee, handed the cup to Shamus, and rose. “In the words of someone famous, although I don’t know who the hell it was, ‘that was yesterday.’ I’ll meet you downstairs in five minutes. We’ve got a lot to do today.”

  “Don’ forget to brush your teeth.” Shamus chuckled, rushed for the door, and closed it quickly behind him.

  Without fresh clothes, there was little use in taking a shower, but the sight of the purple circles beneath her eyes had her heading for her purse and digging for concealer. No wonder Shamus was shocked.

  Three minutes later she entered the bar, and smiled at Patrick who was busy setting up for the day. “Thank you, Patty. I slept like a baby.”

  “You’re welcome here as long as you like, lass.”

  Andi shook her head. Whoever had destroyed her townhouse and left the warning last night had meant to scare her. Initially it had, but after the shock wore off it had left a deep burning rage. “Irish and I will be cleaning up my place today. I plan on sleeping in my own bed tonight.”

  “Do you think that’s wise, Andi?” Shamus stared at her, his face a poster board for “are you feckin’ crazy.” “You could always stay with me and Mum. We have an extra bedroom.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. Let’s go. You’re driving.”

  Shamus’s cell rang as they walked toward his car. “It’s Father Brennan.”

  His face looked like an artistic masterpiece as he listened intently, frowning. His skin turned slightly pale then flushed with a delicate pink tinge as his lips lifted in a smile. “Thank you, Father. We’ll be right there.” His blue eyes twinkled as he turned to Andi. “She picked it up, and she left you a note.”

  “Let’s go.” Andi quickened her pace, excitement putting a spring in her step.

  ~ ~ ~

  Jerry closed the file and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He’d spent half the night and most of the morning at the police station going over the old case file of Andi’s abduction and torture. The words scrawled across her bathroom wall were the same words Richard Thomas had said to her, over and over, every time he burned or cut her.
They’d found no family members for Thomas, and all the data they could find pointed to Thomas not existing before he turned up in West Hollywood. He should have pushed harder back then to find out who the bastard really was. The picture of Thomas’s bloody body caught his eye. Once they’d received that photo, all he could think about was protecting Andi. Only the fact Thomas had been beaten half to death before he was shot had kept the captain from accusing her of Thomas’s murder.

  Jerry dumped the files into the box and replaced the lid. The pain he’d felt when she’d rejected him had cut deeply, leaving a path of scars that still ached at times. He couldn’t really blame her. Thomas had been his partner, and Jerry had fed him all the information he needed to know exactly what Andi was doing. She’d trusted him, and he’d let her down. His jaw hardened as he picked up the box and left the conference room. One thing he didn’t do was call the Tribune, as she’d accused him of doing, but before he left West Hollywood he intended to find out who did. He wasn’t going to let her down again.

  “Check this in for me, Sherman.” Jerry handed the box to the evidence duty clerk.

  “Anything new on the murder case? Everybody and his brother has come in asking for the autopsy report on Marconi.” Sherman Raider grumbled as he lifted the box and set it on the floor behind the counter.

  “What do you mean, ‘everybody and his brother’?”

  “Sammons, Grange, and some gorgeous sergeant from the East Hollywood station. I guess you want to take a look at it too? Ran an extra copy so I wouldn’t have to keep going to get the file.”

  Jerry glanced at the sheet of paper. His mind was tired, but not so tired he wasn’t curious about what Grange and Sammons were doing and what a sergeant from East Hollywood was looking for. “This sergeant from East Hollywood, did she say why she wanted to see the file?”

  Sherman turned the sign-in book around. “Sergeant Cherese Tomasa. Said they had a similar murder in their district and wanted to compare the wounds.” Sherman licked his lips. “Sure was a looker. Wish we had a few sergeants like that around here.”

  “Describe her?”

  “Blond, with the cutest turned-up nose. Can’t remember the eyes for them perky breasts in my face, but man, when she walked away, I thought I was gonna have a heart attack. Felt like committing a crime just so she could arrest me.”

  Jerry didn’t laugh, even though he knew Sherman expected him to. If the woman actually worked there, he’d be taking Sherman to task for comments like that. “Maybe I should transfer to East Hollywood. See you Monday, Sherman. Have a nice weekend.”

  “You too, Palano.”

  He cleared the station and grabbed his cell phone. He pretty much knew the whole force in East Hollywood, and unless she’d hired on recently, they didn’t have a Sergeant Tomasa. Punching in the number, he unlocked his car and waited through three rings.

  “Sheriff’s Office.”

  “Hey, Bill, it’s Jerry Palano in West Hollywood. Do you have a Sergeant Tomasa there?”

  “Heard you were back, Jerry. Never heard of anyone by that name, officer or sergeant. What’s going on?”

  “Same as usual, Bill. I guess someone got their names mixed up, or their stations. You have a good night.”

  “You too, Jerry, and stop by and see us sometime. I’ll buy you a drink.”

  “I’ll take you up on that.”

  Jerry ended the call, relocked his car, and walked inside the station. Mike Flanagan was on the front desk, and they usually rubbed each other the wrong way. “Hey, Mike, I need to see the surveillance footage for the front of the building for the last day or so.”

  “Why?”

  He outranked Flanagan, and the question was impertinent. Jerry knew if he bit back, they’d just get into a pissing match, and he’d be left standing there for hours. “There was a blonde came in earlier and looked at the autopsy report for Marconi.”

  Flanagan hit the button that opened the door between him and the general public. “I’ll pull it up for you, but then you’re on your own.”

  Jerry sat down at the computer desk as Flanagan ran through several processes until a date-stamped picture of the front steps came on the screen. “Here you go. Starts at noon today.”

  “Thanks, Mike. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

  “Just made a fresh pot of coffee, if you want a cup.”

  “That’d be great. Black’s fine.” Jerry was surprised by the offer. Maybe he needed to take a good look at his own attitude when dealing with Flanagan.

  Jerry continued to watch the screen, his eyes aching from hours of staring at reports. Damn it, I should have asked Sherman what time she came in.

  “I’ll fast-forward it for you until about 1:00 a.m. I think I remember the woman you’re talking about.” Flanagan set the coffee on the table and hit a key. “Kind of uppity, if you ask me.”

  Jerry picked up the coffee. “Sherman was ready to commit a crime just so she could arrest him.”

  Flanagan shook his head. “No accounting for taste, I guess. You’ll see what I’m talking about.” He lifted his finger when the counter reached twelve fifty-five and stood behind Jerry with his arms crossed until a blonde appeared on the screen. “Yep, there she is.”

  A shudder ran through Jerry, and his fingers tightened around the cup. “Son of a bitch.” He’d only seen her once, but that had been enough to leave a lasting impression in his mind. He needed to get that picture to the CIA and verify it really was her. “Can you get a still shot of that and print a photo for me?”

  “Nothing to it. You know this woman?”

  “I’m not sure, but if she’s who I think she is, things just got more dangerous for all of us.”

  Flanagan fiddled with the keys, and the printer light came on. “As I said, she struck me as full of herself. You need anything else, just let me know.”

  Jerry stared at the picture for a long time, his mind reenacting a scene in Herat, Afghanistan. They’d arrived at the village minutes after she’d left. Buildings were still burning, and the bodies of men, women, and children, torn apart by grenades and machine-gun fire, were strewn around. She’d killed them all, even the babies. What the hell is she doing here, and why was she looking at Marconi’s autopsy?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Andi suffered through the introductions and small talk with Father Brennan, her hands itching to open the envelope. “Shamus, we should go.” She turned and began to walk away.

  He nodded, thanked Father Brennan again, and followed her from the church. “Well, are you gonna read it?”

  “Not until we’re in the car.” She’d barely closed her door when she tore open the envelope and pulled out the note. The blood drained from her face, and her hands began to tremble. “Shit, Irish.”

  “What did she say?”

  Andi handed him the note and pulled out her cell phone. “She gave us the location of two bodies. I think we just found our evidence to tie Barnsworth and Marconi to murder.” She dialed a well-known number.

  “Police Department,” the voice on the other end said.

  “Jerry Palano, please.” Andi gave Shamus a thumbs-up.

  “Hang on. I’ll see if he’s in.”

  Shamus folded the note and handed it to her before starting the car. “If they’re under concrete, how are we going to find them? They’re not going to just let us tear down these structures. And if there’s actually twelve out there, why doesn’t she tell us where they all are?”

  “First question first. That’s why I’m calling Jerry. They use what’s called ground-penetrating radar when they suspect a body has been buried in a structure. It can map out an image to tell them if something is there, and exactly where it’s located.”

  Shamus weaved into traffic. “Cool.”

  “Second question: I don’t know, unless she’s still trying to find out if she can really trust us.”

  The voice came back on the line. “Sorry, ma’am, he’s not answering his phone. Do you want to leave a mess
age?”

  “No, I’ll call back.”

  Andi stored her phone and pursed her lips. “Let’s do a drive-by of the house on Sycamore and see how far along their project is.”

  “I don’ think that’s a good idea, Andi. We should check in with Detective Palano. Don’ you have his cell phone number?”

  “No, I don’t. Besides, we’ll need pictures if we’re going to run the story. You know, before the crime is discovered and after we dig it up.” She stuck out her lower lip. “Please.”

  Shamus turned right on Second and headed toward Sycamore. “The next time they come back, they may break more than your furniture.”

  Andi pulled a pistol from her purse. “The next time they come back, I’ll be ready for them. And if that isn’t enough, I’m also a black belt in karate. Not the cutesy stuff you see in the tournaments, but the shove-the-nose-into-the-brain, rip-out-the-windpipe-and-kill-them-quick kind of karate.”

  Shamus raised an eyebrow. “Maybe we should have a code word so you can warn me when you’re gonna attack.”

  “You watch too much American TV, Shamus.”

  “I like Burn Notice. I learned a lot from him, and that’s why we should have a code word.”

  Andi groaned. “Okay. If it will shut you up. I suppose you have something in mind?”

  “Hop on.”

  “What?” Andi gawked at him.

  “Hop on. It means a fight is about to start.” His face turned serious. “Surviving in Ireland could be tough at times. It’s the words my brothers taught me. When they grabbed their guns and yelled ‘hop on,’ I knew a fight was coming, and I should hurry home or find a place to hide.”

  “Hop on it is, then.” Andi spent the remaining drive time getting the new camera Shamus had purchased loaded and focused. “Just park across the street.”

  Shamus parked in front of a two-story ranch and cut the engine before pointing to the sign near the partially constructed building. “Marconi Construction. Wasn’t the guy who was killed in the alley named Marconi?”