The Shark (Forgotten Files Book 1)

by Mary Burton

  “Seriously, you okay?” Martin studied her like he would one of his crime scenes. “You ain’t gonna faint on me, are you?”

  She mustered another smile. “Hell, no.”

  “Thank God.”

  The crunch of gravel under tires had her turning to spot a television news van rolling up on the other side of the highway across from the spot Sheriff Barrett had vacated.

  “Out of the frying pan and into the fire,” Riley said.

  “Good news travels fast.”

  “He’s not here for this case. He’s here for me. I saw him at the park yesterday, and he was at the hospital this morning.”

  “He wants to talk to the woman of the hour.”

  “Unfortunately. And thanks to the sheriff’s perfect timing, I’m not going to be able to sneak away.”

  “Maybe DuPont will talk to him and run interference.”

  “DuPont isn’t going to do me a favor.”

  “You handled the media well enough yesterday after the Carter arrest,” Martin said.

  “I didn’t say a whole lot.”

  “Exactly. The less said the better.”

  “Even then, think twice.”

  The cards still playing on her mind, she moved back toward the road where DuPont and the other deputies stood, arms crossed, faces grim. In no mood to deal, she moved past them with a quick nod, knowing it would not serve her well to quip with a deputy while the media was close. Keeping her gaze trained ahead, she adjusted her sunglasses. “Have a good one.”

  No response followed as she approached her car and opened the backseat door to allow Cooper to jump inside. She switched on the engine and the air-conditioning.

  The reporter, Eddie Potter, was a guy in his late forties who favored blue button-down shirts and khakis that hung loosely on his trim frame. He crossed toward her.

  “Trooper!” he shouted, waving his hand. Behind him, an older, sturdy man unloaded the camera, and though he didn’t stroll, he didn’t race like the reporter. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you again this morning when they arrested Carter.”

  She settled Cooper in the backseat and closed the car door. “Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”

  “Eddie Potter. I’m with local news.”

  “Yes, sir. I remember you from yesterday.”

  “Hell of a trek into the woods you made yesterday and a ballsy arrest.” He glanced toward the backseat of her SUV. “That the famous Cooper?”

  She moved to the right, blocking his view of the dog. “That’s Cooper.”

  “I did a little digging. Human trafficking is your thing.”

  “My thing?”

  “Bad choice of words. Your cause. Is that why you were determined to get Carter? We’ve all seen the video of him hitting that girl. Brutal.”

  “I can’t comment.”

  Potter clicked the end of his pen several times. “You’re interesting. I could do a whole profile on you.”

  She didn’t want anyone digging into her life, especially with Hanna’s adoption pending.

  Deputy DuPont moved forward, his look more curious than threatening as he asked, “Can I help you?”

  “Mr. Potter is curious about your crime scene,” Riley said. “Do you have anything to add?”

  DuPont shifted his weight and hitched his hands on his belt. “No comment.”

  Riley opened the car door, sliding into her seat and taking time to click her belt in place. “Have a nice day, Mr. Potter.”

  Putting the car in drive, she gave DuPont a wave and drove south back toward Richmond. Prints would be run and there would be an autopsy, but that likely wouldn’t happen until tomorrow.

  The rolling landscape was dotted with tall oaks and thick grass, and the North Anna River swept past. Fields quickly gave way to exit signs promising fast food, gas, and lodging. She took the Ashland exit and drove past strip malls toward the city’s historic center. She lived in an old house near the train tracks that cut through the heart of the small town. But instead of turning toward her home, she went left to the town’s center.

  Cooper looked out the window, wagging his tail at the sight of the familiar streets.

  “Sorry, Cooper, we aren’t going home yet. Need to stop by Duke’s.”

  She drove to a three-story converted warehouse nestled off the road near an open field. A red neon sign above the front door read “Duke’s.” On the aged brick were the faded letters hinting to the building’s first years as a grain warehouse.

  The parking lot was in need of paving—a project Duke kept swearing he’d tackle as soon as he won the lottery. Even though Duke joked about winning the lottery, he never played it. There was enough risk these days running a restaurant in a soft economy.

  Out of her SUV, Riley hooked the tracking line to Cooper’s collar and took him for a quick walk in the woods by the lot before putting him back in and cranking the AC. “Be right back.”

  She locked the door with the keyless entry and moved across the lot, her boots crunching gravel with each impatient step. Pushing through the door, she was greeted by the spicy scents of barbecue, fried potatoes, and at least five different kinds of pies.

  Duke Spence opened Duke’s twenty years ago when he moved to Ashland after years of working the blackjack tables in Las Vegas. He said he once received a vision from God when he woke up in a back alley battered and bruised. God told him to get his act together and open a place where people could get good, affordable food. He said he never played another hand of poker and moved back east the next day.

  When Riley was seventeen, living in Duke’s shelter and in need of a job, Duke gave one to her. When he offered her a spare room on the restaurant’s second floor if she enrolled in high school, she refused. In those days, she didn’t trust anyone. But in the coming weeks, he never pressed or gave her a reason to be afraid. So she asked if the deal was still on the table. They shook on it.

  During the first nights living above the restaurant, she pushed the dresser in front of her door. It took another two weeks before she really fell into a deep sleep. He never said more than two words to her until her report card arrived. To say she blew it out of the park in terms of grades would have been a lie. Duke studied the paper closely and told her to get her grades up. He didn’t threaten or cajole, but spoke to her like an adult. And she listened. Her grades improved, and she ended up living in that upstairs room for four years while working her way through community college and then the police academy.

  Inside Duke’s restaurant, Riley grinned at the kid behind the front register, Hanna Rogers, her soon-to-be daughter. Five years ago, Riley was working patrol when she stopped a white van with a busted taillight on the interstate. A couple of muscle-bound guys were in the front seat, and in the back, three young girls. One was Hanna.

  Riley knew immediately the kid was underage, and when neither of the drivers could prove their relation to her, she called in for backup. All the girls were under eighteen. A background check told Riley that Hanna would not be going home. The kid’s father was in prison, and the mother was a heroin addict living with a convicted child molester. She wasn’t sure why, but she made the offer to foster the then-twelve-year-old girl. Hanna accepted, saying, “Until something better comes along.” Riley hadn’t argued, knowing the kid was all bluff and terrified.

  Two weeks ago, Riley had filed adoption papers, which would officially make Hanna her daughter. The move didn’t make sense to some, seeing as Hanna was close to eighteen, but it was important for both to have a real family. Neither wanted to mess the adoption up.

  “Riley,” Hanna said. “You look official.”

  Riley grinned. “Need to look the part.”

  “Oh, you totally do, Trooper Tatum. Caught any bad guys today?” Hanna reached for a set of silverware and rolled a paper napkin around them. If Riley had a nickel for all the silverware she had rolled when she lived above Duke’s, she’d have the money to send Hanna to college free and clear.

  “No bad guys y
et. Give me until dinnertime.”

  Hanna glanced at the large round clock on the wall. “Coop in the car?”

  “Yeah, doing what he does best. Sleeping.”

  “You’re a little early for dinner.”

  “Didn’t come to eat. Questions for Duke.”

  “About a case?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  “That sounds exciting.”

  “No, it’s very routine.”

  “Too bad. I think he could use a little excitement. He’s in the back adding numbers and grumbling.”

  “How much is he grumbling?”

  “Said Satan invented numbers to torture humans.”

  She arched a brow. “That bad?” His bark was worse than his bite.

  Hanna shook her head. “It’s the worst I’ve seen him in a while.”

  “Must be quarterly taxes. He hates those. What time do you get off today?”

  “Six.”

  “How are the applications going?”

  “Slow.” She grimaced. “They want me to write all these essays about my life, but each time I do, it sounds all wrong.”

  “Why wrong?”

  A shrug of her shoulders telegraphed worry, not apathy. “Not the most impressive background. Not exactly college material. And then when I add up the cost. You won’t be getting a check from the state once the adoption papers are finalized.”

  “You write about your life and don’t worry about if it fits the mold. Anyone can fit into a mold. And when you get accepted into a college, we’ll figure out the money.”

  “It’s overwhelming.”

  To say it was happily ever after once Hanna moved in would be inaccurate. The first months were rough, and if not for Cooper’s endless affection, she wasn’t sure the kid would have stuck around. Riley had introduced Hanna to Duke and asked him if she could have a summer job. Riley wanted the kid busy while she was at work. He agreed and his wife, Maria, also offered Hanna a bed in their house when Riley worked nights. Theirs wasn’t a perfect, model family, but it worked; they were doing okay.

  Riley winked and rapped her knuckles on the counter. “Remember, one step at a time.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “It is. Really.” She did her best to make it look easy, but the truth was, she didn’t know exactly where the money for Hanna’s college would come from. She said she’d find a way, and she already figured she’d pick up part-time work after the girl started courses.

  Riley left Hanna and wound her way through the thirty-plus tables, waving to a couple of the waitresses. Most were from the streets, and they lived at the shelter Duke ran down the street in a six-bedroom house he’d bought and renovated fifteen years ago. The shelter could house up to a dozen girls, and while they lived in his place, Duke gave them a job as they pieced their lives together. Some kids returned to the streets, but quite a few had gone on to finish high school and college.

  Pushing through a set of swinging saloon doors and ignoring the “Employees Only” sign, she moved along the dim hallway to the door at the end of the hall on the left. She stopped at the threshold and saw the gray-haired man stooped over a set of books. He wore a black T-shirt that accentuated muscled arms covered in tattoos. She heard the tattoos extended across his back and over his chest.

  Duke Spence was frowning as he cradled a cell phone close. He muttered a curse, hung up, and tossed the phone on his desk.

  “Your face is going to stick if you keep scowling,” she said as she leaned against the door frame and folded her arms.

  Duke glanced up, tugging off half glasses, and tossed her one of his easy trademark grins. He was in his early sixties but kept himself in great shape by working out daily. His jeans were well worn but clean, and his biker boots finished off the look of a guy who had done more than could be confessed to in an afternoon.

  He tipped back in his chair. “Well, ain’t you official looking, Trooper Tatum. You giving those boys a run for their money?”

  “Like you always said, fake it until you make it.”

  “You’ve nothing to fake, kid. You’re smart as a whip and one day will be an investigator solving crimes faster than any of them. Don’t let ’em rattle you.”

  “I’m never rattled.” She pulled her cell from her back pocket and brought up the victim’s photo. “I have a question for you about a case.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Do you know this girl? I saw her at one of the truck stops a couple of weeks ago.”

  Duke’s chair squeaked as he rose and straightened to his full six-foot-one-inch frame. He slid his glasses back on. “That kind of question from a cop can’t be good.”

  “It’s not.” She handed him the phone.

  He took the phone in weathered hands and blew up the image. “She’s dead?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Pretty.”

  “And young.”

  Shaking his head, he handed the phone back to her. “I haven’t seen her around the shelter.”

  “You sure?”

  “Face is not familiar. And if she was on the streets, it doesn’t look like she was on her own for very long.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. She has a tattoo on the back of her neck. JC. Likely she’s one of Jax Carter’s girls.”

  “I’ve heard about Carter’s arrest and saw the video of him beating that girl on the web. Sorry to hear she was mixed up with him.”

  “What have you heard?”

  “He and his girlfriend, Darla Johnson, are new to the area. They’ve been around here a couple of times trying to talk to the kids, but I chased ’em off. Told him I’d bust his knees if he came back.”

  She didn’t doubt it. “I pulled his record and hers. They’ve been running girls for years across the country but stay on the move.”

  He snapped his fingers. “Darla Johnson is from this area, I think. She can be a real charmer. You looking for her, too?”

  “Not officially, but if I come across her, I’ll have questions.”

  “I hope he rots in jail.”

  “It would be nice.”

  “How’s the kid he worked over?”

  “She’s still unconscious. I have a few days off starting tomorrow. I’ll swing by and see her as soon as she can have visitors.”

  “There’s always a bed for her at the youth shelter if she wants it.”

  “Thanks.”

  Duke stared at the picture on her phone. “This one reminds me a little of you.”

  That was the second time today she’d been linked with the victim. “The victim had one of your pamphlets in her backpack.”

  “We deal with so many kids. I can’t keep track of them all anymore.” Frown lines deepened around his eyes. “How long has she been dead?”

  “Rough estimate is a day.”

  He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “So Carter is off the hook?”

  “So far. Would help if I knew the victim’s name.”

  “If you can get me a hard copy of that photo, I’ll ask around.”

  “Great. Thanks.” She tucked the phone back in her pocket. Duke and his wife regularly visited the truck stops, bus stations, and street corners to hand out flyers to kids who looked as if they might need a place to stay.

  “I wish I had more information for you.”

  “It was worth a shot.”

  He yanked off his glasses as if he’d seen too much. “How did she die?”

  “The cops haven’t released any details to the media yet so keep this under your hat.”

  “You know me, I’m a vault.”

  “She was strangled.”

  He winced. “Was she sexually assaulted?”

  “Her clothes were intact but that doesn’t mean much. I’d like to observe the autopsy and find out the answer to that question, but that will depend on who gets the case.”

  “If the powers that be are smart, they’ll keep you in the loop. You always were a sharp kid.”

  “I though
t you said I had rocks in my head.”

  A smile tweaked the edges of his lips. “Let’s say you can be stubborn when you get an idea in your head.” His expression hardened. “You could have ended up like that kid, but you wanted to get ahead and never gave up.”

  “Who’s to say how long I could have kept it going if not for you and the shelter?”

  Duke knocked on his wooden desk, an old gambling trick to get Lady Luck’s attention. “You’re a tough nut.”

  She considered asking him about the cards, but hesitated. Duke had made and lost his first, second, and third fortunes as a professional gambler in his younger days. He often said he’d still be at the tables if not for divine intervention. And then he’d met Maria, who hated the idea of the tables.

  But it wasn’t smart to share a key detail like the cards with anyone at this stage. “Hopefully, I’ll have updates soon.”

  She waved her hand and left, taking a moment to check in with Hanna. “Straight home from here and homework, right?”

  Hanna saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Hanna, who had little structure in her life, had taken to Riley’s house rules like a duck to water. For the first time in her life, someone cared about her, and she liked it. Once, early on, she tested Riley’s resolve and did not come home. Riley had tracked the kid to a boy’s house. Dressed in full uniform with Cooper at her side, she immediately had spotted Hanna in the crowd of drunken teens. What saved Hanna’s ass was that she hadn’t been drunk or high and she looked overwhelmed by the scene. The kid had been in over her head and didn’t know how to get out and save face. Riley had given her a choice right there in front of the room full of people. Follow the rules or pack up her shit and get out of Riley’s house. A sullen Hanna had followed Riley out of the party.

  And now, the two of them had forged a kind of family that worked, and she would not let anything from the past ruin it. Hanna would be leaving for college next summer. The kid needed to build her own life, but Riley already knew she’d miss Hanna being around the house.

  As Riley slid behind the wheel of her SUV and glanced at a sleeping Cooper in the rearview mirror, her phone buzzed. The display read Agent Dakota Sharp’s name. He was four or five years older than her, and they’d gone through the police academy together. “Trooper Tatum.”