by J. M. LeDuc
“She doesn’t have that kind of time,” Garcia said.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Sin said. “This tightens our timeframe, we have to strike tonight.”
“And the locals?” Fletcher asked.
“I’ll contact Evelyn to let them know the Bureau has taken control of the case. She’ll be able to handle any fallout from the locals.”
“What about Sanchez, have you heard from him?” Garcia asked.
“No, but we can’t wait. We have another life at stake.”
Fletcher and Garcia walked the neighborhood where they thought Miranda was located. The house looked exactly like it did in the painting. It was a four-story, Victorian-style home that had seen better days. The white paint was faded and peeling; the driveway and walk were cracked.
From the information Charlie and Sanchez gave them, the apartment was located in the backside of the house. A second apartment on the fourth floor faced the front. Fletcher was in front of the mansion, down on 1st Street, snapping pictures with a telephoto lens. He was able to shoot the front and sides of the building, but not the back. That was Garcia’s job.
The entire downtown area of Davenport was built on a huge hill. Everything ran down toward the Mississippi River. Garcia used the terrain to his advantage and found a perch four blocks north on the roof of an apartment complex on Harrington Street. Accessing these old buildings was easy, and he was able to get to the roof discreetly. The “golden days” had never planned for an FBI sniper.
From there, he lay prone on the edge of the roof and using a camera zeroed in the focus until he was able to see the target clearly. The back of the house was four stories boasting absolutely no ledges, balconies, or any other helpful architectural add-ons. He spotted three windows—one in the kitchen and two in the only other room: a bedroom / den combination.
He noticed a light coming from the den.
Using a high-powered zoom lens, he snapped photos of the house and its surroundings. Two hours after their reconnaissance began, the boys were back at the hotel.
While they had been away, Sin had been busy on the phone. She was able to gather some additional intel from Evelyn and found out that Sanchez was on his way to the Quad Cities. Sin wasn’t happy about Sanchez coming, but she understood his wanting to see this case all the way to a close. She relayed a message telling him where they were staying.
Most of her time was spent trying to reach Charlie, but she had no luck. His phone just went straight to voicemail; a fact that bothered her down to her core.
She had a bad feeling about Charlie since he hung up the phone during their conference call. It wasn’t like him to just hang up, especially when discussing a case that was so important to him. After the conference broke up, she had Evelyn try to trace where the call had originated. The information she just received from Evelyn made her feeling go from bad to worse.
According to Charlie’s itinerary, he should have left Africa and been in New Zealand for the last stop, but the information Evelyn received said the call came from Sweden. That made no sense to Sin. The one thing about Charlie was that he was a stickler for plans. Once made, he didn’t break them unless there was an emergency. Being his conspiratorial self, Sin figured he had either bounced his cell off a few satellites, or he had been in Sweden the entire time. If the latter, why?
While she was pondering that point, there was a knock on her hotel room door.
“You have a key. Use it,” she yelled.
“We brought food,” Garcia said, holding up the bag.
“We knew you wouldn’t take the time to eat,” Fletcher added. “You can’t live on coffee.”
Raul Sanchez entered the room right behind them. “She can if it’s Cuban coffee.”
“You’re light on your feet for a big man,” Fletcher said.
“Yeah, well, I’m feeling a bit lighter than usual so I hope there’s enough food in that bag for one more.”
“Hell, there’s enough food in here for a damn army,” Sin said as she laid all the fixings on a small table in the corner of the room.
Sanchez walked over and sniffed the air. “I see you’ve been to Aunt Millie’s.”
Looking at the nondescript paper bags the food was carried in, Garcia was stunned. “How the hell did you know that?”
“The smell. Wait until you taste it,” Sanchez said. “Once you’ve eaten at Millie’s, you will never forget it.”
His words made them salivate and soon they had doled out four heaping plates of home-styled comfort food.
After one bite, Sin’s expression soured as she swallowed. “This shit is terrible.”
Sanchez, who hadn’t taken a bite, watched the others and laughed so hard he had to put his fork down. “I told you that you would never forget it; I did not say it was good.”
“Damn,” Garcia said, “that’s just plain mean.”
Sanchez stood and grabbed his keys. “Come on, and I will take you to a place on the river. A local hangout with great food. We can continue this meeting there.”
Sin wiped her mouth with a napkin. “It better be good, or your final resting place will be that river.”
61
The four sat around a small metal table in an out-of-the-way dive called The Library and stared at the menus that were just a sheet of copy paper. There were only four choices on the menu—breakfast, lunch, dinner, and special.
“Get the special,” Sanchez said.
The other three eyed each other carefully before slowly putting the paper down, wondering if they were about to be played for fools again.
An attractive middle-aged woman with a stern expression came to the table. She didn’t say a word, just stood quietly and stared at Sanchez.
“Four specials and four Cuban coffees,” Sanchez said.
The corner of the woman’s full lips turned upward ever so slightly, and she walked back to the kitchen.
“Cuban coffee?” Sin asked.
“Some of the best you will ever taste west of Miami,” Sanchez said. “That was Trudy who took our order. She was a lot younger the last time I saw her, but it was definitely her. Her parents owned this place the last time I was here. I suppose it’s owned by her and her husband, Ramon, now.”
“Ramon? Is he the Cuban part of the equation?”
Sin sipped her ice water and raised one eyebrow. “Using that sniper curse again, Garcia?”
Garcia pointed a finger and was about to speak when the smell of freshly brewed Cuban coffee wafted toward the table. “That smells like heaven,” were the only words that came out of his mouth.
In fact, they were the only words to come out of anyone’s mouth for the next twenty minutes. Forks down, bellies full, the four of them sat back with expressions of euphoria plastered across their faces.
The quiet was broken by Fletcher. “Why is this place called The Library? I don’t see a book anywhere.”
“Look down,” Sanchez grinned.
Under at least one leg of every table was a book.
“The library is what is used to keep the tables from wobbling,” Sanchez laughed. “I had the same question years ago, only I made the mistake of asking Cecilia, Trudy’s mother.”
“Why was it a mistake?” Garcia asked.
“This place is a hidden gem among the locals, and Cecilia wasn’t too fond of tourists. She gave me an earful in Spanish. The only thing that saved me was being able to respond in her native tongue. After that,” he looked around the small diner with what appeared fond memory, “Charlie and I became regulars. We ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner here, always ordering the special.”
Sin, who had been quietly drinking her coffee and observing everything in her surroundings, uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “So, what’s the real reason you brought us here?”
“The incredible food is not enough?”
Sin pursed her lips and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, the food was amazing, but you were chomping at the bit back in Mia
mi to come with us. A man with that type of drive doesn’t take us to some out of the way place for lunch for no reason.” Sin looked about the small diner and spread her arms out wide. “What’s the real reason you brought us here.”
Sin could tell by Sanchez’s sideways grin that she had piqued his curiosity. He, too, leaned forward and in doing so, drew Fletcher and Garcia closer to the table. “Why do you think I brought you here?”
Sin removed the black scrunchie from her wrist, tied back her raven tresses in a tight ponytail, and leaned in even further. “When the waitress, Trudy, first came out of the kitchen, she hesitated slightly after seeing your face. I realize you both have aged since 1971, but she recognized you.”
“So, she has a good memory,” Sanchez played along, “I already told you that I had been here back when the Ash case was active.”
Sin smirked. “I might be young but don’t underestimate my intelligence or intuition. Your eyes dilated in an immediate response to seeing her. That is not the response of someone who saw an acquaintance from forty-three years ago. That’s the response of someone who knew this woman well.”
“Keep going,” Sanchez said, taking a sip from his cup.
“When the boys and I were in the Keys at Charlie’s place, we had a chance to look at the files of the Ash case. There were a lot of pictures of the scene and of his victims. Pictures of how they looked before they were kidnapped and of how they looked after they were found.” Sin could see his expression start to change. She could tell that he knew where she was going. “One of the victims was a young coed by the name of Melody Cramer. I can’t help but notice that Trudy has the same features as Melody. There is definitely a family resemblance.”
Sin’s right eyebrow rose incrementally with her words. “Should I keep going or would you like to fill in the blanks?”
Sanchez took a deep breath and blew the air out of his mouth. “Just when I think I have you pegged, you do something that reminds me how special of an agent you are.”
“You can bullshit me later, Mayor. Tell us what you know, or I will order you straight back to sunny Florida.”
“Melody was a first year grad student at Palmer College of Chiropractic. The campus is huge and sits right on top of Brady Hill in downtown Davenport.”
Sin leaned across the table and whispered through gritted teeth, “I don’t need a freaking tour guide, I need answers.”
“I’m getting there,” Sanchez said. “We first came to Davenport back in ’70 because a girl from the community college had been found dead. Melody was her best friend and the one who reported her missing.” Sanchez paused for a moment as if to collect his thoughts. “Trudy was Melody’s cousin.”
“And you started seeing Melody…in a personal way, that right?” Sin said.
“It’s not like that, but you have to understand. Melody was scared to death that she might be next. She clung to Charlie and me like glue.” Sanchez hung his head in what seemed like mourning.
Sin softened her tone. “How long after was she killed?”
“We received a call that another girl was reported missing in Des Moines. We left here on a Wednesday to check out the report. Trudy called me on Friday to tell me that Melody never made it home from school Thursday night.”
“Why Melody?” Sin asked. “She didn’t fit the mold. From what I recall—”
“Which is everything,” Garcia interjected.
Fletcher nodded his agreement.
“From what I recall,” Sin continued, “Melody was not one of Ash’s students, and from her picture, she definitely wasn’t plain looking. She was gorgeous.”
“At first it didn’t make any sense to us either, but when we found the body, the note left behind explained everything.”
“Note?” Sin exclaimed. “There was no mention of any note in Charlie’s files.”
“That’s because he didn’t know about it. I arrived at the scene a few minutes before him. I read then…destroyed the note.”
Sin slammed her spoon down on the table. “You seemed to be good at keeping information from everyone. Any other hidden gems you’d like to tell us?”
“No, that’s everything,” Sanchez replied.
“Do you remember what the note said?”
Sanchez ran a hand though his salt and pepper hair. “I will never forget it. It said: ‘What was innocent is no longer. What was beautiful is now ugly.’ ”
“Fuck,” Sin mouthed. “That was Miranda’s first mention of Blake’s poem. It’s twisted, but it’s a definite link.”
Sanchez nodded. “Look, I know I screwed up back then, and I’ve lived my life trying to make up for that mistake.
“When I heard about the note the Painted Beauty Killer had left behind on the first victim, I called Charlie and told him everything. Your name came up during that conversation. He said you were a pit bull—someone who wouldn’t stop until justice was served. That’s when I contacted Frank and asked for you to take the case from Rand.”
Sin was about to respond when Trudy and a gentleman walked out of the kitchen towards their table.
Sanchez stood to greet them. “Ramon, Trudy, it’s been a long time.”
“Si,” Ramon replied. He reached out and shook Sanchez’s hand. “What brings you back?”
Sin stood and stuck out her hand. She introduced herself and the others to Ramon and Trudy. It was clear that Ramon was not falling for her “sweetness,” so she decided to change tactics.
She passed them a picture of Miranda; the photo of the portrait that Joel had painted. “Necesitamos su ayuda. Esta mujer ha desaparecido y creemos que podría estar en esta zona. ¿La has visto?” We need your help. This woman has disappeared and we believe she might be in this area. Have you seen her?
Sin’s Spanish seemed to warm the chill in the air. Ramon reached out and took the photo. Both he and Trudy looked at it briefly before he handed it back.
“That’s Joanna Ash,” he said. “She is older, but so are we. She was very nice to us after…everything that happened.”
“How so?” Sanchez said.
“About a month after Vincent’s death, she came to the diner and told us how sorry she was. She cried and mourned with our family. She ate all her meals here for a week and then we never saw her again.”
That bitch, Sin thought, she was gloating in their misery and they didn’t even know it.
Ramon eyed the group. “Why are you here dredging up these painful memories?”
“You might not believe it but they are painful for me, also.”
Trudy ran her callused fingers down Sanchez’s face. “Even though you did not know Melody for very long, I could tell that you cared for her. I’m sorry that her parents blamed you for her death. It wasn’t right.”
So that’s why he left the Bureau, Sin thought.
Sin handed Ramon a business card. “Joanna is suspected of some art forgery, and we were just wondering if you’d seen her. If you do, we would appreciate you giving us a call.”
Ramon placed the card in his pocket and agreed.
62
Back at the hotel, the team mapped out their strategy.
“The city records show the house was sold to J&J Holding back in 2008. It’s been vacant ever since,” Sin said.
“J&J? Interesting company name,” Fletcher said.
“Yeah, I thought the same thing.”
“J&J; Joanna and Joel,” Garcia nodded.
“Damn that sniper intuition,” Sin smirked. “Nothing gets by you.”
Fletcher chuckled at Garcia’s expense, but they were soon right back in work mode.
“What’s your plan, Boss Lady?” Garcia asked.
“Straight in, straight out,” Sin said.
“Care to clue me in on your vernacular,” Sanchez said. A look of confusion washed over his face.
“Fletcher and I will approach the front of the house and make our way straight up the stairs. You will give us a thirty second head start and guard our backside. Garci
a will take the same perch he had earlier today and wait for my signal.”
“Signal for what?” Sanchez asked.
“I’m hoping to maneuver Miranda to one of the windows. Once I do, I will signal Garcia to take her out.”
Sanchez appeared shocked by Sin’s words. “Take her out! What happened to taking her in?”
Sin looked up from the photos and burned a fiery stare into Sanchez. “We take her in and then what? She pleads insanity. God knows, she will probably be granted it, and then she spends the rest of her life and millions of tax dollars living in some fucking country club for the rest of her life. I don’t think so.”
“But—”
“But nothing! You said it yourself. Charlie told you that if you wanted justice, I was your ‘go to’ person. If I can get Miranda to confess to the murders, I will signal Garcia. If I can’t, we take her in. It’s that simple.”
Sanchez shook his head and pounded his fist on the table. “This is not what I signed up for.”
“You didn’t sign up for shit. No one asked you to come.”
Sin reached over and dragged her gun belt from her chair. She strapped it on, never moving her gaze from Sanchez. “If you don’t like it, then go the fuck home where you belong,” Sin said.
Fletcher and Garcia grabbed their weapons and followed Sin out the door, neither of them taking even a scant glance at Sanchez as they did.
63
Just after ten p.m., Sin and Fletcher were in front of an apartment building a couple streets down from Miranda’s suspected location. Garcia chimed into their earpieces stating he saw a light coming from the apartment.
“We can see the house from our location,” Sin said. “The entire house is lit up from the front side.”
“The house is supposed to be vacant except for Miranda, why are lights on in the other apartments?” Sanchez radioed.
Sin’s pulse started to speed up. She knows we’re here, she thought. Hearing footsteps, she turned and saw Sanchez approaching.
