Danger Returns in Pairs (Shawn Danger Mysteries Book 2)

by Nina Post

  "Someone showed up there, I'm supposing it was your suspect, and shot the place up."

  Oh, shit. "Where are they now?"

  "Saint Vincent."

  "Where's the van?"

  "I don't know where the goddamn van is, Danger."

  Ashburn hung up.

  Shawn's hand with the phone dropped to the side of his leg. He was both gut-punched and furious. He called the office to have them issue a BOLO on the plate. He'd have to find another way, and he'd have to get to St. Vincent.

  Crane showed him a dirt-encrusted cigar box he found in the corner of the moss garden. Shawn indicated for him to open it and inside saw four Zippo lighters, each engraved with the League's logo. Unless someone made copies, that meant that Darcy's and Brower's lighters were in the box. Just not his. There was also one blood-red aggie. Jasper's missing marble.

  Abbot Thomas stood off to the side of the kitchen, his lean face pale and drawn. The monks' eyes darted quickly around the room and landed frequently on the abbot as they waited for his leadership. Shawn walked over to the entrance where he'd been welcomed the first time. He went to the table, in the kitchen, and then unrolled the blueprints someone on staff had brought him from the city planner's office. He beckoned to the abbot.

  "Again, Abbot, I apologize for the intrusion, but we wouldn't be doing this if it weren't necessary. You can help speed things up by telling me what's what here." Shawn held open the large sheet of paper. The abbot pointed to the sheet without quite touching it. "This open area within the cloister is a garth. It's surrounded by walkways. This is our refectory, where most of the brothers take their meals. This is our calefactory, our warming room, where we warm ourselves by the fireplaces." The abbot tapped another area. "Here is our parlor, where the brothers are allowed to speak with one another when there is silence in the cloister. This is the abbacy, my office, and this is the dormitory section."

  "What about these stairs?"

  "Our night stairs. They are how we access the church from the dormitory."

  Shawn thanked him and rolled up the blueprints. He searched every room, and checked for hidden doors in each wall, floor, and ceiling. The abbot tentatively followed at a distance, in front of four other monks. When Shawn turned and met his eyes, the abbot seemed startled as though he presumed they'd go unnoticed.

  "Any hidden rooms I should know about? Unused rooms? Bomb shelters?"

  The abbot frowned. "No, Detective."

  "How many floors?" Shawn asked. He knew the answer, but wanted the abbot's response.

  "Two, plus the basement and an attic."

  Shawn held his eyes for another moment, then headed back down the hall and cut left into the next room, one of the bedrooms.

  "Where's Brother Benedict's room?"

  "Upstairs, in the dormitory, first on the right," the abbot said, his expression indicating that he was two hours past eating a bad oyster. Shawn searched the church, then went up the night stairs, worn oak panels creaking under his shoes. He paused on the landing then went into the first room on the right and scoured every inch of it, from inside the drawers and under the drawers and behind the drawers and on the side of the drawers and in the trash and under the trash. He felt around the closet like he was speed-reading Braille. There was nothing personal, just the most basic set of clothes and grooming tools. Shawn bagged some hairs then went on to inspect the other rooms, and then the attic alcove. Nothing.

  Shawn edged past the abbot to hurry down the stairs to the main floor, and then down the stairs to the basement, legs moving like a Russian folk dancer's. The monks followed.

  Shawn wasn't what he'd call allergy-prone, but he started sneezing mid-way down the stairs and paused to sneeze again before moving forward. "What's all that equipment?" Shawn asked, referring to a gallimaufry of strange equipment piled up in a corner of the large basement.

  "I beg your pardon?" the abbot said, as though he just happened to be there on the stairs. "Oh, that's older canning and soap-making equipment that was retired from service."

  "Why are you keeping it?"

  "As backups for current equipment."

  "Who makes the soap?"

  "All of us lend a hand."

  "Including Brother Benedict?"

  "Yes, of course."

  Shawn pushed the equipment to the side until he cleared all of it away from the two walls. He brushed away dust with the side of his palm to reveal a locked door that was nearly flush with the surrounding structure. Bingo.

  "Do you have the key to this room?"

  Abbot Thomas went down a few steps then came forward. "A key to what?"

  "This room."

  "What room?" The abbot crossed the floor until he was next to Shawn, who showed him the lock. "Brother Magnus?" The abbot turned to address one of the several monks clustered around the foot of the stairs. He glanced at Shawn. "Brother Magnus does much of the laundry." He looked back to the other monk. "Did you know about this?"

  "No, Abbot, I had no idea."

  Where would he keep a key if it wasn't in his room? It was probably in the van.

  He despaired. Shawn doubted he could close this case, doubted he'd ever get justice for Jasper or Paul, or the veterans he didn't know, doubted he still belonged in this job.

  Doubted he could still do this job.

  Then he thought about the geranium. What the hell. Couldn't hurt to check.

  Shawn maneuvered around the monks and ran back upstairs, rushing out of the kitchen and into the moss garden. He found the geranium and dug underneath it like a crazed dog.

  "Hey, Detective. What are you doing?" Crane asked, with that folksy I think he's lost his mind but we'll tread carefully tone. Shawn ignored him, just kept digging until he hit something hard -- a small metal box with a snap enclosure. The box had to be Brower's, and was old enough to have belonged to Brower's father. Shawn flipped up the metal tongue and removed the bar from the top wedge. Inside was a key and nothing else.

  "Bag that box for me," he called out to Crane as he ran back to the main house with the key, pushing through the group of startled monks. He clambered back down the basement stairs, sneezing again on the way, then poised the key in front of the lock. He slid the key in, finessing it a little side to side, muttering a short prayer to anyone or anything that could turn this damn case around, whether the entity the monks dedicated their lives to, the washing machine daemon, or the minor Sumerian god who lived in Ron Safari's hair.

  The door cracked away from the wall. Shawn pulled the door wider and out of the corner of his eye noticed the monks sneaking closer to look, murmuring softly. Inside was a short hallway, compact in length and height. One of the monks gasped. Apparently they had never seen this before.

  Shawn crouched over, glad for his trampoline training -- not that it was training -- and stepped slowly through the gray concrete tunnel. Abbot Thomas peered inside the tunnel with an expression of dumbfounded amazement. "Make sure that door doesn't close," Shawn said.

  The tunnel ended at a small windowless room, all concrete. In the corner, on a pile of sleeping bags and sheets, next to a carafe and a basin, was a black duffel bag. He glanced back at the abbot, then crouched in front of the bag and unzipped it. Inside, he found a bottle of Lendormin tablets. He pulled a sample bag out of his pocket and placed the bottle in there. He wondered if Brower had ordered it off the web.

  In a side pocket of the bag, wrapped in plastic, was a long, bronze hairpin with a bird of paradise pattern at the thick end. There was some moss in the wrapping.

  Shawn turned it over in his mind, remembering how something about Nelda's hairpin bothered him. He had seen an antique-looking hairpin on Darcy's bedroom dresser, and though he didn't inspect it closely enough to know if the hairpin he just took into evidence was the same one, it had to be more than a coincidence. Why didn't I notice it, he asked himself, then answered his own question. Because I was so sure about Brower.

  He reminded himself that Brower could have taken it from h
er house. Brower had been in his. Brower had been in all of their houses.

  But he didn't feel that was right. What he was feeling was a dark pit. Something he hadn't considered for even a moment.

  The monks in the tunnel made quiet scuffling sounds as they watched and whispered, but they didn't come any farther and didn't say anything to him.

  He appreciated being left in peace to soak in his mistakes.

  ***

  When Shawn eventually ducked out of the tunnel door and stepped into the basement, Abbot Thomas startled him by grabbing his arms above the elbow. "You found that woman here, and you came here asking about Brother Benedict. Tell me what he's done!"

  On autopilot, he said, "John Brower is a suspect in five murders."

  "Did any of these murders occur in the past two years?"

  "Yes." Shawn figured the abbot was thinking back to what he told Shawn the first time. Thinking about the sins one of his own committed out of the monastery while they prayed for him. Thinking about how they should have known. The abbot let go of Shawn's arm. "He took vows. Stabilitas loci, conversio morum, obedientia. He relinquished his property, he -- "

  They walked up the stairs.

  "No, Abbot. He didn't relinquish his property. He owned a van, he rented a garage."

  "If Brother Benedict had ascended all of the steps of humility, then he would not have so grievously struggled to obey the commandments." The abbot paused once he reached the main floor and shook his head, despondent. "I failed him. We were his family, and I personally failed him." The abbot folded his arms over his robe and walked toward the kitchen. "I realized when the community put me in the position of Abbot that it would be an arduous, incredibly challenging task. I prayed to have the strength for it. You have to care for the morals of many. Some require encouragement, some more firm guidance, some persuasion." This made Shawn think of Ashburn. "I try to provide a good example by my words and deeds, but can't help feel that both were wanting. Had I known, perhaps I could have prevented all of this."

  Shawn gathered some sympathy. "Abbot, listen to me. I believe that John had good intentions when he joined." He thought about it. Stepped a little closer to his abyss. "Your job is to protect and look over your monks, isn't that right?"

  They reached the kitchen.

  "Yes." The abbot's forehead creased in long lines.

  "I think Brother Benedict was trying to protect someone else." It occurred to him just then that Brower might have wanted him to find the cigar box in the van, along with the gavel it contained.

  Who used a gavel? A judge.

  But also an auctioneer.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, stunned and nauseous. The abbot had gone to stand close to the window.

  This could still all be on Brower. He just knew in his marrow it wasn't, and the more rational part of his mind thought he could match up the gavel's wear and indentations with the end of the hairpin.

  "It's just so hard to understand," the abbot continued, though he sounded far away to Shawn. "We don't just take in just anyone, Detective. It's a difficult process that requires everyone's time and effort. We proved his worthiness to be accepted into our community. We were family. Do you understand that?"

  With the last sentence out of the abbot's mouth, Shawn was already out the door, running toward the garden.

  Chapter 21

  Shawn stopped at the garden shed and after turning frantically in every direction, grabbed some sort of pickaxe and ran out with it. Crane was nearby and watched with a dropped jaw as Shawn took the axe to the garden. He breathed heavily as he considered the whale, the dragon, and the angel.

  It had to be the angel. He dropped the pickaxe, wondering why he even got it in the first place, and started to tear apart the sculpture with his hands.

  Crane got Marin and stood several feet back.

  "Detective?" Crane said.

  "Keep back," Shawn said, and didn't stop pulling until the angel wasn't recognizable as such anymore. Then he went to work on the dragon, even though his hands were bleeding.

  "Detective, let us do that, you're -- " Marin began, but Crane put up a hand to stop him. Marin shrugged.

  Shawn rested for a moment, took a few deep breaths. More carefully now, he pulled off pieces of the whale.

  "Oh, man, what's that smell?" Marin said. Crane stepped forward until he was next to Shawn. They looked at each other, exchanging a silent understanding. Crane pressed his sleeve to his nose and used his right hand to help Shawn tear down the whale.

  The abbot and the brothers stood behind Marin.

  The smell nearly knocked them to their knees. Shawn staggered back a step, then kept tearing it down. A patch opened on the side of the whale's head, and showed gray fish-belly skin and blonde hair.

  "Christ," Shawn muttered, and broke off more of the sculpture. He reached over and touched her with his fingertips, then flinched. Her skin was already cold.

  "Get everyone here," Shawn told Crane in a hoarse voice. "A full team."

  "Who is that?" Abbot Thomas called out over the monks' excited murmur. "Are they all right?"

  Crane blocked the abbot from getting closer. Shawn could see that the abbot finally realized there really was a fox in his house. His face lost all color. "Is that the woman you were looking for?"

  Shawn nodded.

  "How could we -- my God -- how could we -- "

  How could we not have known, Shawn knew the abbot wanted to say.

  A memory flitted around his mind like a bat in the eaves of a barn. He and Jasper were skipping stones at the Devil's Backbone. Brower had showed up with blood sprayed across his neck and cheek. Paul and Jasper had probably been there, but Darcy's presence was sharp. At the time, he thought something was wrong with her. It was like a switch had been flipped, and she wasn't really there.

  Someone, maybe Jasper, said something about how Darcy and John would just have to leave again because it was almost time for supper. In those days, "time for supper" was a phrase with the quality of a Blitz curfew, a dire threshold. He also remembered the look in Brower's eyes. Something significant had happened, Shawn had known instantly. Brower's eyes weren't filled with his usual mischief, suspicion, and anger -- they were blank, fearful, like he hadn't processed something that just happened.

  Brower said he had to go home, but that Darcy could stay if she wanted. He and Jasper had laughed, because that was Rule Number Three. You were home on time for supper, and if you were late, you'd better be carrying your own head in your hands.

  The League stuck together. Rule Number One. It was them against their families, against the authorities at school, against the world, and they had all followed rules for surviving. Rule 1: Stick together. Rule 2: Never wake up dad. Rule 3: Never be late for supper. Rule 4: Never go inside anyone else's house. Rule 5: Never try to get dad to go to a Fourth of July celebration or a parade.

  They should've had more rules. Or had better ones of their own.

  His own rules were probably pretty much the same as Darcy's and the others. Keep your life small and calm and closed-off. Above all, keep busy. And don't be a father, because what if you were like yours?

  Shawn studied the curve of Darcy's cheek, the side of her nostril, and her pallor. As though from underwater, he heard the monks' voices, and beyond that, sirens.

  The practical side of him was pleased that the judge wouldn't overturn his warrants.

  ***

  Shawn wondered if a nurse at Saint Vincent's would take one look at him, haggard, unshaven, ragged in his suit, and assume he was there to be admitted. But no one did.

  Maybe they should. He felt hollowed out and could use an IV of electrolytes.

  "Danger," he heard.

  "Captain." Shawn halted.

  Ashburn gave him a once-over, frowning slightly. "Go talk to the techs if you want. They're stable. Doctors told me it could have been much worse."

  "I will, thanks."

  "Just go through there, take the first left, and i
t's the third door down on the left." Ashburn put up his hands and turned to go. "I'll get out of your hair."

  Shawn wound around gurneys and nurses and various carts until he found the room. One of the techs was awake and blinking; the other had his eyes closed.

  "Hey, Griffin." The tech, Matt Griffin, was a new guy, like him.

  "Hey there, Detective." The tech sounded a little loopy, probably from the meds they were dripping into him. "So that job didn't go so well."

  "No. No, it didn't. Can you tell me what happened?"

  "We finished printing the van. We were gonna move on to blood. We did see some, with the Luminol, but we were still looking, and then Krasny shows up." One of the patrol officers.

  Matt rolled his eyes then shifted his look to one side. "Water." Shawn looked around and saw a cup on the tray. When Matt was finished, he put it back in the same place. "We told Krasny we were about to take the van back to the lab, and then another guy drives in."

  "What was he driving?"

  "A crappy station wagon, something like that."

  Brower must be getting desperate to take one of the monastery's vehicles. Could be the abbot's own car. He chided himself for not checking.

  "Krasny gets all up in the guy's face, real confrontational," Matt went on. "You know how he gets. Next thing I know, shots are fired. The other guy, he takes off. I hit my head on something when I'm going for the floor. Don't know what happened to Krasny. And here I am. Maybe I'll drop a few pounds in time for swimsuit season."

  "Would Roberts tell me anything different?" Shawn asked.

  The tech shook his head, a slight movement. "Doubt it. But …"

  "What?"

  "The guy could have killed us if he wanted to. We got nicked is all. If Krasny hadn't gotten all up in the guy's face, maybe none of this would've happened."

  Shawn was obligated to say, "I'm sure Krasny was just doing his job. Probably got spooked." He was quiet for a minute as he stared at the other tech. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

  Matt thought about it. "Actually, yeah. Can you stop by my house and check on my spider orchid?"