Safe Haven

by Lisa Mondello

  “And the whereabouts of George Carlisle?”

  “Exactly. Having him disappear at this exact moment in time doesn’t bode well for your friend.”

  Friend. Kevin could hardly think of Daria as a mere friend and yet, what was she? They’d been lovers.

  He thought about what she’d said about ridding herself of George’s ghost and moving on. Was he the end of that too or the beginning of something new?

  “What’s your take on this, Charlie?” Matt asked.

  She shook her head. “To be quite honest, none of this makes sense. Profiling isn’t an exact science. It requires evidence and interviewing. And everything I’ve uncovered thus far just doesn’t add up.”

  Matt tapped his pencil on his desk blotter. “It’s not uncommon for stalking victims to feel so threatened that they’d resort to violence if they believed they were in danger of being harmed.”

  “No, it’s not. But Daria insists she didn’t see anyone in the house when she got home with the wine,” Kevin said. “She only saw the carnage. Evidence shows it was George Carlisle’s blood and in the amounts found at the scene, it indicates he was seriously injured, possibly fatally. Daria said she fled when she thought she heard someone upstairs. There was no blood at all uncovered on the stairs. If George had been injured, he’d have left an obvious trail. The question remains, where is he?”

  Matt sighed. “That’s anybody’s guess right now.”

  “The neighbor saw Daria hoist something into her truck?” Charlie asked.

  Impatient, Kevin leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, we’ve been through this. Mrs. Hildebrand was upset. And she’s as blind as a bat. There’s no way Daria could have lifted a man George Carlisle’s size into a truck.”

  Charlie shrugged. “If she was fueled by adrenalin, she might.”

  “Let’s not just look at the obvious,” Matt said. “Sometimes what seems to be so tricks you into sloppy police work.”

  “The blood,” Kevin said. “He could have gotten it from a blood bank.”

  Matt shook his head. “The report from the lab shows there was no traces of anticoagulant in it. When blood is donated, the anticoagulant is put into the bag to keep it fresh and from clotting. This didn’t even have a trace. It was straight from the vein.”

  Kevin’s inside recoiled. He believed Daria that she wasn’t there when whatever had happened at her house happened. But looking through the evidence with the eyes of a cop, it was hard to argue her innocent of any wrongdoing. She was the prime suspect.

  Matt sat back in the chair and rested his chin on his steepled fingers. “While the DA is sympathetic to what Mrs. Carlisle has been going through, she’s getting pressure from George Carlisle’s camp to make an arrest that will lead to finding a body.”

  It was so clinical to be talking about a body, Kevin thought. And yet, in any other case, he wouldn’t have a problem. He’d remain removed enough to look at the facts. But right now, none of the facts were adding up in a way that made sense.

  Matt added, “And given she has no family here in Providence to tie her, Martha is afraid she might take off.”

  “She’s not going anywhere.”

  “I’m just giving you the facts, Kevin. The note Mrs. Carlisle had on her counter doesn’t help her case. It screams motive. And Martha can’t ignore it. Neither can I.”

  Kevin looked at Charlie, who’d remained quiet, seeming to digest all the information laid out on the table.

  “What’s your take on this?”

  “Like I said, none of it makes sense. I can understand Daria being pushed to desperate lengths, especially since you’ve been hovering over her, reminding her that her life is in danger.”

  He tilted an eyebrow in challenge. “I’m not the one who put a contract out for her murder.”

  Raising her hand, Charlie interjected. “I’m not blaming you for anything. Given the circumstances I’d say you were right on the money where George is concerned. He’s a passionate man to the point of obsession. But the kind of incidences we’re talking about don’t equate with him, from a profiling standard.”

  “What kind of person are we looking for?”

  “It’s true that the person who is doing all this has escalated to a new level. If we assume all the incidences at Mrs. Carlisle’s home are related, then it starts with a dead bird, moves on to breaking into the house and vandalism, and then on to a gruesome act of violence where someone has possibly been killed.

  “That’s typical of criminals. They like to show off, get a little closer as if to say, ‘Catch me if you can.’ They like to see just how close they can get, enjoy the mayhem they’ve created, before they’re caught. It’s part of the game.”

  Opening the file she’d been resting on her lap, Charlie added, “The way these crimes have been committed suggests a person who is educated, very organized, egotistical, cares about his place in society.”

  “That would be George Carlisle.”

  “Yes. And yet…”

  “What?” Matt asked.

  “There are some aspects that don’t add up. It’s almost as if the person had a split personality. And it doesn’t explain how George Carlisle’s blood managed to get all over the crime scene. No evidence of some other intruder being there was found. It’s possible Daria could have been so traumatized she doesn’t remember what happened at all.”

  Matt stood and sighed. “I don’t want the obvious. I know you’re trying. But the last thing I want is a repeat of what I went through ten years ago.”

  “Of course,” Charlie said. “The obvious isn’t always the truth.”

  “If that were so, I’d be on death row.”

  Charlie pointed a finger. “I will tell you one thing. I wouldn’t put it past George Carlisle to stage something.”

  “What do you mean?” Kevin asked.

  “Theatrics are part of the game. From everything Daria has said, he’s a passionate man and I believe he feels threatened by any other man coming into her life.”

  Matt glanced at Kevin. “Good news travels fast.”

  “Exactly. If George Carlisle is alive, it may be what brings him out of hiding.”

  Kevin shook his head. “Where are you going with this?”

  Charlie leaned forward and turned to Kevin. “Hold a press conference. This crime has been all over the evening news. If George Carlisle is alive and sees you by Daria’s side, maybe…announcing you are supporting your fiancé—”

  “He’ll be so enraged, he’ll make a move,” Matt finished.

  “Exactly. That is, if he’s still alive.”

  “You’ve got nothing to lose.”

  A knock on the door had them turning to greet the DA.

  “I can’t ignore the evidence we have,” Martha said, giving Kevin a quick look of sympathy. “Daria Carlisle had her ex-husband’s blood on her clothes and an ocean of it was found at her house. Does she have a lawyer?”

  “No,” Kevin said.

  Martha nodded. “I think now may be a good time for her to at least think about getting one. And when she does, have him talk to me. I’m sure there is some kind of deal we can make that will please all the parties involved.”

  The door closed as swiftly as it had been opened.

  “I’ve got the name of a top-notch lawyer who made a miracle happen for me,” Matt said to Kevin.

  “Good. If we don’t find George Carlisle alive, let’s hope he can make another one.”

  *

  Tyler had come through for Kevin in a big way. The transaction may have been quick, but selling Her Gypsy Heart was far from painless. Regardless, it was what had to be done if he had any chance of helping Daria.

  The press conference went off without a hitch. As Kevin stared into the camera lens of every news reporter, he’d made a solemn vow to George Carlisle that he would find him and bring him to justice. His blood may have been spilled at the crime scene, but the man was far from innocent. He�
�d had no business being there in the first place.

  If George Carlisle was dead, they’d find the truth and deal with it. If he was alive, then he’d dropped the bait by professing his support for Daria and claiming to be her fiancé. He hoped Charlie’s hunch was right and that would be enough to bring George out of hiding.

  Daria was released in his custody and ordered on watch. Since her house was still considered an active crime scene, she couldn’t go back until the CSI team was satisfied they’d gathered all the evidence they needed and removed the yellow police tape. Kevin moved her into his apartment for now and put Ski on guard duty while he poured over each and every lead, fact, or piece of evidence connected with George Carlisle.

  He’d spent three hours pouring over the evidence collected at Daria’s house. Kevin closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to figure out where the hell he’d gone wrong. There had to be something he’d missed. Anything that could lead him in the right direction of George Carlisle’s whereabouts. But after hours of looking at the same evidence, he came up empty.

  “Gordon.”

  His head shot up with the sound of the Matt’s voice calling him.

  “I need to see you now.”

  Leaving the pictures and report he’d been toiling over in place on his desk, he sprang to his feet and went to the Captain Jorgensen’s office.

  He closed the door as the captain nodded to the green metal chair with cracked vinyl covering opposite his desk.

  “Take a seat.”

  With scrutinizing eyes, Matt read from a report he held in his hand, not bothering to raise his head to look at Kevin. It left Kevin to stare at the captain’s pristinely cleaned desk. Everything was neatly in its place. Instead of doodles and coffee ring stains on the blotter as the previous captain’s desk had once adorned, Jorgensen had written notes in tight script in straight rows and then X’d out the block as the month went on.

  At first, Kevin had admired Jorgensen’s clean by-the-book style. But by-the-book didn’t always play out in real life the way it should. You miss a split second decision because you’re debating one procedure over another and then the moment is lost. Many times, the criminal you’re trying to get off the streets was lost along with it.

  Thinking of the files strewn about on his desk, Kevin cleared his throat to get Jorgenson’s attention. He didn’t want to waste any more time than he had to at the station. All he could think of was getting back to Daria.

  Matt lifted his head and tapped the eraser end of his pencil on his blotter. He stuffed the papers he’d been reading in the file and closed it.

  “There comes a time when even the sharpest criminal gets sloppy and screws up. That’s when you know you’ve got them.” Matt leaned forward in his chair. “I pulled a favor and got an early Christmas present for you, Kevin.”

  Kevin couldn’t help the smirk that stretched on his face. “You?”

  Jorgenson rolled his eyes. “Even I can bend when it’s warranted. Charlie did some pulling herself and I have to say it’s put a smile on my face.”

  “You gonna make me happy?” Kevin asked, noting the slight knit of the man’s brow and his sharp-eyed gaze. “What’s my present?”

  Matt tossed the file across the desk where Kevin could easily reach it. “If I believed in such things, I’d call it a ghost.”

  “A ghost?”

  “But since I don’t believe in those things, I’m just calling it…an interesting twist.”

  Kevin opened the file and leafed through the small stack of papers. Mug shots, police reports and fingerprint analysis that had either been faxed or sent express from the FBI headquarters in Virginia.

  “I have a buddy from college who’s FBI based out in the Virginia office. We still see each other enough from time to time socially. Charlie knows him. I asked him to put the prints we lifted from Daria’s house on the top of the pile.”

  Kevin nearly choked and Matt laughed.

  “Don’t look so shocked. It was just a favor for an old friend.” He pointed a finger at Kevin. “It doesn’t mean you don’t owe me big time for it though.”

  As Kevin glanced at the reports of possible matches for each print, he said. “Nothing came up in our database as a firm match? Not even the one on the side door where the bird was left.”

  “At the time we were assuming a local had committed that crime. It smelled too much like a simple prank.”

  Kevin raised his head. “And now?”

  He motioned to the paperwork in Kevin’s hand. “Read on.”

  “Some of these prints we knew belonged to Daria.”

  “And some are yours.”

  “Right.”

  Kevin slipped the top report he’d been reading beneath the stack and was nearly knocked out of his chair by the next page.

  “George Carlisle has a federal record? How come it didn’t come up in our database? He’s lived local all his life.”

  “George Carlisle doesn’t. But Terry Dawson most definitely does,” the captain said, leaning his elbows on his desk. “It’s intriguing stuff and may make some sense out of what’s been going on with this investigation. Certainly puts a new twist on it.”

  “I’ll say.” Kevin’s eyes were glued to the picture of scowling face in the mug shot. The face was George Carlisle, but the name didn’t match.

  “George had an alias?”

  “The prints don’t match.”

  Kevin darted his head up.

  Jorgenson impatiently pointed an index finger to the report.

  “The bottom. Read the bottom. The neighbor described a man coming to the front door of Daria’s house.”

  “Right,” Kevin added. “He leaned his hands on the doorjamb and shoved his foot in the door to keep Daria from shutting the door on him. And when she finally did shut the door, he slammed the screen door twice because the spring kept it from closing quickly enough the first time. Daria corroborated that part of the story and we lifted the prints there.”

  Jorgenson nodded. “Those prints belong to George Carlisle. The man doesn’t have a criminal record where prints are showing up in either the state of Rhode Island or the Federal database. But they match the prints we took off him the night of your meeting.”

  “That’s impossible.” Kevin picked up the mug shot and report, tapped a finger on the picture. “This is George Carlisle. This is the man I met at the salvage yard that night.”

  “That mug shot was pulled as a possible match to the prints taken from the back door.”

  “The degraded ones that forensics said a latex glove was used?”

  “Yes. His name is Terry Dawson and is considered a very cunning criminal. He’s got a file a street block long. Everything from burglary to OUI. He’s even spent time in Federal Pen. Kevin, the man made his living as an expert in electronics he used for burglary.”

  Kevin’s eyes widened. “That’s how he rigged it so the wire didn’t work. That’s how he got passed the alarm system at Daria’s house.”

  “That’s a strong possibility,” Matt said. “There’s more. Terry Dawson was jail the years George and Daria were married. I just got the fax from the warden at the Federal Pen a few minutes ago. I called you in right after that. Since our records and county records list George Carlisle as an only child, it would appear he has a double walking the streets.”

  Kevin’s head was swimming. “It’s all beginning to make sense. George was adopted.”

  “Looking at that picture, there is no way Amery could have known when he was tailing Carlisle or when he was tailing Dawson.”

  “One of them could have been watching Daria the whole time.”

  Could be watching her right now, Kevin thought with dread.

  He bolted from the chair and slammed the file on the captain’s desk. “We need to find out where the hell Terry Dawson is and what his connection is with George Carlisle.”

  *

  The silence of the room was beating Daria down, closing her in just as tig
htly as the four walls surrounding her. Her nerves were already frayed to fringes and she didn’t think things could get worse.

  Ski was sitting outside her door, watching. She liked it better when it was Kevin outside her house watching her. Even more so when he was inside holding her.

  The voices she’d heard were normal, weren’t they? This was an apartment building. There were tenants going about their daily lives and they knew nothing of the nightmare she was living. People came and went.

  The tapping stopped. No more tapping. She didn’t want to think it was odd. It had been annoying at first, but she wasn’t going to mention it to Ski. The annoyance had turned into a comfort, knowing someone was watching her back if Kevin wasn’t.

  The tapping stopped.

  “Ski?”

  No answer. Had he fallen asleep? They’d all been working long hours. She knew Kevin had been paying Ski out of his own pocket to do “details”. The detail being monitoring George’s every move. Like Kevin, maybe Ski had become so run down that his body couldn’t keep up.

  She glanced out the window to see if she could see him sitting out front on the porch. Sure enough, the chair was tipped back against the building. The front legs were high in the air and Ski’s long legs dangled between them, motionless.

  He’d fallen asleep.

  She sighed, suddenly feeling very alone. She’d already spent way too much time on the sofa under a blanket, flipping through every cable channel at least ten times without deciding on anything to watch. She’d tanked up on coffee, trying to stay awake for when Kevin got home.

  She looked around his apartment, his home. A man lived here. It was functional, bare of womanly touches. He’d joked one day that his houseplants were dying, but he didn’t have any. The place he lived in was so different from the boat and so very different from the home she had started to create.

  Kevin had sold Her Gypsy Heart for her. He’d made some noise about it not being a big deal, but Daria knew different. If she hadn’t spent that day on the boat with him, and watched how he lovingly worked to make it his own, maybe she’d believe him. But she knew he was lying. He’d loved that sailboat. And because she’d been too stubborn to leave when he’d warned her to, Kevin had felt compelled to sell it. For her.