Hunt for a Phantom

by Stephen L Brooks

  “Yeah. Boxing gloves,” Betsy said, looking like she wanted to take a swing or two at him without them.

  “So just what did you hear?” Betsy asked boldly.

  “Oh, we got here just in time for the handshake,” Taylor said.

  “Hey, if you too have some kinda pact going on,” Banning said, “we don’t want anything to do with it.”

  “Oh, don’t worry; you won’t.” Betsy and Peggy exchanged relieved glances.

  But Banning wasn’t particularly relieved.

  * * *

  Rick and Gail met in the school’s front lobby and worked their way through the hurrying kids to the exit. Students were not allowed to use the rear exit of the school except in emergencies, though that was far closer to the student parking lot. They got in the car and Gail drove onto Putty Hill Avenue. About a decade before the street had been divided by some community planner with the visual acuity of old time cross-eyed comic Ben Turpin. So when they reached a certain point they had to turn 90 degrees left and another 90 degrees right to pick up the other part of the road. But this part led to the road they need to get to the hospital, so there wasn’t much choice.

  She parked and they entered the hospital, asking after Dana. At first the receptionist was resistant but she finally told them the room number. The pair shared the elevator with a male nurse driving a gurney with an ancient male patient who smiled toothlessly at them. They flicked smiles back at him and stepped off quickly when they got to Dana’s floor. They had, of course, taken the elevator at the wrong end of the building and had to hike what seemed like a mile and a half until they found the wing where Dana’s room was.

  Her name was on the slide by the door, along with another. They looked through the open doorway. A woman only slightly younger than their erstwhile elevator companion was in the near bed. Dana, they figured, must be in the other. They entered and went past the dividing curtain.

  The heavily bandaged figure on the bed peered at them between the gauze wrappings. “Hi!” she said with a surprised recognition.

  “Dana?” Gail asked.

  “Yeah. It’s me made up like a mummy. Maybe I’ll save all this and wear it again for Halloween.”

  Gail and Rick both knew that Dana’s humor wasn’t natural. They came closer to the bed. “No one’s here to visit you?”

  “My mom’s been here almost ever since I came in. She finally went home when my dad refused to leave.”

  “Is your dad here?”

  “Yeah; he went to get himself a soda. He’ll be back soon.”

  Gail sat on the side of the bed. “Are you in pain?”

  “Don’t go all BFF on me,” Dana said sharply. “Why’re you tryin’ to pretend you like me all of a sudden?” She turned to Rick. “Both of you?”

  “Just because we were never close doesn’t mean we don’t feel sorry for you,” Gail said.

  “Yeah, sure; bet you’re just itchin’ to say ‘I told you so.’”

  Gail’s gaze was deeply solemn. “No. What I’m really thinking is, ‘There but for the grace of God go I.’”

  All three were silent a long moment. The voicing of the word “grace” had reminded them of their lost friend.

  A nurse entered and excused herself. “Is your name Gail?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “There are some people waiting outside to speak with you.”

  Gail was puzzled. “To speak with me? Why?”

  “I don’t know. They told me they’re from the police.”

  Gail rose from the bed and followed the nurse. All three were surprised. After a moment Rick excused himself and followed.

  He recognized the four people who were waiting. “Mr. Banning. You remembered that we were coming to visit Dana.”

  Banning nodded. “You remember my assistant Ms Connors. And Detectives Taylor and Russell.”

  “They were the ones who are working on my sister and dad’s murder,” he told Gail.

  “The nurse said you wanted to speak with me?” Gail said.

  “Yes,” Taylor began. “One of our techs noted a phone call you made to Dana’s cell. Rick’s call to Mr. Banning clinched the connection. You’re a friend of Dana’s?”

  “And I was Grace’s best friend. Why?”

  “She also found a short series of text messages to and from someone who called himself IronGuy. Does the name sound familiar?”

  “No. But shouldn’t you be talking to Dana about this?”

  “We already did and she confirmed that this is who she was supposed to meet.”

  “You mean this IronGuy is the one who beat her up?” Gail gasped.

  “Yeah, at least that’s what it seems. We wondered if you had any idea who IronGuy might be.”

  Gail hesitated. “No; I don’t know him.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. But didn’t Gail give you his description?”

  “She claims she didn’t see his face. It was dark, and he may have even been wearing something for a disguise. As tired as it is, a black ski mask still makes a good cover.”

  “He was wearing a ski mask?”

  “We think so; there were traces of threads similar to the kind those things are made of on her clothing.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know who he is.”

  Taylor sighed in disappointment. “All right. Thank you for your time.”

  Gail and Rick went back into Dana’s room.

  “What was it?”

  “Some cops wanted to talk to us,” Gail said.

  “About what?”

  “About who: IronGuy.”

  “Oh.” Dana’s reply came from miles away.

  “What?” Gail asked. “You don’t know who this guy is, do you?”

  “No. I mean, I saw the picture he posted but you know some people put fake photos up.”

  “Didn’t you tell them about the picture?”

  “Yeah, but it still doesn’t give them a name.”

  “They’ve got some computer geek working on it,” Rick said. “Maybe she’ll find out.”

  * * *

  Daisy Rae had already done that and the photo was waiting for Taylor on his email. He checked it before they left the hospital and opened the message with the photo. She had given it a cover note: “He don’t look like no IronGuy to me, but there’s no accounting for taste.” It displayed her usual signature: a cartoon daisy with a happy face in the center.

  Taylor looked at the photo, the others checking it out over his shoulder. It looked like either a high school yearbook photo or one of those professional models used as inserts in picture frames in stores.

  “This guy was about Dana’s age when this was done,” Banning said.

  “Yeah. And we don’t even know if it’s the right guy.” Taylor punched a number into his phone, putting it on speaker.

  “Geek Patrol, Daisy Rae talkin’.”

  “Daisy, this is Taylor.”

  “Hi! Did you get the present I left you?”

  “Yeah, thanks; but we have a question or two about it.”

  “I know; you don’t think he’s the real deal.”

  “Well, we know the guy’s at least twice the age of the fellow in this picture. Can I ask a favor?”

  “Coming up,” Daisy said. “Check your email.”

  Taylor frowned bemusedly and shrugged at the others. He brought up the new message from Daisy Rae and again had an attachment. He clicked it open and a few seconds later the spawn of the photo on his desk and a little techno-magic stared at them.

  Daisy Rae had anticipated his request to digitally “age” the photo. The face on the screen was the same as that on his desk, only projected to about forty years of age.

  Trouble was, by consensus, he was unknown to any of them.

  * * *

  Jim Fisher sat in the hospital café drinking coffee and munching a vending machine sandwich. The tag on the wrapper had said “FRESHLY MADE.” Of course, it might have been “freshly made” a week ago. But it was
the only thing he had eaten in the better part of twenty-four hours, and at least the coffee was hot and washed the dry, stale sandwich down. He barely tasted either anyway, as his mind was not here but in the past.

  Audrey had accused him of things which he never did. He had never been or pretended to be a saint, but realized it had more to do with her issues than his. He had suspected her of cheating on him, but never had proof; until Dana had mentioned to him about an “uncle” who had stopped by one afternoon, and was no blood relation to either parent. Jim had let it slide, never mentioning it to Audrey; which in retrospect was his first strike.

  When Dana had turned thirteen, and he felt it was time for The Talk, he was determined to tell her first. He feared what form Audrey’s version of the birds-and-bees might take. On the night of her thirteenth birthday he sat down with her in her room with the door locked and introduced the subject. He remembered even now the cold sweats that drenched his body when she said:

  “Oh, that. Mom told me about that years ago.”

  The desire to strangle the mother of his child that night was just barely conquered. Audrey might be a harlot, but Jim believed that a child needed two parents, no matter the sins of one, in order to grow properly into society. Ninety percent of the time, that’s the case. This was that ten percent exception. Not recognizing that was his second strike.

  For the next several months Jim frequently visited her at bedtime; ostensibly to tuck her in, but actually as attempts to forestall any influence Audrey’s infidelities had on Dana. Audrey, of course, put her own spin on those bedtime visits when she hired a child psychologist to treat her and bullied Dana into “confessing” to him that her father made her perform “certain acts” during those nocturnal, locked-door visits. This, of course, became Jim’s third strike.

  He knew now that he had lost the game before he had gone to bat.

  Jim closed his eyes and shook his head to clear his memories. That was three years ago; he easily surmised what actions Dana had taken over those three years leading to this.

  He finished the sandwich, chased it with the last of the coffee, tossed the trash, and checked out the candy machine. Dana’s favorite, Three Musketeers, was there and he bought a couple of them; one for now, one for later.

  When he reached Dana’s room he saw through the windowed door she had two visitors and stayed out in the hallway. They were apparently two of Dana’s friends from school.

  “Excuse me, are you Mr. Fisher?” a voice asked. He turned to see two men and two women.

  “Yes, I’m Dana’s father.”

  Taylor introduced himself and the others. “We think whoever attacked your daughter may be involved in another case we’re investigating.”

  “Yes, Grace Fleming. The other detectives told me that before.”

  “We’re hoping you can help. We have a picture for you to see; it’s a photo that’s been enhanced.” He showed Fisher the “aged” picture Daisy had doctored.

  Fisher studied it. There was a brief flash of surprise followed by a serious frown. “No, I’ve never seen this man.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Fisher noticed the silent byplay of glances between the quartet. “Yes. I’m certain; I don’t know him.”

  Taylor nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Fisher.”

  Gail and Rick came from Dana’s room. Neither had ever met Fisher, nor he them, but Fisher noticed that the girl gave him a strange look as they went by. He dismissed it and went into his daughter’s room.

  He sought refuge there, away from prying questions.

  * * *

  Daisy Rae had hacked into IronGuy’s email, IM, and all social networking accounts that she could find. And she had hit pay dirt: not only had she found the emails and texts to and from Dana that she expected. She also found older emails to Grace; and to someone using the screen name Stones.

  Who was Stones?

  She wondered if he was the unidentified man in the morgue; the corpse found in the hotel with Al and Grace Fleming.

  She bet that he was.

  * * *

  Betsy and Peggy had been at it several nights straight, each from her own computer, checking into the social network sites, chatting with men they met there. Of course, those men thought they were two teenage girls who didn’t know each other. In fact, if they found themselves on the same site at the same time they sometimes threw insults at each other, especially if vying for attention from the same “person of interest.” They made lists of the screen names of men they met. And when they found one they considered promising they casually dropped the name IronGuy into the conversation as a former acquaintance. Those who didn’t bite they ticked off the lists, though they didn’t remove the names entirely. Any who even tasted their imitation jail bait might turn out to be dirty.

  Then Betsy hit upon a guy who had an odd reaction to her mention of IronGuy. She hesitated a moment or two as he asked if she was still there. She typed a quick “Gotta go” and signed off.

  She had punched Peggy’s number in seconds and seethed for the long instants before she answered.

  “What is it, Betsy?”

  “I think I’ve got a hot one.”

  Betsy told her about the IM with this guy and how he had reacted oddly to the mention of IronGuy. “That’s what set me off about him.”

  “Do you think he might be a lead?”

  “I’m sure of it,” Betsy said.

  “Then you know what the next step is. Go ahead, girl, jump back in and tell him how cool it is in the pool.”

  Betsy closed her eyes; she was beginning to have doubts that they shouldn’t have gone into this.

  “Come on, Betsy; this might be our only chance.”

  “Okay. But remember, when it goes down you’re my backup.”

  “Just as you would be mine if I’d gotten there first. Do it.” Peggy abruptly hung up.

  Betsy chewed her thumb a moment. She knew better than to tell Mark, just as Peggy had refused to tell Ed. This was their own investigation, and they didn’t want the men in on it. Well, maybe at the end; but Peggy was to be there to arrest the guy or rescue her, if it came to either of those scenarios. And it had been a vital part of the pact not to contact their male partners.

  But there was someone Betsy could call. She was glad her phonebook held a couple of hundred numbers. She dialed Daisy Rae’s cell.

  “Hi, honey,” Daisy Rae answered. “I’m surprised to hear from you. Thought you and Peggy were BFFs now. Though I’ll friend you too. We need all the...”

  “Sorry, don’t have much time Daisy,” Betsy interrupted. “I happened on some information and want to run it by you.”

  “Sure. Somethin’ you found while doin’ a search for that hunk of a boss of yours?”

  “Yeah, you might say that. I came across a name. A screen name, and I wondered if you may have seen it too in your work on the case.”

  “Sure. Who is it?”

  Betsy told her.

  “Honey, I think you may have something there. Yeah, I’ve seen that name and not long ago.” She told her the circumstances. “I’m gonna send it to Ed Taylor as soon as I get off with you.”

  “Don’t!”

  “Don’t? Why not?”

  “Just don’t. Not yet anyway. It may spoil... our part of the investigation.” The second person included in “our” was Peggy, not Banning; but Daisy Rae didn’t have to know that yet.

  “Okay,” Daisy responded reluctantly, “but don’t make me hold out on him too long. And of course you and that sexy Banning are gonna be careful out there, aren’t ya?”

  “Yes; we’ll be careful.”

  “Listen, I heard about the throw-down you and Peggy had at the gym. She fessed up to giving you some free self-defense lessons, street-fighter style. And I know you think you whupped her. But when I tried to razz her about it she said she let you beat her. So don’t go thinkin’ you’re Wonder Woman and Xena and Red Sonja all put together, all right?”

  Betsy bit her lip.
“All right.”

  “You know what I’m sayin’? Just cause you think you whupped a trained police officer don’t mean you can toss around a full grown man who means to hurt you. Ya got me?”

  “I got you.”

  “All right then. Good night.”

  Betsy hung up. What if Peggy had let her win? She could handle herself if she had to. Look what she did to Mark just a few minutes later in the classroom.

  Unless of course he had let her win, too.

  Betsy shook it off and logged back into the chat room. She typed in a question.

  R U STILL THERE IRONGUY?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  It was early evening and Banning had made Betsy work late to tie up the finish of a case. I was after seven and he was famished; he knew Betsy must be as well. He got his jacket, turned off the lights in his office, and went out to the waiting area. Betsy was just closing off her laptop.

  “Sorry I kept you late,” he said.

  “That’s right; sometimes I’m your kept woman.”

  “I’d like to make it up to you.”

  She locked the laptop away in her desk and stood up. With a coy look she said, “Just what did you have in mind?”

  He smiled. “Well, I thought maybe a couple of Big Macs and a movie...”

  She cocked her head and smiled, gazing at the ceiling as though thinking it over. “Hmmm. Sounds like a wild night. No, I think that’s a bit too dicey for me. I don’t think I could trust myself around you with a Big Mac in my hands.”

  “No really; we haven’t gone out in a while, and I’d like to take you to someplace nice. Do you have a yen for seafood? We can go to The Peppermill.”

  The Peppermill was an upscale restaurant near Towson which specialized in seafood. It was one of few places left where “proper attire” was at least preferred, even if by law it could no longer be required.

  “That sounds nice but actually I do have plans for tonight. In fact, my date is waiting for me to call.”

  He hoped his jaw hadn’t dropped as far as it seemed to him. “Your date?”