Better Read Than Dead (32 page)

“You gave me an incomplete file on Dora.”

Andros leaned forward, his beefy upper body resting on his elbows as he perched on the desk. “What do you mean?”

“The file you gave me on Dora—the police report in it was missing the second page. I was asked by Detective Johnson to come down to the police station to verify some facts on my sister’s case, and while I was there I was able to go through the original police report on Dora’s disappearance.”

Andros tapped his fingers across his desk as he thought about what I’d said. I took the opportunity to offer a little proof of my story. “See, I’ve got a copy of the second page right here,” I said as I leaned over and picked up my purse. Before I could fully lift it to my lap my arm was halted midmotion as a large, viselike hand gripped mine and painfully yanked the purse out of my grasp. Another henchman I hadn’t even been aware of had come from somewhere in the room to protect Andros from any false moves.

The man who stood above me was tall like Gargoyle, but not nearly as thin. He was younger too, with jet-black hair and olive skin. He had broad shoulders, and would have been handsome were it not for the grim expression that turned his features angry and mean.

I watched helplessly as he ripped open my purse and began to rifle through it, no doubt looking for the Stealth Bomber I kept hidden in my small change pocket. Finally, after rooting through hair spray, lipstick, wallet, gum, keys and a few unmentionables, Grim pushed the purse back at me and stepped to the far side of the room. I sighed my irritation and pulled out the now-crumpled copy of the second page of Dora’s police report, handing it over to Andros for observation.

“Now, if all I wanted to do was point the police in your direction, why would I take a copy of Dora’s police report with me from the station? I mean, if I’d told the police about you, do you think I’d still be working on finding your wife?”

Andros looked from the crumpled paper to me, then back again. I noticed that his hand shook slightly as he held the paper, either from pain or too much medication. But I had a hard time feeling sorry for the bastard.

“I remember this page,” he said slowly. “I think Madame Jarosolov took it from the file when she had it.”

“Yeah, well, there may be something there that I can focus on to get a bead on Dora. I’m surprised you wouldn’t have thought about getting me the complete file to begin with; after all, you do want to find her, don’t you?”

Andros regarded me the way a lion regards a pesky mosquito, and tossed the paper back in my direction with irritation. “Take the paper, Miss Cooper, and find my wife. I’m giving you three days from today. If you’re as good as you say you are, you should have no more trouble. Oh, and no more visits to the police department . . . you now have everything you need to find my wife. Are we clear?”

Relieved beyond measure that I’d pulled my escape off so easily, I stood quickly and tucked the copy of the report into my purse. Turning toward the door before Andros had a chance to change his mind, I said, “We are perfectly clear, Mr. Kapordelis. See you in a few days.” Bravely I marched forward and put my hand on the door handle, pausing for the briefest of seconds to see if anyone would try to stop my progress. No one did, so I pulled open the door and stepped through quickly, walking down the hallway like I owned the place, hoping no one would notice and bar my exit.

To my immense relief I made it to the car without incident, and took my seat on the large leather cushion, waiting for someone to climb in with me. Instead, Goblin—who had followed briskly after me out of the house—shut the door behind me from the outside and then pounded on the side of the car, letting the driver know to leave.

Without further ado I was headed toward home, and as we pulled out of the driveway and onto Lakeshore Drive I wanted to sob with relief; somehow I had made it out alive. Now all I had to do was warn Dutch the moment I reached home. I tapped my foot anxiously on the carpeted floor of the car as I willed the driver to hurry, but as we got onto the highway all thoughts of making it home quickly evaporated.

There was a major traffic jam, and cars were bumper-to-bumper as far as the eye could see. My intuition was buzzing in the back of my head, and the only reccurring thought I seemed to be able to focus on was that I had to warn Dutch—now . . . there was no time to lose. I eyed my purse on the floor of the sedan, and with a racing heart reached into it and pulled out my cell phone. I had to be quick and clever, and I wondered if I’d get away with the conversation I was about to have. As I flipped open the phone and began to dial I happened to look up suddenly, and I noticed the driver of the car watching me intently from the front seat. I had to be careful here, very,
very
careful.

Plastering a relaxed, almost bored expression onto my face and ignoring the driver, I waited as the phone on the other end rang once, twice, then three times before it was finally picked up and I heard Milo announce, “Johnson,” into the mouthpiece.

“Hey there,” I said anxiously.

“Abby?” Milo asked while I watched the driver’s eyes stare suspiciously at me in the rearview mirror.

“I have a message from Edgar,” I said.

“Who?”

“Edgar,”
I enunciated. “He wants to warn you that you need to call his partner in Holland tonight. He said he knows it may be kind of tough to reach him, but that he thinks you’ve got the number, correct?”

There was a long pause while Milo tried to figure out my coded message. Finally he asked in a hushed tone, “Abby, are you in trouble?”

“Nope,” I said, “But Edgar thinks there’s something really bad brewing in Holland and that’s why you need to call. Got it?”

“Yeah, you want me to call Dutch, I got it, but you’re going to fill me in on why later on, right?”

“Sounds good. Talk to you soon, buddy,” I said and flipped the cell phone closed as I stared out the window, sighing heavily as if I were bored. Inside my stomach was in knots and my heart was beating so loudly that I thought I was going to pass out, but somehow I managed to hold it together.

It took us nearly an hour to make it back to my house, and after getting out of the car I practically bolted to the front door. Frantically I fished for my keys; then I remembered I hadn’t had a chance to lock the door when Goblin and Gargoyle had kidnapped me. I turned the knob quickly and walked inside, slamming it shut behind me and throwing the bolt home.

I laid my head against the door for a moment, collecting myself, then pushed away from it and surveyed the room. The smell of burned carpet and pungent cigar smoke still hung heavily in the air. Deciding the smell was too much, I held my nose and went upstairs to my bedroom, which had been shut off from the rest of the house because of the cold. I opened my bedroom door and stepped inside, shivering a little at the coldness of the room and my own fear, and quickly closed the door behind me. Next I turned on the space heater, and after a few minutes the room became comfortable.

Not knowing what else to do, I sat on the bed for a long moment and thought about how to get myself out of the mess I was in. I felt like there was a way out, but I was a long way from it. I prayed that Milo had gotten a warning to Dutch, and that he was okay. I’d have to let Milo know about Bennington, but for now all I could do was hide away in my bedroom and wait . . . for what I didn’t know, but something big was about to happen; I just knew it.

As the room heated up, I felt my eyelids begin to droop. With all the adrenaline and stress from the past few weeks, I figured I could really use a power nap, so I reclined on my pillows and huddled underneath one of the thick afghans on my bed. In moments I was asleep.

 

I was aware that I was in a familiar place, but that didn’t make me feel at ease. I looked around the large parking lot, nervous for reasons I couldn’t remember. I saw a grocery store in the distance, and a post office next to that, and for some reason that alarmed me.

A figure appeared and began to walk toward me. I didn’t like the figure, but I couldn’t remember why. Before he got close enough to recognize, I turned and ran out of the parking lot as fast as I could. Suddenly a Krispy Kreme doughnut shop appeared in front of me, and I ran inside. The doughnut shop was bright and warm, and I felt safer here. I took in the surroundings. I appeared to be alone, but there was something odd about the place. All the doughnuts were displayed in a coffin, and I couldn’t figure out why that didn’t make sense. I approached the counter to get a closer look, and from out of the back walked J. R. Ewing sporting a ten-gallon hat, a flashy gold sheriff’s star on his right lapel and a brilliant smile.

I was shocked by his appearance, but he seemed to know me, and for some reason that put me at ease. “Hello, little lady,” he said winningly. “I bet you’re here for the special of the day.”

I nodded yes, even though I didn’t know what the special of the day was. “Well, come around the counter, missy, and have a look!” J.R. said.

Without hesitation I rounded the corner and walked to where he pointed. “It’s back there,” he said, indicating an elaborately decorated doorway with beautiful stenciled vines and flowers snaking their way along the frame of a large wood door.

The door itself was bright yellow, and seemed so inviting I had to go in. “Uh, hold on there just a sec,” J.R. said, making me wait a moment. “You almost forgot your tea.” And he handed me a cup of tea that smelled divinely sweet. I took a sip, and it was delicious except for the little particles of tea leaves still floating in the liquid. I smiled politely at J.R. and moved again toward the door. Just as I reached for the door handle, someone from behind grabbed me and whirled me around, sending my tea smashing against the doughnut-filled coffin.

It was the masked postman, and his eyes told me he was furious. He raised his arm, and a tire iron caked in blood loomed over my head, ready to crash down on me. I screamed at the top of my lungs and sat straight up in bed, sweat soaking my clothes and my breath coming in short bursts of fright.

I looked around the room, for a moment confused by my surroundings. When it finally registered that I’d just had a simple nightmare and that I was okay, I was able to get my breathing under control. After a few minutes I rolled my feet over the edge of the bed, and got up to change out of my damp clothes.

I slipped on a pair of fresh undies, jeans and another woolly sweater; all the while the fragments of the dream buzzed around in my head. I was certain there were several clues my guides were trying to get to me, but I wasn’t certain how they all fit together. As soon as I’d dressed I looked around for something to write on, and remembered I had a small notebook in my purse. I grabbed my purse, plopped back down onto the bed, got out the pad of paper and a pen and quickly jotted down the dream.

After I was finished, my eye kept coming back to the Krispy Kreme doughnut shop. What was the deal with J. R. Ewing? I thought about my childhood memories of the show
Dallas,
and smiled at how hooked I’d been on the show. I sighed and put the pad aside for a minute, letting my mind wander.

I thought more about the dream, but nothing was really coming together for me, so I flipped on the television, thinking I could change the subject for a while, then go back to it later.

After surfing through a couple of channels I landed on the news. There was a breaking story, and goose bumps lined my arms even before the news anchor turned quickly to a reporter on the scene outside of a Detroit police station.

“Thank you, Nancy. I’m at Detroit’s East Precinct, where the body of a man pulled out of the Detroit River three days ago and riddled with bullets has been positively identified as Giolini Garzopolis. . . .” A mug shot appeared on the screen, and I felt my stomach drop to the floor. The mug shot was of Goon.

I stopped listening to the reporter for a moment, and focused on the face, shock and panic raising my heart rate. A moment later the mug shot disappeared, and I had no choice but to listen to the reporter again as she rattled off the details: “. . . suspected of being connected to the Greek Mafia. It is unknown when Mr. Garzopolis was murdered, but the coroner’s report suggests that it was sometime late last week.

“Also, a few minutes ago I was able to interview Detective Milo Johnson of the Royal Oak Police Department, who has come down to Detroit’s East Precinct looking for a possible connection between Mr. Garzopolis and the serial rapist who has been stalking that Detroit suburb. It is unclear at this time what that connection may be, but we will be following this story closely, and update you as details develop.

“Reporting live from Detroit’s east side, this is Elizabeth Johansson for Fox Two News.”

I clicked the television off and sat back against the pillows on the bed. My brow furrowed as I tried to make sense of Goon’s murder. Intuitively I knew that Andros had ordered the hit, but why? Why would Kapordelis want Goon dead? Suddenly my intuition buzzed again, and the image of a canary popped into my head.

Goon was killed because Kapordelis thought he’d snitch about something?
I asked mentally.

Right side, light airy feeling . . .
My sign for yes.

Just then I had a terrible thought, and I bolted up and swiveled my feet to the floor, bracing myself with my hands as adrenaline coursed through my body.

If Kapordelis saw the newscast, he would now know that the Royal Oak PD had made a connection between Goon and the rapist; but what Andros
didn’t
know was that Milo had gotten
that
particular link from a video surveillance tape—and not from me.

My mouth went dry as I realized that Andros would most definitely make the conclusion that I had lied to him, and I alone had tipped off Milo . . . which, of course, meant that I was now a sitting duck. A chill swept through me as I remembered Dutch saying that Kapordelis’s goons were close by and watching my house.