Charity Kills (A David Storm Mystery) (11 page)

At the time Peggy heard about Leslie’s murder, she knew the police still had no leads and no apparent motive, except for rape. Peggy hated that nothing was being done, and she hated how the media had treated Elaine’s murder as if Elaine had somehow been in the wrong, as if somehow her friend had gotten in with some bad people who had killed her without leaving a trace. The newspapers had carried just a small article about a girl being found dead in an abandoned car near the Dome where the new rail system would soon be built; a rail line that would connect the Dome with the Medical Center and downtown Houston. The article had seemed more concerned with how the location of the rail line would mean the demise of an old apartment project that had been an eyesore for years than with the untimely and ugly death of a pretty young girl.

The obituary, too, was small. It only told she was from Hallettsville, Texas, she was twenty-five years old, and that she was single with no family. It also mentioned she worked for Tejas Petroleum and was being buried in a cemetery near where she lived in the Westbury area of Houston.

Peggy had gone to Elaine’s funeral, a sparse affair attended by only a handful of people. She saw a couple people she vaguely recognized from Tejas Petroleum, though she couldn’t recall their names, and another woman who piqued Peggy’s interest because she couldn’t remember where she had seen the woman before. She was a tall blonde woman who looked familiar, but try as hard as she could, for her life Peggy couldn’t put her finger on where. Maybe she had worked at Tejas. Maybe that was where Peggy had seen her, but she just wasn’t sure so she didn’t say “hello” to the woman.

Since Elaine’s murder Peggy had been writing down notes and observations about things that happened at the Show, keeping an eye open to who she saw with whom. If another girl disappeared she wanted to see if she could link them to anyone in particular; someone who could possibly be a murderer. As the years passed, Peggy kept clippings from the other murders; some had pictures, most didn’t. She found she liked playing “sleuth,” her word for herself in this situation. She liked studying the information she found in the papers and the rumors she heard at work. Over time, she found that the cases had a few things in common; each girl was from a small town, most had no family to speak of, and the scariest thing of all was that those for whom there had been photographs, each girl had resembled Elaine.

But what did that mean? Was it just a coincidence? And what was there other than looks of the victims to tie them together, if anything?

Peggy pulled out the notebook she had been hiding in her private desk drawer, the one that required a key to open it. She opened it to the first page, on which she had taped some newspaper articles about her friend Elaine.

_________________________

Gage
Elaine Marie Gage, 25

Of Houston/Hallettsville passed away February 26, 1998.
Funeral services will be March 1, 1998 at 11:00 a.m. at Westbury Cemetery,
Houston, Texas.

__________________________

Local Woman Found Murdered

Elaine Gage, a local Hallettsville High School
graduate, was found murdered in Houston over the weekend. She was discovered
inside an abandoned car across the street from the Dome complex early Sunday
morning. She was discovered as police ran random checks on derelict vehicles
abandoned on the lot. The circumstances of her death have not been released by
Houston Police, but anonymous sources have revealed that the girl had been
sexually assaulted before her death. Homicide detectives have assured the public
they will be investigating her murder and as soon as more information is
available, they will be releasing what they know to the press. Miss Gage
graduated in 1991 and immediately got a job working for Tejas Petroleum in
Houston, where she was living. She had been a member of the Hallettsville
District Championship Lady Brahma volleyball team. She leaves no family and
services will be held in Houston at the Westbury Cemetery, Wednesday, March 1,
1998 at 11 A.M.

__________________________

Peggy’s Notes: My friend Elaine has been found dead. Her body
found across the street from the Dome inside an old car. My only friend from
Tejas... We just had lunch she giggly about the fun she was about to have at
Rodeo. I told her I was worried, she had fallen in with some not so nice people.
Saw her with stinking big wheels that like younger women and are all married.
They found body Sunday a.m. Cops told me someone had cut her throat. She was
naked and they were sure she had been abused. Her funeral was in town, she
didn’t have any family left. The funeral was simple not too many there, some I
knew from Tejas... Strangers too, two men and two women...must have worked for
Tejas after I left. The Tejas people told me the company paid for funeral since
she had no family. Elaine, I will miss you my friend.
 

The Show Must Go On

Monday morning Detective Storm was waiting in the dazzling reception area of the Show. Today the coming and going of numerous people made the place appear even busier than it had been yesterday. People scurried around everywhere; the chatter of workers on cell phones and radios filled the hallways; serving people carried trays of food; people pushed carts loaded with signs and ladders. All were finishing up the last minute details. Some people whizzed by on electric scooters that carried them from one end of the monster building to other. To Storm it all looked like total confusion, but he was sure as big as this endeavor was, it all made sense to someone.

Storm had come back to see Dakota Taylor and secure the video tapes from the stadium and the center from the night of the murder. He hoped the videos might show Leslie going or coming with someone, possibly a killer, or at least the last person to see her alive. At this point he needed a lead, any lead, somebody who had seen the girl, who had talked to her—someone who might have seen her killer.

Dakota arrived in the reception area, chatted a minute with the receptionist, and walked directly to Storm. With her hand extended, she said, “Good morning, Detective Storm, what can I do for you today?”

Storm took her hand giving one firm shake, thinking it was a shame this very attractive woman had ice water running in her veins. This morning she seemed even more aloof than she had on Sunday.

“Ms. Taylor, I would like to pick up the security camera videos from say, 8:00 PM the night before the girl was found to 4:00 AM Sunday morning.”

“Detective, you will have to be more specific than that, you understand we have security cameras mounted everywhere.”

Storm thought a minute. “OK, was this building open to the public Saturday night?”

“No, only employees of the Livestock Show and Rodeo or the NFL would have been able to get in here.”

“Nobody else? How about Show officers and their guests?”

“Oh, yes, they would have been allowed in to visit the VIP Room.”

“Then I would like those, as well as those from the stadium,” Storm added, as if he had just thought of it.

“The stadium videos don’t fall under our jurisdiction. You will have to request them from the appropriate person in the stadium offices.”

“Would you know who that might be?” Storm’s patience with her stonewalling was already running thin.

“Yes, I believe your police Sergeant Hebert can help you with that.”

That raised the hackles on Storm’s neck. Why would Hebert have access to the security cameras of the stadium and why hadn’t he said anything about them yesterday? What the hell was the old fart up to?

Ms. Taylor then sent Storm to see Jeff Osborn, the head of security for the Center, to retrieve the videos for the times he’d requested. Osborn had a video of the main west entry and one of the escalators going to the second floor, but when asked about the VIP Room he stuttered, hemmed, hawed, and sheepishly said no, they didn’t use surveillance in those rooms, but he gave no explanation as to why. He took Storm’s card and said if he found anything else he thought would help he would get in touch with him.

As Storm left the office, he saw Jeff Osborn immediately reach for his phone and place a call. He thought
, I’ll just hang around to hear what’s so important.
Storm ducked around a support beam and listened to Osborn’s side of the conversation.

“Osborn here.... Yes, he just left....”

“No, he has no idea. Don’t worry, the scrubbing was good, it would take a pro to find where I changed it.” That said, Storm heard Osborn hang up the phone after he had passed the word to whoever was on the end.

Storm got on the elevator, not satisfied with the way things had just gone, pretty sure the man had not been totally truthful with him, but hoping he would get luckier and the girl would show up on the stadium video disk somewhere. He headed off to see Hebert and found him in an office just off the north gate of the stadium, next to the workout area for the Houston professional football team. Storm couldn’t help whistling to himself at how state of the art the workout area was. He had only seen rooms like this one on TV. It was outfitted with all the latest equipment. Given the problems the new team had had in their first season, it was ironic that the place was empty. It seemed to Storm somebody ought to be in there working with the offensive and defensive line since God knows neither could block or tackle. But I’m not here to ruminate about the failings of the team, he reminded himself. I need to talk to Hebert.

As he reached Hebert’s office, he got another smartass Hebert jibe. “Did you find the killer yet, Desk Boy”?

“Nope, but closing in on him. You sure you don’t know him?”

“What the hell do you mean?” From the sharp defensiveness in Hebert’s tone, Storm knew he had hit a nerve.
God, I love the payback...

“You watched the videos from that night yet, Hebert?”

“Why?” Hebert squirmed in his seat. Storm smiled, thinking, he must be wondering if he’s being accused being accused of something.
Good. Let ‘im squirm.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were in charge of security in here?”

“You didn’t ask,” Hebert smirked, trying to put Storm back in his place.

“Well, I am now, and I need all the videos from the ten hours before the girl was found to two hours after.” Catching a breath, he continued to push Hebert. “What did you see on the videos?” Sometimes the direct way was the best way, Storm had learned in many sessions interrogating suspects and witnesses over the years. So he acted as if he already knew the answer, a tactic that often caused a reaction from the one being questioned, and that reaction often led down the path to the truth.

The way Hebert blew Storm off was almost as good as a direct answer: “It will take a couple of hours to get them for you. We are pretty busy around here with the start of the Show and I have to break someone away from other duties to make you a copy,” countered Hebert.

Storm shot Hebert a look that said, “I know you are lying to me. You’ve seen them.” But Storm knew, and he figured Hebert knew, he couldn’t prove that. “I want the videos from every entrance used by anyone from staff to Show members that night. Have one of your ‘boys’ bring them downtown to me.”

That nagging feeling in the back of Storm’s head began to crawl down his neck. He was more and more sure that everyone out here was lying or covering up something and that everyone seemed to know more than he did at this point in time. He had to get back to Russell to see if he and Grady had continued digging around at the station and found anything more.

* * * *

Russell and Grady had met up early that morning to go over more tapes and take notes, recording anything they could find about other girls who had been found dead under suspicious circumstances, throats cut and dumped anywhere. They were being as surreptitious as possible so as not to attract attention from the overeager-looking-for-a-big-break types. They for sure didn’t want Chu or her cameraman to find out what they were doing. If the
chihuahua
with great legs found out, their cover would be blown and anyone who might know something would most definitely go underground, ending all chances of untainted information. They wanted to help Storm solve this case. If they helped him they would be helping themselves; this could be the coups de grace for two veterans. Old dogs can find a bone occasionally and this bone could be a career maker.

* * * *

When Storm arrived at the TV station he made his way back to Russell’s small office which, as always, was chockablock with papers, computers, and one large screen TV. Grady and Russell were huddled together over his desk watching a much smaller TV screen with a built-in disk player.

Russell looked up. “Hey, Colombo, what did you find out at the show this morning?”

Storm replied, “Got the security disk from the Center and waiting for more from the stadium. Guess who I had to see to get those?”

Grady looked at Russell, raised his eyebrow, and Russell just shrugged. “Who?”

“Hebert.”

“Police Sergeant ‘I am a coonass which means I am better than your ass’ Hebert?” Russell snorted. He had trouble with Hebert years ago as a reporter and since then the man’s inability to get along with news outlets had grown into legend.

“Yep.”

“What the hell is he doing with security videos from the stadium?” asked Russell.

“He is in charge of security out there.”

“Isn’t he still on the city payroll?”

“Yep, but with all the events at the stadium and center, he is assigned there. He even has an office near the team workout center.”

“Wonder if he gets two checks?” wondered Russell, just shaking his head.

“Who knows,” shrugged Storm, “but that old fart knows more than he’s tellin.’”

“Think he already looked at the disks?”

“Oh, yeah, I am sure of it, but he wouldn’t admit it. He said he didn’t have them and would have to get them to me. So I told him to send one of his ‘boys’ to my office with the copies. God, I loved digging him with the word ‘boys,’ too,” Storm chuckled to himself, as Russell just grinned.