Charity Kills (A David Storm Mystery) (15 page)

That was when Storm saw Joe Dresden. He got Russell’s attention and nodded toward Joe. “Let’s go say “hello” and you introduce me, okay?”

“You have that evil smirk on your face you always get when you think you’re going to surprise a bad guy and the bad guy has no clue he’s a suspect yet,” Russell remarked, grinning at his friend.

They began to move through the crowd like it was any other social move, Russell saying “hello” to everyone who spoke, hugging the women, shaking hands with the men, and always introducing Storm not as “Detective Storm” but as his old college buddy “David Storm.”

When they got to Joe and Ellen Dresden it was the same procedure. Russell shook Joe’s hand and gave Ellen a friendly hug. He and Ellen had known each other since they were kids, so it was natural for them to talk and exchange hugs and pleasantries about their parents and childhood friends. This momentary diversion of the couple gave Storm the opportunity to talk to Joe one on one. He asked what involvement Joe had with the organization and Joe began elaborate eagerly about all the philanthropic things he and Ellen did to support the Show, especially their purchases of champion livestock from the kids who showed their animals at the junior Ag competition and sale.

Storm asked Joe if he had attended the barbecue, not actually waiting for Joe to answer. Storm mentioned how he had missed it this year and how badly he hated to miss such a great party. He bantered on about how many teams there were now, but guessed that just added to the free booze and food if you could get yourself invited into a team’s booth. He laughed quietly. “The barbecue is also a great place to meet cute women,” he said with a wink, giving Joe the impression he was a partner in crime.

Joe, who Storm could tell had been eagerly waiting for his turn to talk, agreed. “Yes you are so right; so many women, so little time. There are more cuties around out there and actually around here,” he added waving his hand around the room as if throwing a lasso, “and they all want to be part of this thing and to run with the big dogs.”

“I see things have not changed out here. It’s been a few years since I’ve been out, but I see the cute girls still get access to these rooms and make sure the right men know they are available, ” commented Storm.

“Yes, they do, and they seem to get younger every year,” laughed Joe.

Laughing, too, Storm poked Joe in the arm and said, “I’m sure it has nothing to do with us getting older.”

Joe chuckled, “Nope, but if they don’t care and neither do I.”

“Then you were here Saturday night?”

“Oh, yes, hooked up with a little beauty; dark hair, great body. Ellen, the woman talking to Russell, my wife, never stays late at the barbecue, so I had myself a big time. This cute little slut took me in the bathroom of the VIP club in the stadium and gave me a blow job; then I put her up on the sink and fucked her. Goddamn rubber broke, though, so I hope she doesn’t come back knocked up in a few months,” Joe said, grinning.

“Wow, sounds like you had a big time. Did you happen to catch her name?”

“No idea. Leslie something. Why? You want to meet her?” Joe looked around the room as if searching for Leslie’s face in the crowd. “If she’s here, I’ll introduce you,” Joe snickered.

Storm wanted to bitch slap Dresden so bad he could hardly contain himself. He wanted to beat him to within an inch of his life, but he had a better a way of ruining this moron’s night. “You know, Joe, I never did really introduce myself to you. I am Police Detective David Storm, Houston Homicide Division. And I got big news for you, sleaze ball. The girl you were with Saturday night, her name was Leslie Phillips. Were you aware that we found Miss Phillips’ dead body in a dumpster outside the stadium at 4:30 Sunday morning? The morning after you had sex with her in a bathroom?” Storm then took out a picture of Leslie lying on a slab at the morgue and showed it to Joe.

Joe’s face turned ashen. All the blood drained out of it, his shoulders slumped, and his hands began a distressed shake.

“What’s wrong, Joe? Were you the last one to see her alive?” asked Storm with a rage-filled look in his eyes that betrayed the calm in his voice.

Joe was in an obvious state of panic. I bet he doesn’t know whether to shit or go blind, Storm told himself. This man has just insinuated he might have had something to do with this Leslie girl’s murder and I’ve caught him admitting to seeing her Saturday night.

Storm reached over, laying his hand on Joe’s shoulder “Don’t worry, Joe, I am not here to take you in tonight, but I do want you available to talk to me, so don’t leave town.”

With the fear of God instilled in Joe, Storm grabbed Russell’s arm at the elbow and let him know it was time to leave. Russell said his goodbyes to Ellen and as he turned to say goodbye to Joe, he saw the look of stark terror on his face. As they walked out he said, “You’ve brought the world to bear on poor Joe, haven’t you? It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.” They both laughed as they went to their next stop, the VIP room in the stadium.

* * * *

After he was sure they were gone, Joe grabbed Ellen’s arm and told her in no uncertain terms he had become ill. “It’s time to leave and leave now,” he ordered her. Even as she attempted to argue with him, he half pulled and half pushed her out the door. She wasn’t sure what had happened, but she saw the mask of fear on Joe’s face and conceded to his wishes.

* * * *

The crowd had grown from the time Russell and Storm had arrived, and outside thousands of people now swarmed the grounds that surrounded the stadium. Lines were forming to enter as people pushed to gain entry. George Strait was performing, and if being opening night wasn’t big enough, George always attracted a huge crowd. Storm had to admit George was one of his favorites, too, although he suspected tonight he wasn’t going to see much of the show.

Russell didn’t have to wait in lines; he merely waved his credentials and went around the lines to a gate that read “Gold Badges.” He and Storm walked up to the security person, Russell showed his badge, and the two
of them entered, interrupted momentarily by the metal detector going off. Storm pulled out his police badge and showed his hip holster to the cop working the gate. A quick look at the badge and an “I’m on the job” from Storm satisfied the cop and he let him pass.

They rode the escalator up the outside and entered the stadium through the first doors on the right. This stadium is some kind of structure, thought Storm, looking around. It’s a lot bigger than the old Dome and with a lot more pop and flash.

Next they went to a special elevator where Russell again had to show his credentials, and up they went to the VIP area on the ninth level. This club was huge, and like the other VIP room, there were committeemen working the door along with what appeared to be two more of Hebert’s cops. At this club Hebert himself was also found holding court, chatting with his officers working the door. One of the cops was an older, balding man obviously not in shape enough to run anybody down and the other was a tall, pretty blonde woman who had a severity to her look that probably scared most citizens shitless. Bet it comes in handy in this job, Storm reflected, as they entered the club.

Hebert looked a little shocked to see Storm approaching the doors to the club and immediately questioned Storm to find why he was there. “You on the job?” He didn’t bother to introduce Storm to the other officers.

“Nope,” said Storm, “just here with Russell to enjoy George Strait. Any problems with that, Sergeant?” Turning first to Russell and back to Hebert, Storm asked, “Do you know Russell Hildebrandt, Sergeant? His father used to be the president of the Livestock Show?”

Hebert shook Russell’s hand. “You’re that weather guy, aren’t you?”

“Yep. Do you watch my station, Sergeant?”

Hebert smirked, “Nope. A person can’t depend on you weather guys anyway—you’re always wrong.”

Russell just smiled and shot back, “Yeah, meteorological maps are hard enough for those of us with an education to understand, so I can understand your difficulty.”
Russell is as good at this repartee as anyone, so let this coonass run off at the mouth
. Storm smiled with his private satisfaction.

The action in the room was much the same as the room they had just left: people having drinks, getting food from the buffet, mingling, ogling the women, ignoring those they didn’t feel were of their class. There were tables and chairs set around the cavernous space and a forty-feet long stand-up bar. There were plushy paddled stadium seats facing the action on the floor for those who wanted to sit and watch the show. Televisions were mounted above the seats and huge flat screens all around the club area, making it easier to see what was really going on, where the rodeo action was taking place. You didn’t even need to leave the bar the watch the action.

The same assortment of people filled this room as in the last, all dressed up
for “flash and trash night,” as those in the know had always called opening
night. The place was full of girls like Leslie—young girls with older men, all
betting on the chance they would find the gold at the end of their rodeo
rainbow. Some were even hanging out with the cops. Those were girls who probably
didn’t have credentials or a waiting sugar daddy to admit them.

While Russell visited with old friends and acquaintances, Storm went back to talk to the cops working the entry. The older man was probably in his fifties and the woman was maybe around thirty. Storm pulled his badge and introduced himself. He produced the picture of Leslie taken from her driver’s license.

“Did either of you work Saturday night here?” he asked them.

“Sure, we both worked,” answered the older cop.

“Did either of you see this girl Saturday night?”

“I think I saw her,” said the female cop.

“Good. She was seen entering the stadium with a man about 11:00 PM,” he explained to them.

They both looked again and again the female officer said, “I saw her come in with a man I’m pretty sure was Joe Dresden, but I’m not positive.”

“Did either of you see her leave?”

They both said “no,” that they were sure the place was empty when they left and only the staff was closing down and cleaning up.

Storm noted their names. The male was Riley, and the female was Stone. Storm wasn’t sure if they were lying about seeing Leslie leave or if they had just missed it because they were busy in the room full of big wheels. So, other than Stone having seen her enter the club, neither of them was of much further help.

“Here’s my number at the precinct,” he said, handing each of them a card. “Call if you remember anything else, OK?” Each took the card and put
it in their pockets without further comment.

A fleeting thought ran through Storm’s mind as he walked away from the two cops: It seemed strange that an old crusty police Sergeant like Hebert had a woman working for him, and even stranger, that she had been given one of his plum assignments. Hebert was not exactly known for his stance on equal rights—that was an understatement. But the thought disappeared from his mind as quickly as it had entered.

After a “dinner” from the buffet Storm and Russell left. Russell still had to do the late weather and Storm had many unanswered questions to ponder.

* * * *

What they hadn’t seen while mingling and eating was Hebert on the phone, and they had not overheard his conversation with the cops working the door. He made it clear to his staff that Storm and this Hildebrant guy were to be watched and he was to be informed of anything they did while they were in room. ”I wanna know who they talked to and what they did—everything, including trips to the john,” he told them. Hebert then called Dakota Taylor on her mobile to tell her that Storm was there and asking if anyone had seen the dead girl the night of killing. He also needed to know more about this Russell Hildebrandt. Should he be worried about him hanging around with Storm?

* * * *

On the other end of phone Dakota just listened. “I’ll look into Hildebrandt. Meantime, get back with me if you get any more information on their activities.” Dakota knew Russell and his family, but what would he be doing here with that detective?

Dakota also knew Russell Hildebrandt was a weather man, not a news guy. Were he and the detective friends? Had Storm told him anything about the girl’s death? The questions were not a huge concern, but they were thoughts to keep in mind.

A Little Sleuth in All of Us

Navigating through the noise and confusion of the crowd, Storm and Russell didn’t know a shadow had attached herself to them. Peggy the amateur sleuth had recognized Detective Storm as she was headed down the escalator in the center and he was going up. On her way home after a twelve-hour day Peggy had decided to follow the tall dark detective and see where he was going. She would stay behind, trailing him and the other man, keeping her eyes and ears open, picking up a small detail or two she might want to remember as she filed away mental notes she would later transfer to her blue spiral notebook. Like many of the employees of the Show, her credentials allowed her the run of the place, and being a lower ranked employee, she appeared invisible to the Show hierarchy and most of the general membership. To other staff members she was a common sight throughout the facilities—she could have been doing anything, delivering tickets or merely running an errand for one of the managers. Her invisibility made it easy to hide in plain sight.

Peggy had wanted to talk to Storm when she saw him in the Show offices the day before, but she couldn’t take the chance of introducing herself without risking that management might find out what she was doing. This chance encounter gave her the opportunity to follow him and look into the same places he was looking and see if he might run across something she didn’t know. Peggy discreetly followed along well behind the two men but within sight of their progress. If Peggy had been detected by someone related to the Show she would tell them she had come by to check with the manager of the club, inquiring if there had been anyone asking about purchasing unused tickets.