Charity Kills (A David Storm Mystery) (22 page)

“Peggy Won’t Be in Today”

The next day was one of those special and somewhat rare days in Houston when not only is there not a cloud in the sky and no smog, but the temperature is cool, there’s no humidity and just a light breeze blowing. It was one of those early March days when everybody wants to be outside enjoying nature. One of those days the people up north could only rent for a day at this time of year, Storm thought, the kind of day you feel alive.

The drive to the Show offices was easy. Storm had stopped at his favorite taqueria on Kirby and Alabama for a Mexican coffee and two breakfast burritos—his taste for those filling, high-cholesterol gas factories was one of the few secrets he had kept hidden from Angie. She had hated his eating habits, so he had had these treats on the sly. His mantra was, “if it tastes good and doesn’t kill me it’s safe,” but he saved actually eating them for when she wouldn’t catch him.

With a satisfied smirk on his face he finished the burrito as he pulled through the main entry gates to the complex. The place was bustling; committeemen were running around on golf carts or helping contestants stall their show animals, and vendors were replenishing their booths with food. With the wonderful weather, this was going to be a glorious day for all concerned.

Storm stopped at the reception desk, asked for Ms. Taylor, and then took a seat to wait. A different female gatekeeper seated behind the elevated reception desk reached for her telephone and made a call.

Dakota Taylor soon came through the doors that separated the inner sanctum from the reception area. She flashed her corporate smile and held out her hand. “Detective Storm, you’re here early. How did you hear about it so soon?”

Storm couldn’t hide his puzzlement; he had no idea what she was talking about. “Hear about what, Ms. Taylor?”

“Why, one of our employees is missing.” Dakota now, too, looked confused, as if she was wondering, why is the detective here if he hasn’t heard?

Storm was so dumbstruck he didn’t know what to say. Questions ran through his mind. Who was missing? Why hadn’t he been called?

“You don’t know, do you?” asked Dakota.

“Who is missing, Ms. Taylor, and how long have they been missing?” asked Storm.

Dakota gave a look that was hard to interpret but which Storm took to be a “Damn, I just let the cat out of the bag” look.

“Oh, it’s probably all a misunderstanding, I’m sure she is just running late. Maybe she had an accident and hasn’t had a chance to call.”

“Who is it?” asked Storm.

“Oh, never mind, Detective, I shouldn’t have bothered you with it. It was just seeing you here unexpectedly; I thought you had come to help.”

“Ms. Taylor, I am always ready to help. Has anyone called the police and put in a missing persons report?”

“I thought they had when I saw you, but I am not sure now.”

“Who is it?”

“Peggy Wise, our assistant manager of ticket sales, but I am sure she is just running late.”

Damn. This was the woman Storm had wanted to talk to.
If she is missing what the hell is going on out here?

“Ms. Taylor, do you want me to report it? Do you have her address? I can always call it in and we can send a car by her home to check.”

“No, no, Detective. Like I said, I am sure she is just running late, but I will notify you if there is any change.”

Damn, this bitch is cold, thought Storm. She soon went right back to her stone-faced-fake-smile-corporate self. “Now what was it you wanted to see me about, Detective?”

“This might be better done somewhere private, not out here in the lobby.”

“Of course, Detective.” They went to the same small conference room off the lobby he had been in before.

“Do you keep records of all the members and people involved in the Livestock Show?”

“I am not sure what you are asking, Detective,” Dakota replied cautiously.

“Ms. Taylor, I have reason to think that the murder of Leslie Phillips is related to other murders in the Dome area over the past six years and I need to see if there are any links between them and
the girl from Sunday in your records.”

Only Dakota’s eyes betrayed her, darting away from his, trying to look somewhere anywhere but at him. He knew she had them and he knew she was going to lie.

“What could you possibly mean, Detective Storm?”

“Over the past few years, six girls have been found dead in or around the area of the Dome, all killed in the same manner as the girl from Saturday night. I have their names and I was hoping you had a record of whether they had been members of the Show. If they were, then we may need to check out members of the Show as well as employees, vendors, security staff, anyone who might have had a connection to them.”

It was then that Storm pulled the morgue photos of the girls from out of the manila envelope he was carrying, and as he did, a sheet of copy paper with the girls’ names also fell out onto the table.

”Detective, I can’t give you that kind of information.”

“Why not?” asked Storm.

“Our records are privileged,” she answered. Her throat made an involuntary clutching sound as if she was trying to keep from gagging.

“Ms. Taylor, I am not asking you to give me your list of members or donors, even though you are a charitable organization. I only want you to tell me if any of these girls were members or if there were any documented relationships with the Show. Of course, I can always request a subpoena if I have to.”

* * * *

Dakota cringed, looked away, and groaned. She wished she could be anywhere but sitting at this table. Her natural reaction was to flee, but she knew she had to fight. Flight was out of the question. The pictures made her sick to her stomach and she fought to control the urge to vomit, but the sight of the dead girls was overwhelming. She covered her mouth and turned away.

Dakota knew she was caught. The Show had promised to help with the investigation and she didn’t want to appear to be stonewalling. She knew the Show could get the subpoena quashed, so her best bet was to stall. Storm may have been a washed up drunk, but he had found out about the other girls. Peggy Wise had slipped her mind completely now. She had a bigger dilemma and bigger fish to fry.

Smiling sweetly and seemingly backing down, Dakota said, “Of course, Detective, if you will give me a list of their names I can run a search of our database to see if these girls are on any of our member or vendor lists. I’ll get back to you with the information as soon as I have it.”

Storm handed her the piece of copy paper with girls’ names on it and added, “Miss Taylor, if you will give me your missing employee’s address, I will send a car by to check on her.”

“No, no, that’s okay, Detective. Let me get on this for you and I will call later today with what I find.”

* * * *

All Storm could do was wait and see. He hated waiting, so he was going to see about the missing employee, this Peggy Wise. When Storm got to the parking lot he called Hernandez from his mobile phone, thinking to himself that the shit was about to hit the fan now.

“You out there?” Hernandez meant “the Show.” “What happened?”

“I just met with Dakota Taylor and I asked for the names and any records they may have on the six dead girls. She knows about them, it was all over her face, but she is good; she didn’t blink an eye, but she did flinch, and she lied to me. She told me it would take some time to find out if any of the girls’ names were in their database.”

“What do you think she knows?”

“I think she knows there’s a cover-up and who’s behind it. I suspect she knows a lot more than then she is telling me.”

“Then the Show is in on it?”

“Yep. Hey, Pancho, I need for you to get me an address on a Peggy Wise. She works here at Show.”

“Who is Peggy Wise?’ asked Pancho.

“She is the girl who worked with the first victim we found, the one who worked at Tejas Petroleum six years ago and was found with her throat cut like Leslie. Her supervisor told me this Peggy girl and Elaine, yeah, that was her name, were friends and now this Peggy works for the Show. I thought while I was out here I would see if she knew anything about Elaine’s death. Did she know if Elaine was dating anyone out here. Ask her if she knew any of the others.”

“Why, then, do you need her address?”

“When I got here this morning, Ms. Taylor was not surprised to see me and thought I had come because they have a missing employee. It turns out they hadn’t called it in yet and were just passing it off as she must just be late. But if you can get her address I want to go check on her. If she’s missing, it may be connected. I’d like to run by her house and see if she’s at home and you check to see if she was involved in some car wreck or something and just late for work.”

It took a few minutes for Hernandez to find Peggy’s address, but it was close by. Her small house was just south of the Dome off Stella Link in a neighborhood that was like the Heights—finding new life because of its location. People moving to Houston to be near or a part of the burgeoning Medical Center wanted to live close by and this area was perfect.

Storm approached the door and found it open. He went inside, announcing himself. “Houston Police. You here, Miss Wise?”

No answer. He stepped in cautiously, gun drawn. The place had been ransacked. The furniture was turned upside down with books and papers all over the floor. In the bedroom he found the lifeless body of Peggy Wise. Damn, what the hell?

It was plain to see the girl had had her throat slashed just like Leslie and she had been posed for discovery. Was this part of his case? Did this woman have something to do with the other murders? As he ruminated on this latest turn, he called for backup and for the M.E.’s office.

While he waited for the response teams he called Hernandez. “Hey, listen. . .” He told Hernandez what he had found.

He then called Alisha. “This is Detective David Storm. I was out on a missing persons call and discovered a homicide at the home of Ms. Peggy Wise. The victim is a young woman, maybe about twenty-eight. She has been murdered, her throat cut in a way that has some distinctive characteristics.” He chose his words carefully and spoke formally, not knowing who else could be listening. “You’ll be officially notified soon. CSI is on the way and as soon as they’ve processed the scene you’ll be receiving the remains.” He paused. “I’d appreciate knowing your conclusions, Doctor.”

Though Storm was intentionally vague, he figured Alisha would catch the hints he dropped. Within minutes patrol cars working the area arrived; even Hebert showed up. Storm watched over the crime scene until the on-call processor from the M.E.’s office arrived. Nobody was touching this body or disturbing the scene until everything was photographed and logged into evidence—he’d hang around to make sure of it. Hebert’s officers began to canvass the neighborhood. All the neighbors were shocked and surprised to hear something like this had happened in their neighborhood, but no one had seen anything suspicious. They knew Peggy’s hours were long this time of year, so they didn’t expect to see or talk to her until the Show was over.

Storm watched as the onsite exam was completed. This victim had fought back. She didn’t go down easy, but the pool of blood surrounding her body was big enough to be the entire capacity of her body. Her bloody right hand was dropped in the pool and her index finger pointed outward. It appeared as if she was trying to write something but what? There was too much blood to make any sense of it. She was lying face down, her clothes were ripped, and her naked bottom was posed as if stuck up in the air. He had to wait for verification, but he was sure she had been violated. For the moment, all he could do was wait for Alisha to do her magic and tell him what she found. He wondered if the wreckage in the house was from the fight or if the perpetrator was looking for something.

Irony seemed to be the only reaction to the scene Storm could come up with. I need to call Dakota Taylor and tell her that Peggy Wise won’t be in today, he told himself. Guess questioning this girl is out of the realm of possibility.

A Mentor’s Confidence

Dakota Taylor sat quietly in her office trying to regain her composure. Seeing the morgue photos of the all of the murder victims had left her totally unnerved. She was sure she would never get those ghastly faces out of her mind. Even her cold corporate heart wondered how someone could do what had been done to those girls, not once, but seven times. She knew she had to pull herself together and call Vern Nagel, so he could get the mayor and the police chief more involved, and do it immediately. Someone had to put a leash on the detective. She made the call.

* * * *

The mayor heard him coming. Vern Nagel didn’t even wait to be announced. He bolted through the mayor’s office door gasping for breath from the short run down the hall. He brought himself up short of his boss’s desk looking more than a little alarmed. “Mr. Mayor, that detective that works for Flynn, he knows about the other girls.”

“Jesus Christ, Vern, you can’t just run in here babbling about something inane and interrupt me.” Mayor Lemay was pissed. The veins in his neck popped out as his blood pressure began skyrocketing and he assured himself, I have a right to be.

“Sir,” Nagel ran on, screeching, “That detective Lieutenant Flynn assigned to the murder of the girl at the Dome knows about the other girls, the ones found over the last few years.”

“How the hell do you know that?” The mayor put the papers down he had been reading and looked at Nagel as if he had lost his mind.

“Dakota Taylor from the Livestock Show just called. She said the detective was there this morning with their names and morgue photos of each of them. She said the pictures made her sick. He asked Dakota to run their names against the Show’s database to see if any of them were connected to the Show in any way.”

“Goddamn it, Nagel, Lee Powers has already called and chewed my ass out about this. He basically threatened me and it wasn’t a warning. He was clear that he expected me to take care of this. Get the police chief, Lieutenant Flynn and that dumbass director of the M.E. department in here now! If that detective has morgue photos of all of the victims, he probably had help from someone in the M.E.’s office.” The mayor knew he was getting more upset by the minute and he didn’t care. Was he surrounded by idiots and buffoons? Couldn’t anyone around here control some drunk and pathetic old washed-up cop ?