Flashpoint (23 page)

Sonora looked at the exposed wires, the dust, the dry brittle furniture. Fire hazard, she thought.

Most of what was back in the storeroom looked broken and abandoned. An old metal baby crib, bars lethally wide at the top and narrow at the bottom, was stacked next to an iron bedstead, a wooden Indian, and a Coca-Cola sign. Shelby Hargreaves squatted next to a battered, avocado green storage trunk, opened the latch, and lifted the lid. Sonora looked over her shoulder.

A macabre collection, this motley conglomeration of doll eyes, sawdust-stuffed limbs, tiny, unattached hands, and doll heads. A threadbare baby bonnet lay next to a torn parasol and a pair of teensy eyeglasses. There were shoes and felt kits, a few paintbrushes, what looked like molds for heads. Sam reached in and picked up an odd tool, shaped something like a Tootsie Roll Pop.

“What's this for?”

Shelby Hargreaves touched the gray metal. “An eye beveler. Made by a company in Connecticut. It's used to make an eye socket. There's a better one in here.” She rummaged through the trunk. “I
know
there's another one. Unless Cecilia sold it or moved it. It surely didn't get up and walk off by itself.”

Sonora exchanged glances with Sam.

“Now that bothers me,” Hargreaves said. “I'll have to check with Cecilia. I suppose she must have sold it.”

“Did this girl buy anything from the assortment here?” Sam asked.

“She bought some eyes. Brown eyes. Blue ones are more popular, but she wanted the brown. I tried to sell her something to replace that arm.” She held up a sagging sawdust limb. “This might have been made to work, but she didn't want it.”

There came the faint but unmistakable jangle of the bells over the front door.

“Excuse me, I'd better get back upstairs.”

Sam gave her a hand up, which made her cheeks turn pink. She dusted off her skirt.

“Look around all you like, detectives. If you'll close the trunk when you're done, I'd appreciate it.”

Sonora waited till she heard the clatter of heels on the stairs, then squatted next to the trunk, picking things up, putting them down. “No eye beveler,” she said.

“Reckon Flash took it?” Sam asked.

“No doubt in my mind.”

30

Sam's radio went off as they walked out of Shelby's Antiques. Sonora propped her feet up on the curb and leaned against the Taurus. She looked through the window at the carousel horse.

Sam put the radio back on his belt.

“What's up?” Sonora asked.

“Sheriff called from Oxton, about the security guard? Louisville ME did the autopsy this morning. Definitely a twenty-two, three bullets. And they found the car she took.”

“Where?”

“Parked way out of the way, some rural road or other called Kane's Mill. They figure she stashed her car, crossed a railroad bridge on foot, and hiked about six miles into town to the TV station. Maybe changed clothes in a McDonald's or something—could be they'll find witnesses. She'd have to be hauling a good-sized pack for the video camera. Afterward, they figure she lost her tail on the back roads, doubled back to where she had her own car stashed, and switched. They found strands of synthetic black hair caught in the car door, and the driver's seat was set as far up as it would go—just right for shrimps like you and Flash.”

“Thanks, Sam. Mind slipping your wrists into these handcuffs?”

He grinned. “The car was wiped, but they got one or two prints, not good ones. Plus they found an X-Acto knife that nobody from the television station claims. The kind of thing a hobbyist might use.”

“I think we know what her hobby is. Did you tell Crick that our girl likes to play with dolls?”

“He thought it was pretty interesting that she made a point of getting a new one hours before she killed Daniels. A boy doll at that. And that it was important enough for her to pay cab fare, like it was part of some little scenario she had cooked up.”

Sam's radio went off again. He raised one eyebrow; Sonora shrugged. She had a worried feeling, as if something important had slid by.

She rewound the interview tape, put the recorder next to her ear. Hargreaves's voice was distinct and pleasant—she'd be good on radio.

“…
and what I call the miniatures. Dollhouse furniture. She liked that little tea set over there, did you
—”

Sonora felt a hand on her shoulder and jumped.

“Girl, you okay?”

“Yeah, sure. What's up now?”

Sam frowned. “Dumpster fire, at the school where—”

“Keaton?”

He nodded. “Evidently Flash went after one of the teachers.”

Sonora headed for one side of the car, and Sam for the other. She buckled her seat belt. “So what happened?”

“That's all I know. Daniels called it in himself. Blue Ash PD didn't want us pulled in.”

“How long ago?”

“Couple hours. She's long gone, and Crick is pissed.”

“So am I. Thank you, Blue Ash.”

“Cut 'em some slack, Sonora, for them it's a routine Dumpster fire.”

“There are no routine fires where Keaton Daniels is concerned.”

“Why's she going to show up at his school, Sonora? Helluva chance she's taking.”

“You understand the word
obsession?
Why do ex-husbands shoot their ex-wives at the office? I wish to God Crick would keep somebody with him.”

“Live in the real world, Sonora.”

31

The burned-out Dumpster was at the far end of the Pioneer Elementary School playground. Sonora stood on the hood of a Blue Ash patrol car and peeped inside. The fire had gobbled the top layer of trash. She wished Arson Guy was around. If the fire had burned deeply in one spot, it likely had smoldered, which might mean a cigarette tossed in. If, on the other hand, there was an accelerant—

She heard a recognizable click and turned her head.

“Just leave your hands where they are.” The voice was female and shaking with excitement. Sonora got a quick look out of the corner of her eye.

The Blue Ash patrol officer was black, fine boned and slender, looking more like a teacher than a cop. She wore the uniform with spit and polish.

Sonora made sure her hands stayed put. “Excuse me, Officer. Sorry, can't read your name tag from here. Bradley?”

“Brady.”

“Officer Brady. What the hell do you think you're doing, pulling your gun there? If this is your car, I promise, I haven't scratched the paint.”

“Identify yourself, please.”

It dawned on Sonora that the Blue Ash police would be looking for a short blonde. This was getting irritating.

“The woman you're looking for is thinner than I am, much as I hate to admit it. And her hair is shorter and lighter blond.”

The uniform was looking around for help. No one was close. She pulled the radio off her belt.

Sonora laughed. “Come on, Brady, please, don't embarrass me like this. I'm a detective, I work homicide for the city. That's my partner there in front of the school, talking to the good old boys. You know him? Sam Delarosa?”

“Got some ID?”

“Right here on my belt.”

“Keep your hands up.”

“If I fall on my butt, it's on your head, so to speak.”

Brady did not smile, and she kept her gun steady. Sonora turned sideways, hands in the air. She hoped Sam wouldn't notice, she'd never hear the end of this. Brady inched closer, squinting at the ID.

“If you're satisfied with the little plastic picture, I'd appreciate it if you'd holster your gun, Officer Brady.”

“Sorry.”

“Nah, you never can tell.” Sonora sat on the hood of the car and swung her legs over the side.

Brady nodded glumly. Her hair was trimmed close to her head, and her face showed the uncertainty of extreme youth.

“You been here long?” Sonora asked.

“Since the call came in.”

“So what's the story?”

Brady leaned against the car and began to talk. Good old girls, Sonora thought, as she listened.

The call had come in a little after two. Brady checked her notes. Two-twelve, to be precise, which Sonora could see she was. It had been physical-activity time, and there were two primary classes on the playground. Sonora looked around the lot. It was a nice school, and judging from the facilities, was run by a fat-cat PTA. A map of all fifty states was painted on the asphalt—educational hopscotch. There was a slide and a swing set and monkey bars, freshly painted in vibrant shades of all the primary colors, with cypress mulch cushioning the dirt beneath.

There had been two groups outside. One of them should have been Daniels's class, but they had traded time with Vancouver's primary so they could schedule in a performance by a traveling puppet show. Instead of being outside, Daniels and his kids were indoors, watching
Rumpelstiltskin
.

Vancouver had noticed a woman hanging around the edge of the playground, and was on her way over to check her out when one of the children fell off the monkey bars. When she got that settled, she saw the woman talking to one of the children. She challenged her. The woman came at her, scratched her face, shoved her to the ground, and ran away.

Sonora frowned. The playground was vulnerable, placed on the other side of the school parking lot, away from the main buildings. The school was surrounded by houses on two sides. A limited-access highway ran along the back, with a small hill and a thin strip of trees and bushes between. The back of the school was fenced with four feet of chain link, but there was no fence on the left side. Easy access, Sonora thought. Wouldn't even have to climb the fence.

“Any idea what this woman said to the child?”

“She wanted to know who his teacher was. He said Miss Vancouver, and this woman said wasn't he in Mr. Daniels's class? Then that's when the teacher came over.”

“She hurt much?” Sonora didn't see an ambulance, but it would have come and gone by now.

“No, not really, just shook up.”

Sonora looked for Sam. His shoulders were stiff, and he was waving his arms. The side door of the school swung open, and Keaton Daniels walked out with a man whose rumpled suit and air of authority said police. Trailing behind was a short man who wore his pants hitched below his belly and slicked back his thinning black hair with something sticky. The principal, Sonora guessed. Whoever he was, he did not look happy.

Neither did Keaton. His jaw was set, and he had that wary and guarded air she was beginning to know. Sonora slid off the hood of the car.

The cop in the suit eyed the ID hanging from Sonora's belt and gave her a hard look. She didn't know him. She got along with Blue Ash homicide people, but she didn't sense any rapport with this one.

The cop cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Miss—”

“Specialist Blair.” Sonora held up both hands and pointed at Sam. “I'm just one of the troops, sir. The man you need to argue with is over there. Mr. Daniels, may I have a word?”

The cop gave Keaton a hard look. “We'll be in touch.”

The principal's smile was tense. “Think about what I said, Mr. Daniels. We'll talk again in the morning.”

Keaton jerked his head in an unfriendly nod. Sonora fell into step beside him, and they left the others behind.

“They want me to leave, you know that?” He looked at her sideways and kept walking. “Like I would. Like I can't protect my kids. If I'd been out here I would have
had
her. God, it would have been so easy.”

Not as easy as you think, Sonora thought. Now probably wasn't the time to bring it up.

They went across the playground, past the monkey bars and basketball goals. Keaton looked first left, then right.

“What are you looking for?” Sonora asked.

Keaton scratched his head. “One of the kids in my class said she saw a woman out here two days ago, watching us at PA. She said the woman was standing by the water. I'm trying to figure out what the hell she … surely it couldn't …” He moved off toward the line of trees that ran between the back of the school and the interstate, stopping in front of a deep puddle of mud, two feet by three, shadowed by a clutch of adolescent oak trees. Keaton looked down at the muddy water. “You think this is what she meant?”

Sonora shrugged. Looked for footprints. “Anything is possible, Keaton.”

He glared at her. “She's not running me off, not me, babe. I'm not leaving my kids, or quitting my job, or changing my life.”

“Can they make you? Quit?”

Keaton stared off toward the school. “They'd have to go through channels. Offer me something administrative downtown, and even then, I don't think they could force it. If the principal wants to get nasty, he can start shading my evaluations, but that takes time.” He lifted his chin. “Why, you think I'm wrong? You think I'm risking my kids? I can take care of them, Sonora. If she comes back here, fine with me.”

Sonora nodded at him. “School got smoke alarms?”

“Of course.”

“How about your town house?”

He put his hands in his pockets. “Four as of last night.”

“I'm up to five now, at my house.”

He gave her a second look. “Your house?”

“Just paranoid. I've got two kids, remember. You change your locks yet, Mr. Daniels?”

“
Mr
. Daniels? What happened to Keaton?”

“What happened to the locks?”

“Using the mom-voice on me, Detective?”

“You think she's not dangerous because she's female, Keaton?”

“I think I can handle her.”

“Your brother couldn't.”

32

Sonora drank from a can of Coke as she headed toward her desk. The message light on her phone was blinking. Chas, no doubt. Constant, predictable, and annoying. Twice she'd returned his calls, but he never seemed to be home.