No Good Deed, page 3
part #2 of Lancaster & Daniels Series
Hanging over the stove in Elsie’s kitchen was a framed quote that read, “No Good Deed Goes Unpunished.” Gamble had pointed the quote out to Lancaster before he’d gone tree climbing. He hadn’t understood the significance, and had forgotten about it.
“Why do you think that quote’s important?” he asked.
“There was a similar quote in the house of the Lakeland victim,” she said.
“You went to the Lakeland victim’s house?”
“My boss sent me. He thought it would add depth to the piece I’m writing. The missing Lakeland woman is a retired teacher named Amy Potter. Her husband invited me into the kitchen for coffee. There was a plaque by the refrigerator that said, ‘Some of your greatest hurt will come from people you helped.’ It struck me as odd, you know?”
He was suddenly glad Gamble had stayed in the car.
“You found a link between Amy Potter and Elsie Tanner,” he said.
“It sure feels that way. But what does it mean?”
“I heard similar sentiments when I was a cop. You help people, but later regret it. Elsie Tanner and Amy Potter may have both helped people, and gotten burned.”
“Is that significant?”
“It’s a link, and needs to be explored. Are you up for it?”
“Me? I wouldn’t know where to start.”
Murder cases weren’t solved in a day. It was all about digging, and grim resolve. Gamble’s cell phone beeped in her purse. She pulled out the device and visually devoured the message. It seemed to rattle her, and she looked at him. “A nurse has gone missing in Gainesville. Her neighbor found her car running in the driveway. My boss wants me to drive up so I can file a story in the morning.”
“Are you okay with that?”
“Not really. This is scary.”
She shivered from an imaginary chill and started to get out. He stopped her.
“Do you own a gun?” he asked.
“It’s back at my apartment.”
“It’s not doing you any good there.”
“I know. My boss doesn’t want us bringing guns to work, so I leave it at home.”
“But you know how to use one.”
“Absolutely. I got a concealed weapon permit when I moved into my apartment. I go to the pistol range twice a week.”
He reached over and punched a combination into a lock in the glove compartment. It sprang open, revealing four semiautomatic handguns resting in a specially made rack.
“Take your pick,” he said.
She examined each weapon before settling on the GLOCK and slipping it into her purse. It seemed to calm her down, and she flashed a brave smile.
“Thanks, partner,” she said.
CHAPTER 4
The link between Amy Potter and Elsie Tanner may have been nothing, but it still needed to be explored. He let Google Maps guide him to the sheriff’s office in Citrus Park, and parked in the lot beside the building. Then he called a fifteen-year-old girl named Nicki Pearl.
“Hey, Jon,” she said cheerfully.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said.
“Nope, homework’s all done.”
“How would you like to do some snooping for me?”
“You bet I would.”
Four months ago, Nicki’s parents had hired him to figure out why strange men were stalking their daughter. During his investigation, he’d discovered that Nicki was taking a CSI course at school, and had a real passion for police work. After his job was finished, and Nicki was no longer in danger, he’d accepted an invitation to speak to her class about cases he’d worked back when he was a detective. He’d made it a point to emphasize to the class that while knocking on doors was important in solving cases, it was forensic work that often brought the bad guys to justice.
“Write down these two names. Amy Potter, Elsie Tanner,” he said.
“Done. Who are they?” she asked.
“They’re both victims of horrible crimes. Amy Potter was abducted in Lakeland, and Elsie Tanner was murdered outside of Tampa. A reporter found a link between them that needs to be checked out. It may be important.”
“Cool. What’s the link?”
“They both helped people, but got burned for it. I want you to do background searches of them on the internet. See if they’re in some way connected.”
“This sounds like fun.”
“There’s more. I also need you to visit the clerk of courts websites in Lakeland and Tampa, and do searches of their names. Maybe they were both involved in a lawsuit, and the person they sued is now paying them back.”
“Which would explain the motive.”
He smiled into the phone. During his talk, he’d emphasized the importance of learning a motive, since it often led to discovering a criminal’s identity.
“Last thing,” he said. “I need you to see if there are newspaper articles where Potter and Tanner are mentioned. I’ll give you a tip that should help. Most newspapers archive past stories on their websites. These stories don’t come up in a Google search. You have to visit the newspaper’s site, and do a search on the internal search engine.”
“That’s stupid. Why don’t they just post the links, instead of making people do the extra work?”
“I asked a reporter at the Sun Sentinel in Fort Lauderdale that question. She told me that when a person uses the site, they’re exposed to advertising, and that’s how the paper makes money.”
“I still think it’s stupid. I’ll start tonight.”
“Not before you get your parents’ permission. Understood?”
“Sure, Jon. I’ll ask them once I get off the phone.”
“Good. Have you spoken to your aunt Beth lately?”
“Not in a while. She disappeared on us. Are you guys still dating?”
Nicki’s aunt was Special Agent Beth Daniels with the FBI. He’d met Beth while protecting Nicki, and they’d ended up catching a pair of serial killers. A bond had formed that had led to several dates. The relationship had been going in the right direction, and they’d decided to spend a long weekend together hiking in the Smoky Mountains. On the first day, Beth had gotten a phone call from her boss, who’d assigned her to a new case. Beth had left that day, and he hadn’t heard from her since.
“Status unknown. I haven’t spoken to your aunt in a month,” he said.
“She’s like that. Don’t take it personally.”
It was amusing to get dating advice from a teenager, and he laughed silently into his cell phone.
“Would it be okay if I got my CSI class involved?” she asked. “My teacher gave us this cold case to work on as a project, only it’s boring, and no one’s into it. This case would be great, since it’s happening right now.”
Nicki’s CSI classmates were sharp kids. After his talk, they’d asked questions about cutting-edge forensics such as scrape DNA and latent fingerprint detection, and obviously had done a lot of reading. Having them work on this would save time, and might very well lead to a breakthrough. The only problem was, if they discussed it on Facebook or Instagram, the police investigation could be jeopardized.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said. “If one of them discusses the case outside of the classroom, or on social media, it would create real problems.”
“What if I get them to sign a pledge?” she asked. “That’s what the Secret Service agent who visited the class made us do. If we broke it, our teacher said she’d fail us.”
“The whole class?”
“Uh-huh. We’re all trying to keep our grade points up to get into college. Nobody wants to get an F, so we stayed quiet.”
“Okay. Run it by your teacher. If she’s willing to get the class to sign a pledge, then get them involved. If not, you’ll have to play Sherlock Holmes by yourself. Sound fair?”
She giggled. “That sounds like a great idea.”
He found Nicki—unlike most teenagers—easy to have a conversation with, and he would have kept talking to her, only the GNC store would be closing soon. He needed to go inside the sheriff’s station, and convince whoever was on duty to visit the mall with him to review the store’s surveillance tapes. If he was lucky, the face of Elsie’s killer would pop up, and he’d be one step closer to rescuing Skye.
“I’ve got to run,” he said. “Say hello to your folks.”
CHAPTER 5
The sheriff’s Patrol District III headquarters in Citrus Park was a squat brick building that backed up to dense wetlands. Entering the lobby, he combed his hair with his fingers so he looked presentable. A female deputy with a name tag that said Lacko sat behind a sheet of bulletproof glass at the reception area.
“Can I help you?” the deputy asked.
He took out his Team Adam business card and held it up to the glass. “I need to speak to whoever’s working the Elsie Tanner investigation,” he said.
She studied him. Not liking what she saw, she frowned.
“How do I know you didn’t find that on the ground?” she asked.
Several clever answers came to mind. He buttoned his lip and pulled out his driver’s license and also held it up to the glass. She did not back down.
“There’s no one here. Come back tomorrow,” she said.
“You’re here by yourself?” he asked.
“Just me and T. J.”
“T. J.?”
“Deputy Stahl. He runs the Special Investigations Division.”
“Then let me speak to him. I visited Elsie’s property, and found a piece of evidence that may be important.” He removed the GNC sales receipt from his wallet and showed it to her. “It was stuck up in a tree.”
“What did you do, climb up and get it?” she asked.
“That’s right. I was afraid it would get ruined in the rain.”
“Is that why you look like such a mess?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That sounds crazy enough to be true. Give me the receipt and your driver’s license and business card, and I’ll go talk to T. J.”
He passed the items through a slot in the glass. Lacko secured them with a paper clip and disappeared into the back of the station house. His earlier conversation with Gamble was bugging him, and he pulled out his cell phone and got on the internet.
Using Google, he found and quickly read a story about Amy Potter’s kidnapping in Lakeland’s only newspaper, the Ledger. The Polk County sheriff, a local character named Homer Morcroft, was quoted as saying that a demonic cult might be involved, yet he gave no evidence to back up the claim.
The quote bothered Lancaster. Saying that devil worshippers might be involved was like adding gasoline to a fire. On a hunch, he did a search of Morcroft, and discovered other outlandish quotes that he’d made over the years, along with press conferences posted on YouTube. Morcroft obviously enjoyed the spotlight, and seeing his name in the papers.
He looked up from his phone to find a man wearing jeans and a long-sleeve athletic shirt standing before him. He was built like a gymnast, with broad shoulders tapering down to a thin waist.
“I’m T. J.,” he said, offering his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
Lancaster’s cheeks burned. Stahl had checked him out, and found stories on the internet about the cases he’d broken. He would have been happy if no one ever saw that stuff, but the internet was like an echo chamber, and nothing ever faded away.
“I’d like to talk to you about what happened at Elsie Tanner’s place,” Lancaster said. “I think I may have a new angle for you to consider.”
“That sounds good to me. We can use all the help we can get.” Stahl used a plastic key to get back into the station house, and they walked past a cubicle farm to a corner office. “You want some coffee? I just brewed a fresh pot.”
Lancaster never said no to coffee. He took a chair in front of Stahl’s desk and soon was sipping from a steaming cup. The desk was cluttered with family photos of Stahl’s wife and freckle-faced son. In one photo, the boy was wearing a baseball uniform and holding a bat. It made Lancaster choke up, and he averted his gaze.
“So how does the sales receipt play into this?” Stahl asked, sitting across from him. “Lacko said you found it in a tree on Elsie Tanner’s property.”
“I believe it fell out of Elsie’s pocket when she was dragged over to the firepit,” he said. “The sales receipt establishes her at the GNC store in the Citrus Park Mall an hour before she was killed. I think her assailant was at the mall, and tailed her home.”
“That explains how he found her place. That’s been bothering us,” Stahl said.
“I also believe Elsie was the intended target of the kidnapping. The kidnapper came onto her property, and talked her off her lawn mower. When he tried to abduct her, she resisted, so he killed her. Rather than leave empty handed, he grabbed Skye.”
“Which explains why Elsie didn’t call 911,” Stahl said.
“Correct. Her kidnapper got the jump on her.”
“What was his motive?”
“I don’t know. She had a reputation for being a Good Samaritan, which may somehow play into this.”
“I heard she was a do-gooder. You think she helped someone, and it came back to bite her?”
“Could be.”
“If Elsie was at the GNC store, there would be a surveillance tape of her.” Stahl paused. “And maybe one of her killer as well.”
“That’s what I’m hoping. If her killer didn’t come into the store, he may have tailed her from the parking lot, and we can spot him on the mall’s surveillance videos.”
“I like it. The mall stays open until ten. Let me call the GNC store, and see if the manager will let us look at their tapes. We’ll start there.”
The key to any investigation was to keep it moving forward, and see where it led you. Stahl placed a call to the GNC store at the Citrus Park Mall, and was put on hold. Covering the mouthpiece with his hand, he said, “Did you run any of this information by the FBI? They’re here, running their own investigation.”
“No, I came straight here,” Lancaster said.
“I’d like to keep it that way.”
“You want me to stay away from the FBI?”
“If you don’t mind. I had some good leads, and that bitchy agent in charge scared off my witnesses. She’s a real horror show. You ever work with the FBI?”
“A few times. They’re not the easiest bunch.”
“That’s an understatement.” Stahl took a business card off his desk and passed it to him. “If you ever run across this little lady, run like hell. She’s the worst.”
He stared at the card and saw Beth’s name in dull black lettering. Beth was a relentless investigator, and he could see her rubbing Stahl the wrong way. He saw no reason to tell Stahl they knew each other and spoil the party.
“Thanks for the warning,” Lancaster said as he returned the card. “I was doing a little reading, and saw that the sheriff in Polk County is claiming that a group of Satan worshippers may be involved in these abductions. Why would he say that?”
“If I tell you, will you keep it a secret?”
“Of course.”
“A schoolteacher was abducted in Lakeland last week. While the police were searching the property, they found the number 666 written in spray paint on the driveway. The husband claimed he had no idea how it got there.”
“That’s the number of the beast,” Lancaster said.
“That’s right. It’s from chapter thirteen of the book of Revelation. ‘Let the one with understanding reckon the meaning of the number of the beast, for it is the number of a man. His number is 666.’”
“Anyone could have painted that on the driveway.”
“I know. It was a stupid thing for the sheriff to say.”
The manager came on the line, and Stahl arranged for them to meet at the store before it closed. Ending the connection, he rose from his desk and strapped on his sidearm, which he covered with a baggy sweatshirt.
“Let’s roll,” Stahl said.
The Citrus Park Mall was a stone’s throw from the station house. Stahl parked in a space near the entrance between Macy’s and Sears and killed his engine. The deputy’s negative comments about Beth were bothering Lancaster. Beth was a tough cookie, but her track record for catching criminals was stellar, and more than made up for her antics.
“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” Lancaster asked.
“Go ahead,” Stahl said.
“I may run into Special Agent Daniels while I’m conducting my investigation. Would you mind telling me what she did to piss you off so badly?”
“Special Agent Daniels doesn’t like District III, and we don’t like her.”
“Sounds like you have a history.”
“That’s one way to put it. A couple of years ago, a ten-year-old was found strangled in the woods not far from here. We had a suspect, a high school junior named Lenny DeVito, who had possession of the dead kid’s bike. We got a sample of DeVito’s DNA and sent it to the crime lab. If it matched the DNA on the kid’s clothes, our case was solved.
“That same week, a local politician got shot to death answering his front door. The politician was fighting with his stepson over money, so the stepson gets hauled in, and his DNA also gets sent to the crime lab. Because the politician was connected, his stepson’s DNA test was put in front of DeVito’s test.
“That’s when Daniels swooped in. Whenever a juvenile gets murdered, the FBI takes a look at the case. Daniels reviewed the evidence and decided that a psychopath killed the kid, and not Lenny DeVito. She ordered my boss to have DeVito’s test done first. My boss doesn’t like to be pushed around, so he said no.
“The next day, the paper ran a story saying the sheriff wasn’t cooperating with the FBI, and how a rampaging killer may be on the loose. It made us look really bad.”
“So Daniels leaked the story to the paper. How did it play out?”
“My boss caved, and had the crime lab run DeVito’s test first. It was a match to the DNA found at the crime scene, just like we thought. DeVito was guilty.”
“So Daniels was wrong.”
“Dead wrong.”
