Nothing Sacred (FBI Agent Dan Hammer Series Book 1) (14 page)

“She.”

“A woman. Even better. What about it? Put a human spin to the story. Sympathy factor.” He explained it like a pitch, like he was shopping a screenplay to a seedy producer securing a movie deal. “The female admitting doctor responds with a public announcement, a warning about the brutality of the slayings.”

“I don’t know, Louis. Believe me, there’s already a shitload of sympathy around the case. That girl lost her, well, let’s just say, she’s virtually without any female sexual organs. Besides, the hospital crew’s close mouthed about it. The doctor was talking to Hammer on the ward floor when I left. I definitely did
not
want to have a run in with
him.”
Janice took another gulp of coffee wishing she had some Advil. Or TUMS for the heartburn she was surely going to get.

“Try, won’t you?”

Janice set the cup down on his desk. “Thanks for the mud.”

Louis watched as she walked to the door. “You did a great job, Mouth. I just want you to know… I’m proud of you.”

“What is it? You’re the second person that’s said that today. Everybody’s proud of me and it’s not even noon yet.”

“Take it as a compliment. I would.”

“That’s the difference between you and me. I’m great at giving. It’s the receiving I have a hard time with.” The frosted glass door rattled as Janice exited. Similar to her life lately. A lot of skeletons chasing after her.

Fr
iday

11:32 AM

17

Dan took a
much needed break from violence and autopsies and drove to the Isle of Palms. Even without sleep, he needed to see his daughter. Connect with her innocence. Some sanity.

Like a gunshot, he sped south on I-26 toward Charleston. Far from Goose Creek, track housing, mini malls and George Madden. More in miles than memory. George was a funny guy. Funny peculiar, as his grandmother used to say. George seemed less interested in sharing information about his heroic adventure than his wife. On the other hand, Edna, well, let’s just say, she seemed genuinely curious about the whole ordeal. Dan kept getting the feeling Edna knew more than she was letting on.

Edna greeted Dan warmly and ushered him into their home. A rotund woman who occupied a generous portion of their cramped living space, she promptly excused herself into the kitchen. She returned carrying a serving tray stacked with miniature toast points and marmalade. Very hospitable. Dan noticed Edna had difficulty navigating her terrain comfortably. Her shoes appeared far too small for her swollen feet, cutting off valuable circulation. The floral housedress she wore was large and blowzy. It had that faded, about to be retired look. Dan couldn’t help but notice the fleshy folds of fat hanging from her upper arms.

“Coffee, Detective?” She asked, positioning the tray on the wooden table.

“Great.” Dan checked out the living room. The house had that warm, musty, lived-in kind of smell. A Bible sat next to the tray. A painted picture of the Lord Jesus hung like a Christmas ornament on the wall, the back of His head illuminated by a low-watt pink light bulb. Dan kept waiting for the damn thing to begin blinking. Weirder, still, he kept wondering why he felt so comfortable.

Funny peculiar…

George sat quietly on the sofa. It was large and ugly and beige in color. Most of the living room was taken up by it. Dan sat opposite George in a beat-up leather recliner. Dishtowels were placed on the used armrests to protect the raveling fabric. Dan stopped rocking by leaning forward into the table.

“There’s a big handle, right there on the side, if you’d like to recline.” George reached over and pointed out the wooden lever.

Dan stopped him at the pass. “This is fine.” George resumed his standard position, at ease, awaiting further instructions from Edna, his live in female drill sergeant. She waddled back into the room. A matching sugar bowl and creamer teetered clumsily in the palm of her chubby hand.

“Sugar?”

“Yes, dear.” George replied, in monotone.

“I’m talking to the nice Detective, George. He was the one kind enough to follow you all the way back here. Besides, your hands aren’t broken.” Pause. “Not yet, anyway.” A sarcastic smile, a slight snort and then three teaspoons of sugar dumped in steady succession into her tiny teacup. Fat fingers daintily stirred the concoction. Edna hoisted it up to her mouth, tasted the coffee, pinkie finger extended, and then proceeded to add another spoonful. Clearing her throat, she looked up at Dan and winked. Her watery eyes appeared to twinkle.

At that point, Dan knew more about Edna and George’s marriage than he cared to. Even so, she continued to illuminate him. Besides, the coffee was excellent and he was exhausted. He needed the caffeine. Edna proceeded to tell Dan how she used the sofa as a bed whenever her sister, Luella came to visit from Savannah. How it unfolded out into a Queen sized bed. Dan nodded and sipped. Nodded and sipped. George remained perfectly quiet. Dan felt sorry for George. But then again, Dan was beginning to feel sorry for most men over the age of twenty-five!

Dan made an exaggerated motion to check the time. “Wow. Time flies.” He thanked Edna for her kindness, her hospitality and her coffee before excusing himself. He had taken about as much information from George Madden as he was ever going to need, but he passed his card over to him just the same. As a courtesy. Dan gave the customary detective rap, “give me a call if you remember anything…” as Edna hobbled along beside him to the front door. At one point, she reached over and steadied herself on Dan’s arm. He allowed her the moment.

“You’re welcome to stay for lunch, if you like, Detective.” She brushed gray hair from off her forehead with the back of her thick wrist. It was a difficult move to complete, dexterity not being one of Edna’s better attributes. At one time, Edna might have been beautiful. Dan got the feeling she was actually flirting with him.

Of course, Dan refused the offer.

The screen door banged shut. Dan ambled down the few broken concrete steps to his car. Edna stood behind the ripped screen. She waved goodbye. Dan couldn’t see George standing behind her. He must have already disappeared into his life.

And, Dan was ready to withdraw into a lost part of his.
Alexandra
. The only fragment that still made any sense.

Gina hated it when Dan showed up unexpectedly. Her excuse was that Alexandra became too excited after spending any time with him. It made it difficult for Gina to start their day with any sort of regularity. Dan said, “fuck that.” Alexandra was his daughter, too, for Christ’s sake.

The worst of the morning traffic had ceased as he crossed over the new Cooper River Bridge. What remained on the road belonged to families, vacationers, or young kids, teenagers skipping class and heading to the beach. Piled high in the backseats were blankets, towels, coolers and volleyballs. Beach gear. Dan used to keep theirs in the backseat, too. When Gina, Alexandra and he were together. When they were a family. Now, Dan tossed everything into the trunk.

He used it for emergencies…

The Isle of Palms. What a perfect place to visit. Or live. Seven sundrenched miles of wide, clean beaches. The Atlantic Ocean at your doorstep and warm, inviting South Carolina sun on your face. Dan could almost smell Summer simmering. That blend of coconut oil and Hawaiian Tropic smoldering in the air. Fruit drinks, frosty Corona Beer and margaritas. Dan’s personal favorite tequila was Don Julio, Silver.

He avoided the line of cars entering The Visitor Center and passed through Mount Pleasant. He drove the few miles of two lane traffic, past strip malls and fast food chains. How many times had they made a pit stop at the Dairy Queen? Quenching their thirst with ginger ale served over crushed ice or an ice cream cone after a relaxing day at the beach. Or feasted on their fantastic Sloppy Joes, sauce dripping carelessly onto their tanned, brown skin.

A young girl in her teens, blonde hair and very shapely ran from a convertible. She wore nothing more than a neon orange thong bikini. She giggled as she entered, pulling the Dairy Queen door open and vanishing into the air conditioning. Her boyfriend waited outside, bare-chested. He listened to the radio. The volume was pumped up so loud, the bass track reverberated. He moved his head to the beat. Do these kids have any idea a maniac’s loose and causing havoc on young women? Probably at this very moment, picking his next victim. Sorting through the wide assortment of tourists, choosing the next trophy for his curious collection. An ideal situation for a killer.

Dan drove bumper to bumper, waiting for the congestion to ease. With so much additional tourist traffic, you would think the City of Mount Pleasant would increase their two lane highway to at least a four-way. He followed the steady procession across the connector bridge. It passed over the Intracoastal Waterway. Murky, green water traveled uninterrupted to the Atlantic and to the Charleston Harbor. Luckily, no boats were crossing. Otherwise, he would have to sit and wait while the drawbridge rose. He passed by unscathed. Fishermen lined the side of the road. Their poles dangled sunlight into the stream. A constant parade of cyclists, kids on rollerblades, long boarders, and joggers traveled the long stretch of miles in stride.

A rustic sign welcomed Dan to the Isle of Palms. Finally. It seemed to be the only thing constant year after year. That old wooden logo. Dan knew the road. He’d driven it a thousand times. Palms Boulevard. He followed it until he got to Forty First Street and made a left hand turn. At the end of the block was a pair of well-maintained tennis courts and a recreational facility. He used to play tennis there, back when he was younger. Back when he was trying to impress Gina. Now, the most exercise he got was… not much.

He leisurely drove past Gina’s small beach house.
Their
house. He turned around in the parking lot at the end of the street. Gravel crunched as he made the u-turn and parked in a vacant space two houses before theirs. He turned off the ignition and watched, spying on his own home, his own child. How crazy was that?

He looked in the rearview mirror. His image caught him off guard. He looked like shit. Without sleep and a shave, he was beginning to resemble a serial killer himself. He was in desperate need of a kind word, a gentle touch, a cold shower. He rubbed his eyes, cleared his throat and spit out the window. Dan never considered himself a handsome man, but he knew he had something. There was something special about him. A sparkle. Some magic. Maybe it was his eyes. His build. His Mom used to tell him it was his eyes. “You’ve got your Father’s eyes,” she’d say. That was all right. He’d seen photos of his Dad. His eyes seemed attractive enough. For a guy, anyway. When Dan was younger, he did work out at the gym. A lot. It was the thing to do. Push the weights, get the girls. Not that it did much good. Look where it got him. He got the girl, but then what happened?

Dan did have a slight paunch gathering around his waist. Some heft. A bit of a girth. He actually liked himself better with it. That middle age spread. Even though he hated the thought of
being
middle aged. Just turning thirty six, Dan didn’t really consider himself old yet but, according to his insurance company, he was. Dan needed a shave. He’d feel a hell of a lot better with a shower and a toothbrush. A little breakfast wouldn’t hurt either. Maybe stop thinking for a second. Cease the incessant tape looping around in his brain like a manic pinball machine.

He fantasized about walking up those steps and turning the doorknob to the cottage and entering into the smell of breakfast cooking on the stove. Alexandra would jump up into his arms, all slobbery and wet, screaming, “Daddy, Daddy!” And Dan would tell her how adorable she was, and did she happen to look into the mirror this morning and see who the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world was? Then, he would saunter over to the stove and give Gina a gentle pinch on the ass. She hated that, but he would do it anyway. Just to provoke her. Then Gina would tell him to sit down. She would insist Dan wash his hands from all that crime he’d been dealing with. She would plop down on to his plate two over medium eggs beside a patch of well done, crispy bacon.
Extra
crispy, just the way he liked it. Gina made a fantastic breakfast.

“I already washed my hands,” Dan would tell her, but of course, he hadn’t.

In real life, the front door
did
open. Alexandra came barreling out from the house, Gina running fast behind her. She scooped up Alexandra into her arms, not an easy feat for a five year old, and together they laughed and giggled and hugged. He could almost hear them. He
imagined
he could, anyway. Gina was an excellent mother. That much he gave her. She was probably an exceptional wife, too. How would he know?

He looked up at the house with its large gray porch, whitewashed wooden railing and hunter green crooked shutters. He lived in squalor so his daughter could have a nice place to grow up. Personally, he felt the Isle of Palms was an ideal spot to raise a child. Lots of sunshine. Fresh ocean air. Good schools. Progressive, they were told, when they were out shopping, scouting for options. Gina picked the school herself. All on her own, which was unusual. Gina tended to be the dependent type, needing a lot of attention.

Alexandra was busy with her coloring book, lying on her belly, legs dangling, completely absorbed. Gina looked out over the porch railing. She cleared a wisp of dark hair from her eyes allowing some midday sun to kiss her face. Tall and tan, Gina was an attractive woman. She had legs that seemed to go on forever and the sexiest, tiniest ankles. Dan happened to love ankles. She looked down at Alexandra, made some comment about her coloring talent, and then back up again. Casually, Gina looked in Dan’s direction, instantly recognizing his car.

Damn!