Footprints of a Dancer (Detective Elliot Mystery) (11 page)

Elliot thought about the word
hoodoo
. Both Dombrowski and Captain Lundsford had used it when questioning him.
“No, sir, I did not.”

“You know more than you’re saying, though, don’t you?”

It was Emma, the school teacher, who asked the question.

“Otherwise, you wouldn’t have taken the trouble to find us. Whoever you’re looking for, or whatever it is you’re up to, it has something to do with Angela. We want to know what it is, and we want to know now.”

Elliot looked past the couple and into the house. George and Emma Gardner had been through a lot of pain, and they were right about Angela being influenced by people who wanted to coerce her into their way of thinking. Gerald had tried to help, but it had turned out badly. “I’m sorry. I wish I knew more. You mentioned Angela had been romantically involved. Do you know who she was seeing?”

“She never really told us,” Emma said, “but she let it slip once that someone named David was trying to protect her.”

Elliot wondered if
David
could have been Professor David Stephens. “What, exactly, was he trying to protect her from?”

Again, the elderly couple exchanged glances. “She said it was a spirit, Mr. Elliot, the ghost of an Indian girl. I’m well aware of how that sounds, but we want Angela to come home. Nothing else matters now.”

Emma wiped her eyes. “She had a name for… well, whoever was bothering her. She called her Laura.”

An image of Laura Bradford silently running past him in the park formed in Elliot’s mind. Angela had been involved with some form of alternative religion. If she was in town, or even if she had been, Elliot might be able to get some information from some of the local occult shops.

Chapter Nineteen

Wayne Garcia sat forward on the seat and studied the scenery that flew by the windows of the truck. They had turned off onto another road. Wayne’s stomach tightened and he wished he hadn’t eaten the sandwich. Maybe the driver had changed his mind and was now heading back to Oklahoma, or to the nearest police station. Another possibility, one Wayne had tried not to think about, came to mind. The driver acted strange, even for an adult, and he asked a lot of weird questions.

The driver glanced at Wayne. “Everything all right?”

Wayne quickly looked away, back toward the window. His mom had warned him about such things. How could he have been so stupid? He took a breath to calm himself “Are we in Arkansas yet?”

The driver kept his eyes on the road. “After I drop the load, I’m heading back to Tulsa. Why don’t you come with me, and forget about this running away stuff?”

Wayne shook his head. Why was the driver so interested in his plans, anyway? “I need to see my dad, talk things over.”

“What makes you think he wants to talk to you?”

Wayne frowned. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“Well son, whether it was a good one or not I suspect your old man had a reason for running off to Arkansas and leaving you and your mom behind. I’ll bet he’ll be right surprised to see you standing on his doorstep, too. If I was you, I’d go back to your mama and just leave it alone.”

“You said you’d take me there.”

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt, finding out your old man don’t want you.”

“He does so want me. You don’t know anything about it.”

“Well, I wish that was true, but it isn’t. That doesn’t mean nobody likes you, though. Take me for instance. I like you just fine. I think you’re a great kid. Too bad I’m not your dad, huh?”

Wayne didn’t answer the question. He didn’t know if he should feel sorry for the guy, or be scared of him. Scared was probably safer. “Maybe you’re right. Could we stop pretty soon, though? I have to go real bad.”

“I don’t think there are any good places around here.”

Wayne stared through the window, not sure of what to do or say next. When he saw a sign beside the highway that said there was a service station at the next exit, he looked at the driver. “Hey, mister, how about we pull in here?”

The driver shot past the exit. “Just dirty restrooms that don’t work most of the time. Anyway, there’s one in the back. You can crawl up into the sleeper and get some rest afterward.”

Wayne quickly looked away. He knew what the driver was talking about. Behind the cab of the truck was an area with a bed and stuff. No way was he going back there. But an idea occurred to him. If he was in the back, the driver couldn’t see him. Maybe he could call home. His mom would be plenty mad, but she’d know what to do. “Okay,” he said, “how do I get back there?”

The driver grinned. “Just push through the curtain.”

Chapter Twenty

After leaving George and Emma Gardner’s house, Elliot checked out the occult shops he knew about. There weren’t many, and he hadn’t had much luck, but there was one more, a rundown place just off 11
^th
Street. Elliot pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The shop was nearly empty, the shelves timidly exhibiting candles, incense burners and a few odd items.

Elliot walked to the counter. “Anybody here?”

A young man came from a backroom, pushing through a doorway curtained with alternating strips of leather and beads. The boy was physically handicapped by choice, his pants being too big for him, causing him to constantly occupy one of his hands to hold them up. “Something I can do for you?” He asked.

“I’m looking for someone,” Elliot said. “She might be a customer of yours.”

“So?”

“So I’d like to talk to her.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“The term
looking for someone
implies you don’t know where they are, slick. I was hoping you might be able to help me out.”

“We don’t give out information about our customers.”

As the young man spoke, his free hand slid beneath the counter.

Elliot stepped forward and caught the boy’s arm. He wasn’t taking a chance on the kid going for a weapon.

The beaded curtain moved again and a man holding a shotgun came into the room.

Elliot shoved the boy against the wall and pulled his badge. “Detective Elliot with the Tulsa Police Department. Lower your weapon and place it on the floor in front of you.”

The shop owner glanced toward the boy.

The kid’s pants had slid down around his knees. He gave a vigorous nod.

The shop owner leaned over and laid the shotgun on the floor.

“Step away from the weapon.” Elliot said. “And, you, get away from the wall and join him. I want you both together.”

The kid pulled his pants up and shuffled across the floor. When he reached the area where the other guy was, he stopped, his gaze searching Elliot’s face, as if looking for further instruction.

Keeping his attention on the pair, Elliot scooped the shotgun from the floor. Behind the counter, he found what the kid was going for: A .38 Smith & Wesson. He put the weapons on the counter. “You have quite an arsenal for a bunch of candles. What gives?”

The shop keeper’s hair stretched back into a ponytail; a trimmed beard adorned his face. He clicked his heels together and gave a slight nod, like some English butler might do. “Let me apologize for our actions. The name’s Randle Harper, the proprietor of this shop. I’m afraid we’ve become a bit cautious. A few days ago, a man came into the store and started waving a gun around. Scared the wits out of us.” He nodded toward the boy. “My companion, Roger.”

Elliot tucked the badge into his pocket. “In a place like this, if you give the people what they want, they probably come back, a lot of the same customers.”

Neither of the men said anything.

“I’m looking for someone,” Elliot said. Working on memory, he gave the best description he could. “She’s in her twenties, curly blonde hair, five foot four, hundred and twenty pounds. Goes by Angela, Angel, or Angelina, last name Gardner.”

Harper’s expression showed that either the name or the description had registered.

“I have reason to believe this person has information that could lead to an arrest in a murder investigation.”

Randle Harper raised his eyebrows but remained silent.

Elliot walked over and stuffed a business card into the shop keeper’s shirt pocket. “If anything comes to mind,” he said, “give me a call. It’s important.”

Elliot turned and walked out of the store. He’d driven about a mile when his phone rang. It turned out to be the kid from the shop.

“I know the girl you’re talking about,” he said.

“I’m listening.”

“Don’t be too hard on Randle. He’s had a bad life, lots of crazy things going down all the time. Anyway, this Angela chick used to be a regular, but I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“It’s been a couple of months, at least.”

Angela could’ve moved on, but Elliot didn’t think so. She’d grown up in Tulsa, and she’d come back after college, staying long enough to have been seen a few months earlier. “Do you know where I can find her?”

“I don’t know where she lives or anything, but I asked around about her, you know, just curious why she stopped coming around.”

“And?”

“Word is she took up with one of them massage parlors. Never figured her for that sort, but hey, I guess you never know.”

“Do you know which parlor she works for?”

“No. I mean I didn’t really ask. Sorry.”

“That’s all right,” Elliot said. The kid was big on apologies, probably shoved around most his life. “You did good, son. Thanks for your help.”

Elliot disconnected and made a right turn. He had a pretty good idea of where to start. He made a few calls, pretending to be a customer, looking for a certain girl. The third person he talked with knew about Angela. A few minutes later, he walked into the Crescent Moon, a place that offered more than a rubdown, if you knew how to ask for it.

The place smelled of perfume, and soft music played in the background. A well-dressed Asian lady sitting behind the counter nodded and smiled. “Something I can do for you?”

“I hope so,” Elliot said. He gave her the spiel.

“Why you want this girl? We have others.”

“All right,” Elliot said. “I’ll level with you. I used to know Angela. We went to school together. Her parents haven’t seen her for quite some time. They asked me to help.”

“I am sorry. She is gone now, and doesn’t work here.”

“Do you know where I can find her? It would mean a great deal to her parents.”

The lady spoke loudly, using her native tongue. Seconds later, two more Asian people came into the room, a man and a younger woman. A cacophony of the same language erupted among the trio.

Finally the younger woman turned toward Elliot and said, “My mother is right. You do not look like someone who would be friends with Angela Gardner.”

“It’s been a few years since I’ve seen her.”

“I cannot comment on the past, only the present, in which the person you seek has many problems.”

“What kind of problems are we talking about?”

“Under more ordinary circumstances, drugs and alcohol would be a sufficient answer to your question. However, when such things are a result and not the cause, one must look deeper to know the nature of the imbalance.”

“I understand your hesitancy to get involved,” Elliot said, “but this is a matter of great importance. Do you know where I can find her?”

“No. We were forced to let her go. She was disturbing the customers.”

“And when did this happen?”

The more mature Asian lady came to the counter. “Three days ago. She not here. You go. You go now.”

Elliot understood their motive. Having a stranger around asking questions wasn’t good for business. “Thanks for your help,” he said. After that he walked away.

Outside in the truck, Elliot made a note to have vice check the place out. However, as he pulled onto the roadway, an idea that he should check the local hospitals came to mind.

On the way, he called Carmen, but again got her answering service. He left a message, asking her to call.

Seconds later his phone lit up. It was Carmen.

“Hey,” Elliot said, “I’m glad you called. Look, I’m sorry about the situation earlier, but I’m on a case.”

Fear laced Carmen’s voice. “It’s Wayne. He didn’t show up for school this morning, and he hasn’t come home. I don’t know where he is. I don’t know what to do.”

A car horn sounded. Elliot had swerved into the next lane. He slowed the truck, pulled off 11
^th
Street, and parked against the curb. He fought to get the air back into his lungs. “Where are you?”

“At City Hall, in Chief Stanton’s office.”

“You did the right thing,” Elliot said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“I know where Wayne was trying to go,” Carmen said. “His friend, Jimmy Snider, got to feeling bad about it and told me. He meant to visit his… his stepfather. I called Anthony. He hasn’t seen him. He didn’t make it, Kenny. I don’t know where he is.”

Elliot gripped the steering wheel of the truck. “Does he have his phone with him?”

“Yes, I think so, but he does not answer.”

“Do you have tracking enabled?”

“I did not think it was necessary.”

“That’s all right. The phone’s probably GPS equipped. Even if it isn’t, the provider should be able to narrow down its position based on the towers it’s closest to.”

“I do not know how to do any of that.”

“Chief Stanton’s probably already on it, but if he isn’t, ask him to get started. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll call you right back.”

“The divorce hasn’t been easy for him,” she said. “He’s been quiet about it, holding too much inside. I thought he was doing better. I should have paid more attention.”

Elliot struggled to fend off the hundreds of
what if
situations threatening to paralyze his concentration. He did not want to show a lack of confidence. Carmen had enough to worry about. “I’ll find him, Carmen. I’ll need Davenport’s address.”

Carmen tried to keep her voice flat and monotone, but emotion still leaked through.

After receiving the information Elliot disconnected. Anthony Davenport lived in Siloam Springs, Arkansas, just off of Highway 412.