Footprints of a Dancer (Detective Elliot Mystery) (19 page)

Shane nodded.

“That’s why you went to the cemetery, isn’t it, to talk to him?”

“Maybe.”

“He loved you, Shane. And I promise you, he’s up there watching over you right now. He’s counting on you to take care of the family. So why don’t you straighten up and make him proud?”

Elliot stood and started toward the door.

“Wait,” Shane said. His voice was low, almost a whisper. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”

With reluctance, Elliot turned back. Had he been too hasty with his earlier assumption of Shane’s innocence? The last thing he wanted to hear was a confession falling from the mouth of David Conley’s son.

“I’m not sure how to put this. No matter how I say it, you’re going to think I’m nuts.”

“I’m listening.”

“Before you get any ideas, I was straight. I hadn’t taken anything yet. It’s been running through my head since it happened, and I can only come to one conclusion. It was real, Mr. Elliot. I didn’t imagine it.”

Elliot readied himself for what was coming, a variety of demented scenarios running through his head. “Go on.”

“I’ve heard stories about the old house, crazy stuff going on there.”

“What kind of stories?”

Shane pushed his hair back. “People go in but they don’t come out. It was good it burned down.”

“I think someone was killed there, Shane. If you know anything about it, anything at all, you need to tell me.”

His eyes grew wide. “I don’t know anything for sure. I’ve just heard stuff. But I saw something the night you were there, and I can’t get it out of my head.”

Elliot had seen plenty of defiant people beaten by interrogation, and the look that came over them when they realized it was time to come clean. Shane had the look about him. “All right,” Elliot said. “I’d like to hear about it.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Mr. Elliot. Something ran out of that old house and you were chasing it. So don’t tell me you didn’t see it.”

“I flushed someone out of there. You took off in your car right after, so I thought it was you.”

Shane shook his head. “He ran right past me.”

Elliot wondered if he could actually get a break this easily, if Shane could describe the suspect. “Did you get a good look at him?”

“Yeah, you could say that. Whatever it was, it came awful close to me.”

“If we bring the guy in, could you make an ID?”

Shane stared at his desk, and when he looked up his complexion had turned the color of cement. “That’s not going to happen, Mr. Elliot.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because there’s no way you’re going to put what ran past my car in a lineup.”

“I’m not sure what exactly you’re trying to say.”

“Yeah, right. I’m not telling you anything you don’t know. I mean you didn’t have a chance the way that thing moved.”

“If you’re trying to tell me something, why don’t you just go ahead and say it?”

Shane sighed. “I don’t know if I can. I mean, there was something about the guy’s face. It just didn’t look right.”

“Was it some kind of deformity?”

“I don’t know. Like I said, it was dark.”

“Was he tall, short, heavyset?”

“Sort of tall, I guess, and athletic. Yeah, anybody who could run like that would have to be in pretty good shape.”

Elliot started to put his hand on Shane’s shoulder, but changed his mind. He believed Shane was telling the truth, at least as he understood it. “Thanks for your help, buddy. I doubt you’ll understand this, but I’m deeply relieved it wasn’t you.”

“Thanks.”

“Could I offer a little advice?”

“Sure.”

“I know it was just an expression, but it’s not a good idea to swear to God. Try praying instead.”

Elliot closed the door to Shane Conley’s bedroom and as he walked down the hallway, he wondered where his words to the boy had come from. He’d never before lectured anyone on religion.

Outside, Elliot sat in his truck, staring into the darkness of the street that ran past David Conley’s house. He was tired, but he’d made a promise. He grabbed his phone and called Bernie Sykes, an old friend who kept his ear to the street.

Bernie answered with a gruff, “Yeah, what?”

“I’m looking for someone,” Elliot said, “and I heard you were a P.I.”

“It kind of depends on who needs the service.”

“A young dealer, goes by the name of Skyler, caters to the high school crowd. You know anybody like that?”

“Last time I heard, you worked homicide, so why are you asking vice questions?”

“I believe the dealer lives near the scene of a case I’m working, thought he might know something. It’s important, else I wouldn’t be asking.”

“So why do I get the feeling you’re not being straight with me?”

Sykes had been around the investigative scene awhile. He had instincts, and they were good. “All right,” Elliot said, “I’ll level with you. There’s this friend of mine, a cop who’s not around anymore. His kids need some guidance. Let’s just say I feel responsible. Your boy’s been peddling his wares in their vicinity. It’s got me in a foul mood. Maybe I should come down to your place, talk to you about it.”

“You’re as comforting as a toothache, Elliot. Capone could have used a guy like you. Too bad you weren’t born in his time.”

“Just tell me where I can find this guy. Nobody will know where I got the information. You have my word.”

“Too late, Capone’s been dead for years.”

“Okay, Bernie. Have it your way. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Take it easy. I’m just having a little fun with you. There’s this coffee shop in Brookside where you’ll see more tattoos and piercings than you care to. You’ll know it when you see it. I ain’t saying that’s where he is, but you never know who you might find there.”

“Thanks, Bernie. If it works out, maybe I’ll send you a box of chocolates.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

Elliot disconnected, shoved the phone into his pocket and pulled the truck onto the street. Based on what Sykes had told him, he had a pretty good idea of where the coffee shop was located.

A few minutes later, he coasted to a stop near the curbside of a backstreet intersecting Peoria Avenue.

The murmur of conversation came from patrons sitting outside. In the misty glow of tiny lights strung across the patio, Elliot recognized someone. It was the familiar curve of her face and the shape of her lips, and though he realized her being there wasn’t probable, he accepted the possibility that Cyndi Bannister had somehow breached the boundaries of her prison and even now leisured on the patio, sipping coffee.

The lady sensed his attention and turned toward him, the gaze of her brown eyes revealing in an instant her approval of the flattery and a cautious warning as well.

Elliot turned away. He was thankful he’d been wrong. It had only been a few months since he’d met Cyndi. He’d fallen in love with her, but some serious character flaws had gotten in the way. She’d been one of those frightening individuals who had no problem with killing someone if, in her demented way of thinking, it needed to be done. The lovely Cyndi Bannister exhibited the tendencies of a sociopath, and Elliot was the cop who’d put her away.

Elliot was still caught up in the past when the entrance to the coffee shop opened and three young men walked out, nearly colliding with him. Taking a step back, Elliot excused himself.

The one in the middle, a chunky kid with spiky, red hair said, “Hey, dude, what’s your problem?”

“I’m looking for someone,” Elliot said. “Maybe you could help.”

“Do I look like a dating service?”

Chunky’s friends laughed. One of them said, “Good one, Nate.”

Elliot smiled. “He goes by the name of Skyler. Would that be you?”

The boy’s expression went flat. “I don’t know anybody named Skyler. Now get out of my face, dude.”

He tried to push on past and continue his exit.

Elliot grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “I’m not through with you.”

“Let go of me, dude. I’m warning you.” He glanced around for support but his buddies had already cleared out. “What are you, crazy or something?”

“Most likely,” Elliot said. “Now answer my question.”

“I’m not saying I know anything, but you might check the dude behind the register.”

“Would that be Skyler?”

The red-haired kid sighed. “Look, I don’t need this kind of trouble. I did what you asked. Let me go, okay?”

“I’ll be happy to. I just need you to do one more thing. Go inside and tell Skyler I need to talk to him.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking. Come on, dude. You look pretty straight. What do you want with somebody like Skyler?”

“It’s personal.”

“You’re making a big mistake. Anyway, I can’t do it. Get somebody else.”

“I don’t remember offering you a choice. Do what I ask and you’re free to go. But don’t try anything stupid. I’ll be right here, waiting.”

“Don’t make me do this. I’m asking you nice.”

With his free hand, Elliot opened the door to the coffee shop and shoved the red-haired kid inside. “Send him out here. And don’t worry. He won’t bother you. I plan on occupying his full attention.”

Elliot stepped back into a darkened area near the street and waited.

Later, he checked his watch. He toyed with the idea of going inside, but decided against it. He didn’t want to get arrested, and creating a disturbance with the patrons looking on could lead to that. He was about to give up and walk back to the truck when the door banged open.

Someone burst out of the coffee house holding what looked like an axe handle.

Elliot had expected a kid, but this was a man, taller than he, and nearly as broad.

He saw Elliot and charged. Brandishing the weapon like a backstreet thug, he swung the handle in a wide arc. It whipped past Elliot’s face, missing by inches.

Elliot tried to gather himself. If the maniac dazed him with a blow or knocked him to the ground, he would beat him senseless.

Elliot raised his right arm and caught the next attack on his forearm.

Pain arced through his arm but he didn’t have time to worry about the injury. The next swing was already in progress. It caught him on the left shoulder.

The man repositioned his grip and swung again.

It was the break Elliot needed. He ducked beneath the path of the weapon and drove his hand into his attacker’s throat. He followed with an overhand right, catching the man square behind his ear. He stumbled backward, his equilibrium disturbed by the shot to his head.

Elliot wrenched the axe-handle from the man’s grip and tossed the weapon into the street.

The man stared at the weapon as if he might go after it, but lunged forward instead.

Elliot hooked a body shot, nearly lifting his attacker from his feet then drove a hard right into his face.

He dropped to his knees and continued his descent, ending up face down by the curbside.

Seconds later, he lifted himself off the ground, but only to his knees. “Who the hell are you?” he asked.

“That’s not important.”

“Well what do you want with me?”

“It involves a mutual acquaintance, a kid named Shane Conley.”

“Who?”

“Skinny kid with big eyes and curly hair?”

“What’s it to you, anyway?”

“I want you to stay away from him. If I catch Shane with drugs again, or if anything happens to him or his family, I won’t bother asking questions. I’ll just assume it’s you and come looking for you. It won’t go so easy the next time. Do you understand?”

“Whatever you say.”

Elliot grabbed a wad of the man’s hair and yanked his head up. “You need to be a little more convincing, Skyler.”

“Stay away from Shane Conley. I got it.”

Elliot released his grip and walked away.

Chapter Thirty-One

The clock showed 4:00 am when Elliot gave up on sleep and rolled out of bed to take a shower. The bruises he’d suffered during the fight with Skyler throbbed, but that wasn’t what kept him awake. The conversation he’d had with Shane Conley had acted as a catalyst, causing him to follow a line of logic he’d been avoiding. A disconcerting theme had begun to claim commonality with the details of the case. Angela had indicated she’d taken the life of Laura Bradford with a blade of black glass.

Elliot poured a cup of coffee and walked into the spare bedroom where he kept his computer. He switched it on and fed some key words into the search engine.

Doctor Cramer at the museum had described the artifact as having a blade of obsidian, essentially volcanic glass. The strange knife, Gerald’s obsession, an artifact created to inflict death, indicated a disturbing possibility. If he knew more about the history, if there was ritual involved, maybe he could understand it, and know what to look for.

Elliot couldn’t visualize Angela Gardner willingly doing such a thing, killing somebody in an ancient ritual. In addition, Shane Conley had seen something odd run past his car, and he’d indicated the suspect to be tall and athletic. Angela had been small and frail. And she’d certainly been in no shape to check out of the hospital and drive to Stillwater to fasten a note to the fuel line of the Harley. She had, however, been a student of archaeology, a science dedicated to the study of ancient civilizations and analysis of the material its people left behind, including religious artifacts. More importantly, Professor David Stephens had been her mentor.

Elliot scanned the monitor as the results of his search came into view from the typical people-finding sites. He chose one he’d used before and plugged in the name
Stanley Reynolds.

The program pulled up two pages indicating various versions of the name.

However, when Elliot refined the parameters to include only those individuals named
Stanley Gerald Reynolds
the results narrowed significantly, down to three to be exact; Elliot’s old buddy Gerald, and his two predecessors. Strangely enough, Stanley Gerald Reynolds the II turned out to be Gerald’s grandfather. His father had been named Samuel. A generation, as far as the name was concerned, had been skipped.

A few minutes later, after digging into the family history, Elliot found the connection Terri Benson had mentioned. David R. Stephens, better known as Professor Stephens, turned out to be the son of Gerald’s great aunt Julia. The
R
stood for Reynolds. However, the uniqueness of the family name failed to render the results Elliot had hoped for. Gerald’s grandparents and great grandparents were listed as deceased while his mother and father still lived somewhere in the south of France.