Destiny Strikes (11 page)

CHAPTER 18

Travis arrived at work the next morning and wished he had chosen a different profession. Somehow, between leaving the office yesterday, making what he felt was a wasted six-hour trip both ways, and catching some Z’s, another murder threw headquarters into chaos.

Calvin entered and placed his weapon on the desk. “Get that thing away from me before I use it on someone.”

Travis rocked back in his chair. “You mind telling me what’s happening? I’ve never seen you this aggravated.”

He snarled. “Well, you haven’t just spent a night at a crime scene or hospital with a bunch of crazy people, bruised, bloody, some with broken bones protruding through their skin, either.” His drawn face scrunched with confusion. “Then to learn something has them so afraid they don’t want to look at their own shadows. How the hell am I to write up a report on that?”

Calvin slumped into a chair on the opposite side of the desk. The only other chair in the tiny office.

He didn’t wait for Travis to reply. “A fucking free for all.” Calvin slapped the desk so hard, papers scattered. “Chaos beyond anything I’ve seen yet. From the looks of things, no one left the scene unharmed.” Shaking his head, he gathered up the mess on the floor. “Everyone threw a punch, yet no one knows who started the fight. At least sixteen people are laid up in the hospital, with more recovering at home, and their families are looking to us for answers.”

In a burst of energy for a man his considerable size of two-eighty, Calvin leaped up as quickly as he’d sat down, and the swivel chair spun backward until it hit the wall with a soft
thunk
.

“Don’t call, email, or text me until this evening when my shift starts again. I’m sorry to tell you this, buddy, but whatever you went through the other day doesn’t compare to this. I don’t know what’s going on with this town anymore.”

Calvin slammed the door on his way out.

Travis sat and stared at the door. For such an unflappable man to turn his gun over like that, the scene at the hospital had to be bad. No sooner had the realization hit, than his desk phone rang. As he lifted the receiver, the short hairs on the back of his neck straightened.

“Travis, I got a call that your presence is requested at the crime scene. Truebridge Road,” Calvin said. “You need to get your butt over there because I’m done for today. I won’t be good for a while anyway.”

“Don’t worry about it. Go on home and get some rest. The office will be fine.”

“Thanks, man.” Calvin paused before adding, “I don’t know what’s happening here, but no matter what it is, hopefully it’s the worst it’s going to get. Right, my man?”

Travis couldn’t tell that lie.

Fallon spent the past evening and well into the night working on her Chevelle.

First thing that morning, she called Avedon. An enthusiast of older vehicles himself her brother owned a Camaro SSR.

A long whistle and obvious car envy was followed by carefully planned ribbing about devotion or lack thereafter to her motorcycle SAM now that she had something new to focus on.

SAM would always be her baby.

“Sure you can handle it? You’ve never been interested in a car of your own before. One with nature and all that crap. Decisions like these don’t need to be rushed. I can take it off your hands if you have second thoughts.”

Avedon had sounded so serious, like she should really feel guilty, that Fallon had doubled over in laughter. At some point, while she’d been distracted, wiping moisture off her cheeks, Michael must have taken the phone from him.

“What happened?” Michael’s voice could convince the dead into believing they were destined for heaven.

Fallon leaned a hip on the counter, folding her free arm under her breast. “Nothing, really,” she lied.

She knew he was referring to a night that seemed more like a dream than reality. Power. A strange voice. Travis. Wisps of intangible images that didn’t make sense.

“You know how I am with storms, and one popped up that night. The town’s still standing.” She shrugged. The wings, well, she hadn’t willed them forward since.

“All right then,” Michael said way too easily. “I may have not mentioned it of late, but all you have to do is tell me what’s going on and we can figure this out.”

And, just like that, she was right back in Seattle, standing in front of Michael, her words lodged in her throat. She had nothing.

“I’m sorry, Michael, for not calling you. Look, I have to take care of some business in town. Tell everyone I love them.”

Her hand linger on the SAT phone, her link to her brothers whenever the wood’s poor signal was unavailable.

With a sigh, she zipped the inside closure to her leather six-inch-heel knee-high boots. Adjusting her breast higher in the black corset top, she slid her hands down the sides of her rather tight matching pants.

Even though it was probably eighty degrees outside, she grabbed her jacket from a table she’d thrown it on last evening and headed out.

Food and sleep were not a necessity for her kind, but blending into society facilitated the need to keep up appearances, which led to her habit. Snack foods... bless humans.

Once in town, one without a major food retailer, she pulled into the small parking lot of a place called Fresh Cuts. She parked SAM and shut the engine then shook out her hair, removing any trace of helmet head.

She knew something was wrong when she stepped inside. Several people whispered, their body movements animated as they fake fought.

Gathering the few items she could load into her saddlebags, Fallon stepped to the cash register. The cashier rang up her items as Fallon asked, “So what’s up with that?” Her head tilted to the conversation.

The cashier frowned. Her freckles were prominent as she popped gum. “A lot of people were hurt last night and everyone who knows anything about it isn’t talking. So the towns making its own conclusions. I don’t care much one way or the other.” Holding her hand out palm up, she nodded to the neon-green display on the customer’s side of the cash register. That’ll be sixty-two dollars, ma’am.”

Surprise didn’t cover how unusual the lack of information bothered Fallon. Since her arrival, everyone in this town had wanted to talk her head off and now people wanted to play hush-hush.

OK.

Wasn’t her problem anyway.

On her way out, the siren of an ambulance brought her head up as it raced past, hurrying in the direction of her place. She wasn’t an ambulance chaser, but, as shivers coursed down her spine after she stowed her items and settled onto her bike, she hoped it wasn’t her problem.

CHAPTER 19

Travis walked up to the scene cordoned off by yellow crime tape after the mile-and-a-half hike through dense woods. His patent-leather shoes stirred dust from newly turned soil stretching over acres of open farmland. Ducking under the barrier, he took great care to avoid beer containers, Solo cups, trash, and strewn-about blood-soaked apparel. It took a moment for Travis’s nose to adjust to the musty smell of residual smoke swirling from makeshift bonfires.

However, Travis felt mild unease as forensic detectives working the case stole veiled glances in his direction. Pulling the tip of his wide brimmed hat further down not only blocked their speculative attention but also the early morning sun bathing the clearing as he proceeded forward. Not officially assigned to this case, his presence at the last and now this murder scene most likely was called into question as they collected evidence.

The only sure thing Travis knew was whoever had chosen the remote location realized it would be isolated. Almost three hundred acres of property without a neighbor in sight.

“Hey, Travis, quit gawking around and get your ass over here,” Captain Harris ordered. Hat over his heart, he stared at whoever lay under the white sheet.

Standing in stiff patience, Travis couldn’t take his eyes of the dark stains leaking through the cotton body cover. It created a ghastly oval outline in the general vicinity of what had to be the face.

Just when Travis’s nerves were pulled as taunt as they could be anxiously waiting for the newest shoe to drop, Captain Harris knelt on one knee beside the sheet. “I’m glad you’re here, Travis. We’ve got a whooper of a situation. The victim was a result of whatever . . . this”—his hand waved over their surroundings—“last night . . . was.”

Travis followed the motion and gave the area another once-over.

He scrubbed a hand over his mouth then turned back to the captain. “How did you know to look way out here? Calvin intimated no one wanted to talk about what caused this.”

“Thank God for the Internet, if you can believe it. After our officers showed up at the hospital, everyone became closed-lip. But by some miracle, a non-partygoer came to their senses, despite their friends’ panicked pleas. So after Calvin left, she showed one of the on duty’s a posting on Facebook.”

“So we have pictures?” Travis itched to bring out his own phone.

“Yeah, but not a damn one after nine o’clock showed anything out of the ordinary. The first officer on the scene had a hard time describing this to dispatch, because not a single call came in of a disturbance.” The captain gave a weary sigh. “Some had injuries so severe they had to be air lifted to Moses Cone.” The captain’s hand hovered over the covering. “This one, well, nothing could be done.”

“Am I a suspect again?” Travis needed to know before he folded the covering back.

The captain shook his head. “But I think Barbara and this new victim have similarities that coincidence doesn’t begin to explain. I’ve taken Calvin aside and discussed both cases with him, something I normally wouldn’t do. However, I needed his insight on a couple of things.” Deep sadness marred the captain’s features as he pulled back the sheet.

“I doubt this is a fluke, Travis.”

Travis used every ounce of willpower to tamp down the sense of déjà vu. The young woman’s face was badly swollen, similar to the way Barbara had looked. Dried, clotted gore caked her nose, lips, and around her eyes. Bruising bloated her face almost making her unrecognizable. The awkward angle of her clothes, torn and haphazardly arranged, suggested rape. His theory supported by an open-stripped blue-white flannel shirt. Travis’ jaw tightened and his fist clenched.

Someone had worked her over good.

If his captain believed him capable of such evil, he felt their long association was about to be tested.

“I had a bad feeling,” the captain said, bewilderment drying his tone. “So I called her parents and checked to see if I might be wrong.”

Travis frowned at the captain’s actions. His hand showed signs of a faint tremble when he brushed stray hairs away from the young woman’s cheek. In what appeared to be respect and reverence, he peeled the swollen eyelids back.

There was no disputing why he’d been called out here. Travis felt his blood pump faster as his heart raced. In the same instance with Barbara, this woman’s single violet eye seized his full attention.

The captain pinned him with a steely gaze before stating, “I have it on good authority this young woman’s eyes were both green yesterday.”

Choking back emotion, Captain Harris continued. “Whoever this bastard is, he’s taking out good and decent people. Even though Becky was here last night, she adored my son and loved God. Two qualities that made me a happy old man. My wife and I knew if death set upon us there would be someone who loved our son as much as we do, and would see him through hard times.”

Travis placed his hand on the captain’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry for your loss. For the past couple days, all I’ve done is try to understand the more difficult aspects of Barbara’s death. The results I’ve found are in old wives’ tales and proverbs.” Travis ran his hand over his short, spiked hair in frustration.

“Damn the sack-of-shit who did this. Damn a case that’s so far out of my league that it’s in rigors.” The captain pounded a balled fist into his thigh.

“Captain, calm down.”

“Look, Travis, I’ll be first in line for confession come Sunday, but I’ve got to tell you, it’s starting to feel like I’m losing my mind. I’ve lost two people, one I knew and one I’d grown to love. It’s got to end.”

“Steady, Captain.” Travis reached to catch his boss when he stood up and almost lost his balance.

The captain dusted dirt off his hands and knees as if he were sweeping away his grief.

“With more than I need on my plate,” the captain began, “this couldn’t have come at a worse time. The Annual Pottery Festivals begins the end of next week. Added to that, the lovely Miss Richardson and her fellow Atmospheric Associates are taking over the damn town. Who knew there were so many people interested in getting struck by lightning?”

As the captain walked away, the coroner removed the body, and others continued to gather evidence.

Following at a sedate pace, Travis waited for the captain to regain his composure.

After several minutes, the captain turned his forlorn features to Travis. “There’s plenty to regret over the years and this just might be one of them. For you, this is the first time I removed evidence from a scene.”

Without thinking, Travis kicked a nearby beer can. The open container, still half-full, splashed a swirl of golden ale across new grass. He glanced up and into a bevy of dirty looks from those combing the area for clues.

“Hey, Orion,” one detective hollered, “how about not screwing up our scene?”

Travis turned his back on the boss. He understood the captain was under a lot of pressure, but tampering with evidence would put him in a tough position. In every scenario that could come from this, all Travis could see was the man who had given him a chance at a normal life, and now, everything he’d worked for was in jeopardy because of him.

“Captain, what the hell made you do something so stupid?”

“You haven’t heard me out yet.” Captain Harris glanced around, hissing in anger. “Don’t think I haven’t questioned my actions over the past hour. Settle your horses and you’ll see I did what I did for you.”

Travis blew out a breath as the cold bucket of truth calmed his nerves.

“What could have been so important for you to risk so much for me?”

“Thirty years of instinct told me you needed to see this.” Captain Harris drew his hand out of his pocket and opened his fist.

A shimmering purple and black feather ran the length and width of the captain’s hand. To the untrained eye, one wouldn’t have given it a second thought. Travis touched the vein. Instead of a smooth down-like texture, the feather’s barbs grated against his finger. He studied it in wonder. They were rough scales.

“Why would you remove a Black Sicklebill’s feather, sir? I know a little about birds and saw something similar during one of my tours for the Navy. I was interested in a particular headdress while docked at a port in New Guinea. Are we looking for someone with an exotic bird?”

The captain shook his head.

“No. It was clutched in Becky’s hand, as if she’d ripped it off her attacker. There were no other defensive wounds. I don’t think any bird did this. In light of this latest death, you have twenty-four hours to figure this out. Friend or not, I’m starting to feel certain this case is related to you, somehow. I’m truly sorry, son.”

“Okay.” Travis turned and left the man, who’d in-no-uncertain terms, had told him he had better find evidence, or else.

Travis knew without question, these weren’t run-of-the-mill killings. Fallon was the key. And he could no longer ignore his past.