Chapter 4
Later that afternoon
“I thoughtyou said you could take care of the Prescott bitch, Rogers,” Obadiah ‘Big Daddy’ Collins exhaled a stream of cigar smoke. “First you stab the wrong woman and now this. What happened?”
“She opened my face with that skinny little knife she pulled from her hat.” Grimacing, Neil Rogers gingerly touched the make-shift bandage on his face. “Waving it like some damn sword.”
“Hatpin,” Big Daddy sneered. “So much for you being ‘good with a knife.’ What were you thinking, hiding in that office?”
“‘Cause I saw her go in there with that old nun when she got there and come out in that fancy outfit!” Rogers protested, but his voice trembled. Screwing up one job for Big Daddy was bad enough, but two? Sweat broke out on his forehead. If he weren’t damn sure he’d be found, he would leave town on the next bus. “Stands to reason she’d come back to change clothes, right?”
“And it stands to reason you’re an idiot.” Big Daddy stubbed out his cigar in the Baccarat cut crystal ashtray on the corner of his desk. “If you’d killed the Prescott woman instead of that nun, we wouldn’t be in this kind of trouble.” He had no problem with having those who opposed him killed but killing a nun was bad luck-even if it was an accident. But Elaine Prescott deserved to die for stealing Lulu.
But now it looked like she’d helped Roxie get away too. The little bitch must have told the social worker what she’d overhead even after he threatened to break her jaw. Maybe he should have had Roxie killed before he left for Chattanooga.
Then again, he needed to find out just how much Elaine Prescott might know about his plans of bringing in Little Honeys, that group of dancers before she told the cops. He’d let his anger at her taking Lulu cloud his judgement. Hiring Neil Rogers-who Big Daddy would almost swear was certifiably crazy-was a mistake. He hadn’t spent years building his empire by letting emotions rule his judgement. He needed to regroup with a different strategy.
“So, am I still on the case?” Rogers whined. “Give me another chance, please. I won’t mess it up again, I swear.”
“I’ll think about it,” Big Daddy said, enjoying the terror in Rogers’ eyes. “Now get your ass out of my office before you bleed all over my carpet.”
After Rogers slunk out, Big Daddy poured himself three fingers worth of his favorite whiskey and settled back in his leather chair to think.
He had a meeting with a representative from The Cadre-the crime group who’d moved into the area this past spring-tomorrow and he was eager to finalize the details of bringing in Little Honeys to work at next weekend’s conventions. He’d heard other groups were bringing in their own women, but none of them were Little Honeys. Men attending the conventions had already paid him sizeable deposits and there was no way in hell Big Daddy was going to lose money on this deal or have his reputation damaged.
But there was the Brotherhood Protectors to contend with. Big Daddy needed to find if the sons-of-bitches were still in town. He’d heard through street talk about how BP, as they called themselves, interrupted The Cadre from transporting kidnaped teens to customers out of state about a month ago. The bunch of damn do-gooders needed to keep their noses out of Big Daddy’s business or else he would have them killed. Simple as that. The only reason he’d agreed to “do business” with The Cadre was to find out how deeply they were entrenched here before he taught them a lesson about muscling into his territory. His empire. East Tennessee was his.
And finally, he would find Elaine Prescott and after slowly and deliciously torturing her into telling him where she’d stashed Lulu, he would kill her himself.
“He was tall, but not quite as tall as Lieutenant Tyler”,
Ms. Prescott said. They were sitting in the convent’s private parlor as Grant Miller took her statement. Griff was amazed by her calm demeanor. Most of the women of his acquaintance would be rattled to downright hysterical after being attacked-or nearly so-in three days.
But none of those women could have fought off her attacker with a hatpin.
“Caucasian, pale blue eyes, no tattoos on his hands or face, no beard, heavy set,” Ms. Prescott described to the sketch artist seated next to Miller. “His nose was bit misshapen like someone had punched him in the past, but it didn’t look swollen today. Not sure of his age, but I’d say well over twenty-one, but certainly not as old as fifty. And it’s the same man who killed Bernie.”
“You reported he was wearing ski goggles when he attacked you and Sister Bernadette,” Miller commented. “How can you be certain it was the same man?”
“His voice,” she explained. “It was raspy, like he had a cold or sore throat. No obvious accent but not the kind of voice you’re likely to forget. Especially the way he said ‘bitch.’”
“And you stopped him with the hatpin?” Griff could still not quite believe what had gone down. If she’d not been almost killed, it might be funny.
A smile erased some of the tension from her face. “I belong to a local fencing club,” she explained. “I used the pin like a foil, which is my weapon of choice.”
“I wish I’d seen that,” Mother Winnifred declared. “No way he was expecting that.”
“Ms. Prescott, are you sure we don’t need to take you to an ER?” Griff asked. “Just in case?”
“He didn’t hurt me,” Ms. Prescott said. “Scared the hell out of me–sorry, Mother Winnifred–but that’s all. And it’s Elaine, Lieutenant Tyler.”
“Griff.” He bowed from his place by the bookcases lining the wall.
“Is this what he looked like?” The artist, a young woman in a police uniform turned the pad and held it up. To Griff’s surprise, the man’s face was unremarkable, like one you would pass on the street and never notice. But she’d included the gash Elaine Prescott’s pin put on the left side of his face and he committed the man’s face to memory.
“That’s him,” she said. “That’s the man who attacked me.”
“We’ll send it out to all the precincts,” Miller announced. “And I’ll take the clothes whenever you’re ready.” Then he chuckled. “Used a hat pin like a fencing foil. The guys at the station will love this.”
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” suggested Mother Winnifred, going to the closet and retrieving Elaine’s clothing. “We’ll use the bathroom in the dormitory.”
The women left, the sketch artist following, and Griff gave his attention to Miller. “How well do you know this Big Daddy?”
“Well enough,” Miller admitted with a frown. “The bastard is a genius at keeping his illegal enterprises hidden, making all of his many businesses appear legit. I’ve been trying to put his ass behind bars for years.”
“You got a picture of this upstanding citizen?” Griff asked. “If he’s coming after Elaine, I want to know what the bastard looks like.”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Miller took out his phone and opened the photo page. He scrolled over the screen and then handed the phone to Griff. “That’s him.”
Big Daddy indeed. The man in the photo was taller than Griff by at least three inches, but even his well-cut suit couldn’t hide his sizable bulk. Tanned skin-the kind you get from too much time under a sunlamp–small, hazel eyes and a thin-lipped mouth gave Obadiah ‘Big Daddy’ Collins the look of a man who usually got what he wanted by one method or another.
“I’d hate to meet him in a dark alley.” Griff sent the photo to his own phone and gave Miller’s back to him. “Someone to be afraid of.”
“You should,” Miller said. “Big Daddy is one of the most dangerous criminals in East Tennessee and will come after Elaine again. It’s just a matter of time.”
Griff swallowed his anger–more at himself than Big Daddy. He should have followed Elaine and waited outside Mother Winnifred’s office for her to change clothes. Now her attacker was gone, and Griff had no idea of where to look for him. Not the way he wanted to start this case.
“All her clothes are in here,” Mother Winnifred announced as the women re-joined them. She handed Miller a large, plastic garbage bag. “Some of the blood spatter even seeped through that corset-bustier thing as well.”
“A necessary item for the well-dressed Edwardian women,” Griff said, trying not to stare at his client. Her simple navy-blue sheath dress skimmed her body and set off her hair, while her incredible legs, clad in silky stockings, and low heels were doing a number on Griff’s heart rate.
“I’m just glad to be out of it.” Elaine raised her arms over her head, stretched and then took a black tunic from the back of Mother Winnifred’s desk chair. “No wonder women back then fainted so often. They could barely breathe. And mine wasn’t even that tight.”
“Don’t forget the hat,” Griff said. He walked to the corner where Elaine had apparently thrown it and using a pencil from his coat pocket, lifted it and gave it to the now gloved Miller.
“Thanks,” Elaine said ruefully. “It looks okay, but I think the rest of my costume is ruined.”
“Be grateful that’s the worst of the damage.” For the first time, Miller sounded stern. “Big Daddy isn’t going to stop coming after you, Elaine. His man may have already reported to him that he’s failed again. Tyler, what are your plans for keeping her safe?”
“I’m taking her to BP’s safehouse,” Griff said. “The sooner the better.” He looked at Mother Winnifred. “I’m sorry this spoiled Sister Bernadette’s memorial,” he said regretfully.
The older woman’s smile was sad but kind. “Nothing you could do about it, Lieutenant Tyler. Indeed, I hate to think of what could have happened if you hadn’t been here. Just keep Elaine safe.”
“Yes ma’am,” Griff said as she left the room. After warning Elaine to stay close to Griff, Miller departed as well. Elaine stared after him, then looked at Griff. “Is Griff your actual name or a nickname?”
“Griffin Allen if I annoy you. Otherwise, just Griff.”
A smile hovered around her lips. “Okay, Griff. What do we do now?”
“We’re going to BP’s safehouse,” Griff repeated. “What about extra clothing? After this, you can’t go back to your house.”
“I expected that,” Elaine admitted. “Anne told me how thorough BP is about such things, so I packed a large suitcase and left it with her, thinking she’d know where to bring it when the time came.”
“That was smart,” Griff acknowledged. Considering everything that had happened to her this week, her calm thinking was admirable.
Solemnity stole her smile. “Anne told me a lot about her experience with BP, and your help in finding her niece,” she said. “And that I could trust you completely.”
“I’ll try to live up to that,” Griff promised, touched by Anne Hamilton’s faith in him. He took his phone from his jacket pocket, texted Anne about Elaine’s suitcase and then their driver. “Let’s go wait in the foyer. Patrick Danton, our BP driver, will be here in less than five minutes.”
“Are we going in the garbage truck?” she asked as they made their way to the front of the church.
Astonishment joined Griff’s admiration. “Anne told you about the garbage truck?” He’d picked up reporter Anne Hamilton and Mac from her office at her newspaper, Excelsior, in a borrowed garbage truck and wearing an outrageous disguise after someone blew up her car.
Elaine’s laugh spiraled over him like a wave of warm autumn sunlight. “She did indeed. She couldn’t stop laughing about it, or your costume and warned me to always expect the unexpected from you.”
A vintage LTD pulled up at the steps. A tall, powerfully built man eased out and propped his arms on the top of the car. Cocking his head, he asked, “Is this the lady?”
“Elaine Prescott, meet BP member Patrick Danton,” Griff answered. “Patrick, this is BP’s newest client, Elaine Prescott, who has had a very scary week, including an attack on her just a few minutes ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Ms. Prescott.” Patrick inclined his head and smiled. His blond hair was cut short, he sported a neatly trimmed beard and curiosity flickered in his dark blue eyes. “Who would want to kill such a lovely woman?”
“It’s a long story,” Elaine told him. “And I could use a cup of tea.”
“We can take care of that,” Griff promised, leading her down the church steps and opening the back door for her. Once they were settled and enroute, Griff asked, “Did Anne Hamilton tell you all my tricks?”
She appeared to be thinking about it and then said, “I don’t think so.”
“Good.” Griff sighed in relief. “Then at least I still have the advantage of being able to surprise you.”