The Shark (The Forgotten Files 1)

He had lost.

Rising now, Kevin stared into his glass of scotch, then gulped the contents. He savored the familiar burn as it trickled down his throat.

The image of Vicky’s face flashed in his mind. Her blue eyes were desperate and pleading as she gasped for the air he was slowly cutting off.

He thought once he placed her in the field as instructed with the cards tucked in her pocket that he could move on with his life. He’d lost considerable fortunes at poker plenty of times but had recovered. He had enough money to vanish. He should cut his losses.

He rose, grimacing as his bruised ribs pinched. So why was he still in town? Why couldn’t he forget that girl? And why did losing to the old man continue to dig at his pride?

CHAPTER SIX

Wednesday, September 14, 6:00 p.m.

Clay Bowman’s computer dinged, signaling a message from his boss, Joshua Shield. He reached for the fresh cup of coffee and sipped as he read the e-mail’s subject line: Riley Tatum. His interest sharpened as he scanned the details of a murder scene she’d responded to yesterday.

“Have you had a chance to read the e-mail?”

Bowman looked up to see Shield standing in his doorway. The man had been an FBI agent for twenty-five years, joining at age twenty-seven after five years in the marines. Over the years, the challenge of the investigative work crumbled under the bureau’s politics, so ten years ago, when he was on the verge of a huge promotion, he walked away and founded Shield Security. The company quickly earned a solid reputation and proved to all he’d not lost his mind but had made a solid choice. He’d grown the company to twenty-five employees in the last few years.

Shield, like Bowman’s father, Zeb, had graduated from the Virginia Military Institute and had always had an interest in the younger Bowman’s career. When Bowman left the bureau last month, Shield had been ready with this job offer.

Bowman rose. “You sent it less than a minute ago.”

“And your point is?”

Bowman smiled. “Why don’t you fill me in on the details?”

“Riley Tatum is an accomplished Virginia state trooper. She’s one of the best trackers in the region.”

“That’s not what caught your eye, is it? It has something to do with this murder scene she responded to yesterday.”

Shield moved into Bowman’s bare office that had yet to reflect any personality and sat in one of the matching chairs in front of the desk. There were boxes filled with diplomas lined along the wall, two mugs, and a group picture of five men who’d graduated from the Virginia Military Institute with Bowman seventeen years ago. But he’d yet to put anything up. He had been on the move for six years, not settling anywhere since his wife died. Joining Shield Security was a big move for him. It meant learning new patterns. New habits. Accepting that he was home.

“Remember when we worked the Shark case together in the New Orleans bureau twelve years ago?”

Bowman sat. He remembered the case. He had been in New Orleans about eighteen months when bodies of young runaways were discovered strangled with playing cards in their pockets. He and Karen had loved the city and were making a lot of good memories. He and Shield were about six months into the case when Bowman had been relocated to the LA bureau office. A few years later, Karen had gotten sick with pancreatic cancer and he’d transferred to Hostage Rescue Team. The Shark fell off his radar. “How does the Shark relate to Riley Tatum?”

“A buddy of mine at the Virginia State Police sent me a file on a body found yesterday,” Shield said. “Young runaway, strangled, with playing cards in her back pocket. Just like the Shark.”

Interest stirred in Bowman. “That’s an FBI case; I thought you left the bureau behind.”

“I left the bureau, but I don’t leave any unsolved cases behind. And neither will you.”

Bowman tapped an impatient finger on the arm of his chair as he summoned the old case details. “The Shark strangled four girls, as I remember. Five custom playing cards left with each victim. The word Loser was written on each card.”

“Correct. All the victims were runaways. They had long dark hair, were Caucasian, and wore a yellow dress. After four victims, he went dark. He didn’t try to hide the bodies. Simply left them sitting up under trees.

“Later, after you were transferred to LA, I developed an informant for another case completely unrelated. The informant worked in one of the casinos as a singer and sometimes a dealer. She and I got to be close, and one night she told me she heard the girls who had been strangled months earlier were prizes in a high-stakes poker game. The winner had the privilege of choosing if the girls lived or died.”

“How’d she know this?”

“She was sleeping with a guy who worked security for several of the gamblers who were the casino’s biggest customers. She saw that I was interested and said she’d find more if I helped her beat a cocaine bust. I agreed. Two days later she was found dead. She’d been badly beaten and then shot point-blank in the head.”

“How do you know her death was related to the Shark? An informant asking questions can make all kinds of people nervous.”

“I didn’t associate her death with the Shark until a couple of days after her funeral when I received an envelope in the mail. It contained pictures of the informant plus images of five young girls. Four matched the victims we’d found strangled by the Shark. The fifth girl didn’t match any homicides, and we never identified her. We suspected she was also a runaway who he killed, but we just never found the body.”

Bowman glanced at the e-mail header. “How does this relate to Riley Tatum? She’s a cop who responded to a murder scene.”

Shield twisted his 1975 class ring on his finger. In answer, he said, “Have a look at the e-mail attachment. It’s the image of the fifth girl.”

Bowman opened the attachment and studied the young girl’s picture. She had long, thick dark hair, and her face was turned partly away. “You might be right that it’s Riley Tatum.”

“I am.”

“And she just happened to respond to a murder scene that is reminiscent of the Shark.”

“You make it sound like a coincidence. And you know this old man doesn’t believe in coincidences.”

“Has the Shark been active in the last twelve years?”

“Not according to any of my sources.”

“And you think he’s back? Here?”

Shield grinned. “He’s got a perfect mix before him: the victim that got away and the man who’s been hunting him—me.”

“What about the player who beat him in the game twelve years ago?”

“I’ve never identified him, but I’d bet money the Shark has kept tabs on him over the years and knows his identity.”

Bowman studied the pictures again. “Who gave you the current case details?”

“I’ve a hit list of ten cold cases I want solved. The Shark is right at the top. I’ve made inroads with law enforcement all over the country. Without boring you by details, my friend has seen the list and notified me.”

Shield had been a master at recruiting informants when he was at the bureau. “Why would this person share?”

“We have a mutual interest in solving cold cases.”

“If Riley Tatum was taken, how much do you think she remembers? As I recall, large traces of Rohypnol were found in the victims.”

“I don’t know. But I find it interesting that she’d made it her mission to work with runaways. Look how motivated she was to catch Jax Carter.”

“She’s good. I had to hustle to catch up to her. She’s smart and would’ve caught Carter without my help.”

“Did you get a good look at her?”

“Sure. In fact, I know Tatum. She and her dog trained at Quantico five years ago.”

Shield studied him. “I didn’t know that.”

“Small world.”

Shield removed four pictures from the breast pocket of his suit and laid them out like they were playing cards. Bowman r

ecognized the faces of the four murdered girls in New Orleans. “These are the Shark’s confirmed victims.”

“Yes.” Shield laid down a fifth picture next to the others. “One thing to see this picture of the fifth victim alone, but another to see it next to the other victims. They all look so much alike.”

Bowman studied the pictures. “Number five’s face is slightly turned.” His gut knotted. “It could be a younger version of Tatum.”

“That’s what I thought when I saw her on television four years ago. She and her canine were featured after they found a crashed helicopter that was carrying key state politicians to a fund-raiser. They were in critical condition when she found them.”

Bowman flicked the edge of the paper with his index finger. “Did you ever talk to her?”

“No. But I did some digging. Tatum’s originally from New Orleans. She moved to Virginia alone weeks after she turned eighteen. Her stepfather, William Charles, has been known to gamble heavily.”

Bowman didn’t speak but waited for Shield to continue. “She ran away from home at seventeen,” Shield said. “She fell off the radar for a solid month, and then she emerges again working in a restaurant in Ashland. She worked odd jobs and went to community college until she turned twenty-one, then joined the state police. She’s sharp and dedicated.”

“Why didn’t you ever ask her about the Shark?”

“That’s your job now. Meet with her. Find out what you can about this murder. Help her find this killer. Keep her safe. She’s in deeper waters than she realizes.”

“You didn’t ask her about the Shark because you didn’t want to spook her.”

“I always suspected the Shark would come back for her. This killer has an obsession with poker and winning. We know that. And evidence suggests she’s the one that got away.”

“You’ve been using her as bait.” Annoyance accentuated the last words.

“Is that a problem?”

“I’m not crazy about the idea.”

“What would you do in my shoes?”

Bowman slowly shook his head. “It’s a logical call.”

“She’s my only link to this killer.”

“And you’re hoping she wasn’t as juiced as the others and there are some memories?”