When Lightning Strikes

“Meet Miss Hannah Jones. She’s the twenty-eight-year-old niece of Robert Jones, a real estate broker and deacon at the Riverside Mission Church in Farmington.”

Daniel studied the portrait. Hannah Jones was beautiful in a girl-next-door kind of way. A man would remember Hannah for life once he’d gazed into those hazel eyes. Her black hair fell over her shoulders in soft waves like a dark veil against her alabaster skin. She didn’t use much makeup, and that fact only served to heighten the natural innocence mirrored on her face. She was the type of woman who would make a man willingly give up a playoff game to take her grocery shopping.

Hearing a knock, Silentman stood up and opened the door leading to the waiting room reserved for clients.

A tall, balding man wearing a herringbone jacket, conservative brown tie and coordinating slacks came in and greeted Silentman.

He walked stiffly to one of the leather chairs, and as he passed by, Daniel noticed the large bandage that covered an apparent injury on the back of his skull.

“This is Robert Jones. He represents our Riverside Mission clients,” Silentman explained, taking the paper sack Jones handed him. “He’ll brief you on the rest.”

The man never offered to shake hands with Daniel, making him wonder if it was out of respect for the investigator’s Navajo ways, or for another reason entirely. Prejudice reared its ugly head everywhere, even here, a stone’s throw from the Navajo Nation. Or maybe Deacon Jones just didn’t mingle with the hired help.

“I’m very worried about my niece, Mr.…Lightning, is it?”

Daniel nodded once.

“She’s been…fragile most of her life.”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Daniel said.

Robert Jones pressed his lips together and stared at the floor for a long time before answering. “My niece has had severe psychological problems in the past. She’s not usually violent….”

“You don’t have to mince words with me,” Daniel said, addressing the man’s obvious reluctance to speak freely. “I’m on your side. But I need to know exactly what I’m up against, and what’s expected of me.”

“Fair enough.” Deacon Jones leaned forward to speak, grimacing from the effort. “Hannah spent time in a psychiatric institution many years ago, and perhaps should be there now. Truthfully, my niece hasn’t been right since she came to live with me after her father committed suicide fifteen years ago. But this time, I think she’s really gone over the edge.”

Daniel thought about the bandage on Jones’s head, wondering if someone had coldcocked him. It was clear Jones was in pain.

“There’s a bandage at the base of your skull. Did she do that?”

“I was clobbered from behind, so I can’t honestly tell you if she’s responsible,” he said in a heavy voice. “All I can say for sure is that I saw Hannah’s purse on a desk when I came into the church office. I heard movement behind the door, then suddenly felt this incredible pain. I went numb and passed out. When I came to, I had the biggest headache in the world, and my hair was wet with blood. Hannah’s purse was gone, along with the church’s operating funds—about two thousand dollars, give or take. That was yesterday after lunch. Now, nobody can find Hannah. Her car is gone as well.”

“What about your niece’s mother? Have you spoken to her, and has she heard from Hannah?” Daniel asked.

“Hannah’s mother died of cancer sixteen years ago. My niece has had a hard life and, in the past, she’s suffered from depression and fugue states. She could turn up just about anywhere without the slightest idea of how she got there, or how to get back. The one thing that surprises me is that she’s never been violent before.”

“So why is she going sour now? Any ideas?”

“I think it’s pressure. She’s been trying to run her own business from her home, a small bookkeeping firm, though I advised her against it. In my opinion, she simply took on more than she could handle. A month ago, I learned that she’d been having problems meeting deadlines and that she was losing clients left and right. My guess is that things got too tough for her to handle, just like I feared they might.”

“What you’ve presented to us sounds like a police matter. Why not just go to them and save yourself a private investigator’s fee?”

“I don’t want to have my niece thrown in jail, or leave her at the mercy of the police, who might end up shooting her if she resists arrest or becomes violent. When I spoke to Mr. Silentman, he assured me you don’t carry a weapon. That was one of the reasons I asked the board at the church to let me hire you.”

“What about the money she stole. Is that low priority?” Daniel asked.

“It’s secondary to getting her back safely, and avoiding unnecessary publicity.”

“You didn’t mention a husband, so I assume there isn’t one. But what about a boyfriend or fiancé? Have you talked to him?” Daniel asked.

“There is no boyfriend at the moment. We haven’t asked her clients or anyone else if they know her whereabouts because we’re trying not to reveal the fact that she’s disappeared. We don’t want the police involved and discretion seems the best way to insure that. We’re trusting you to be equally discreet,” Jones answered.

“I’ll respect your wishes. Now tell me, do you have any idea where she might have gone?” Daniel asked.

“No, I really don’t. Hannah’s probably confused and desperate, and that makes her unpredictable, even more so than normal. I know she hasn’t gone home, and hasn’t reported in with her clients. I got that much from checking her answering machine. She had several urgent calls waiting there.”

“What are her favorite hangouts?”

“Hannah wasn’t raised to be frivolous. She works hard, and when she’s not working, she does volunteer work at the church.”

Daniel said nothing. From the look on Deacon Jones’s face, it was clear that he didn’t approve of leisure time. Daniel had met people like that on occasion, but it wasn’t a mind-set he understood. The extreme form of the Anglo work ethic was quite a bit different from that of the Navajos, who believed that work held no virtue in and of itself. It was only a way to live one’s life comfortably.

Daniel watched Jones squirm for a few more moments. The man was clearly nervous as well as being physically uncomfortable. Daniel had a gut feeling that there was more to Hannah Jones’s story than her uncle was saying.

“Who are her close friends? I need to talk to them and see if they can give me any leads.”

“Hannah has many friends. I’ve made a list. But most of these people are ones I also know well. I haven’t asked them directly, but I know from conversations I’ve had with them that they don’t even know she’s missing.” Robert Jones reached into his pocket, brought out a list, and handed it to Daniel. “I wish I had more information, but that’s all the help I can give you.”

Mr. Silentman, who’d been silent until now, suddenly spoke. “In that case, we’ll take care of things from here, Mr. Jones. Lightning is your operative and will handle your case exclusively. You can expect results, and soon. One more thing. May I assume that this paper sack contains what I asked for—an item of her clothing with her scent on it?”

Jones nodded. “It’s a blouse from her laundry hamper.”

“Thank you for coming to meet with us, Mr. Jones. Lightning will be in touch just as soon as we have something.”

After the client left, Daniel waited for Silentman’s final instructions.

“Your usual backup is ready, Lightning. He’ll meet you in the garage by the agency’s SUV. Your cousin will deliver him to you.”

“I really prefer to handle this on my own.”

“It’s not your choice to make,” Silentman said handing him the paper sack. “Here. Should the right opportunity arise, your partner will put this to good use.”

Daniel didn’t argue further, knowing it would be futile. After parking his pickup in the warehouse’s garage, he went to retrieve the SUV. The agency’s sport utility vehicle was equipped with a lot of extras. It came with camping gear, a cell phone and pager, flashlights, shovels, special “run flat” tires that would allow them to be useable even after being punctured, and a global positioning system that enabled the operative to determine his exact location at any time.

Taking the paper bag containing Hannah Jones’s blouse, he walked across the garage. Suddenly, an enormous black-and-gray German shepherd mix came bounding across the covered parking area toward him. Right before he reached Daniel, the dog stopped abruptly as if he’d suddenly hit the brakes. Unable to counter his momentum, the wild-looking dog slid a few inches farther, then came to a rest sitting perfectly, his front paws touching the tips of Daniel’s boots.

Daniel stared at the dog, then nodded to his cousin, Ben Wanderer, who followed half a dozen feet behind. Ben’s code name was Wind and he specialized in a different type of case—those requiring subtlety, a low profile and a minimum amount of violence. He’d just returned from assignment today.

Daniel glanced back down at the dog. The massive beast’s head came up to Daniel’s belt, though Daniel was five foot eleven.

“Why the hell did they name him Wolf?” Daniel muttered, glancing over at Ben. “You can tell he’s mostly German shepherd.”

The animal’s eyes seemed to narrow, and Wolf growled low and deeply.

“You could try explaining genetics to him if you feel that strongly about it,” Ben said with a shrug.

Daniel stared at the dog, whose eyes remained riveted on him. “Maybe not,” he said, wisely recanting. “Time to go to work, Wolf.”