Fatal Storm by Lee Driver Page B

pocket and held it up. “Please tell me what this
gadget is.”
    Sheila took it from him and almost squealed
with relief. “It's a cell phone.” But it wasn’t hers. She pushed
the power button but the screen said service was unavailable.
    “A phone you carry in your pocket?
Interesting.”
    “What's interesting is that you sound as
though you have never seen a cell phone before.”
    “There are a lot of things we've missed out
on living in isolation the way we do. How does it work?”
    “Mainly you need a cell phone tower nearby to
get reception, but don't ask me for specifics. All I know is I push
a button and I can talk to anyone anywhere in the world.”
    Adrian took the phone back and studied it.
“Anywhere in the world? How utterly delightful.”
    “My phone even has Internet connection so I
can check Emails, download music, books, photos.”
    “Music? Books?” He studied the size of the
phone, turning it over in his hand. “How does one get a book out of
a tiny thing like this?”
    Now Sheila knew where she had heard his
accent. It was somewhat British with a little gothic vampire tossed
in for good measure, sprinkled with some Pride and Prejudice . Was Sheila dreaming? She
pinched a fold of skin between her thumb and index finger and
winced as her nails dug in. “You don't know what the Internet is,
do you?”
    His gaze shifted from her to the phone and
back to her. “Afraid I'm not too familiar with a lot of new
technology.”
    Sheila looked around the room at the
expensive paintings and furniture. “Yet you don't appear to be
without.”
    Adrian followed her gaze and dipped his head
in agreement. “Most of it wasn't mine. Guess you can say I borrowed
them piece by piece.”
    Sheila straightened her back and gave a
haughty look down her nose, something she had learned from her
father. “If it’s a ransom you want, my father is rich and will pay
any amount of money.”
    Adrian threw back his head again and laughed,
thoroughly enjoying himself. “Money is of no use to me.”
    Sheila felt deflated and for a second
wondered where the child’s mother was and if Adrian had set up some
type of commune with scores of women upstairs popping out babies
every year. For some reason the phrase, “come into my parlor said
the spider to the fly” ran through her head.
    “Then what is it you want?” Sheila demanded
as she scrambled her addled brain to remember her self defense
classes.
    He turned the cell phone over in his hand and
then settled his gaze on Sheila. “I want to learn about these and
any other technology I have missed out on.”
     
     
- 13 -
     
    “Okay, let's have it.” Padre sidled over to
the examining table. Luther had just finished suturing the body of
John Doe.
    “The victim is in his early thirties,
sixty-nine inches tall, and one hundred and seventy pounds. He was
in relatively good health, had recently consumed approximately
three cups of coffee, scrambled eggs and a cinnamon roll, but
whether he had any drugs or alcohol in his system we won't know
until we get the tox screen back. Should have some good
fingerprints to process. He was strangled with the scarf but it was
a slow death. If his hands hadn't been bound he would have been
able to get the scarf off, in my opinion. At least, if it were me I
would have attempted to tear the thing off.”
    “So death is ruled a homicide,” Padre wrote,
“as though there were any doubt.” He bent down for a closer look at
the tattoo. “Any other scars or markings?”
    “As I mentioned previously, the tattoo was no
more than two days old. There was a vaccination on the upper left
arm. He might have been overseas at some point in his life. With
any luck, he might be ex-military so we might be able to I.D. him
pretty quickly.”
    “No gang markings?”
    “No prison tats either. Hands aren't
calloused so he probably worked a desk job. How many names are on
your missing persons' log?”
    “In Cedar Point, about twenty-four over the
past