Page 35 of Delivering David

The photo showed a Caucasian male with dark eyes and a beard, wearing an orange and white UT knitted skull cap. “He doesn’t have the beard anymore,” Suzanne said. “Barry won’t let his servers or cooks wear them ‘cause he’s afraid of hair getting in the food.”

“Holy crap,” Kristopher muttered. “I think I know this guy. What about the rest of his info?”

He leaned in, and Suzanne savored the faint scent of soap mingling with his coffee. “Here,” she said, tapping more buttons. “Stanislaus Tobias Dembowski. Thirty-five years old, originally from Warsaw. Made his way to the United States a year ago via a program called Humanities International. Chose to relocate to Tennessee because he likes Dolly Parton.”

“Well, yeah,” Kristopher agreed. “I mean, who doesn’t?”

“Has a background as a laborer, no advanced degrees, no criminal record,” Suzanne continued. “Bachelor, no known family.”

“Any distinctive marks?”

His tightly coiled tension rolled onto Suzanne as she continued to search. “None listed,” she said. “You mean like a tattoo? If he has, I never noticed it. Why would you think he has one?”

He remained silent, staring at the screen. After a long moment, his mouth tightened and he said, “Call Barry.”

“Why?”

“Just do it please, Miz Bennett,” and Suzanne realized even with him using her nickname, something was terribly wrong. As if things could get worse.

“Okay,” she said, reaching for her phone and placing the call. “Hey, Barry,” she said when her friend answered. “Here’s a question for you. Does Stan have any tattoos?”

“Yeah, he does.” Barry still sounded cross. “He’s got a big red dragon tattooed on the back of his head. Said he was in an industrial accident when he was still living in Poland. He said he’s got burns all over his body too, but I’ve never seen them and got the tattoo so people wouldn’t make fun of him being bald. I saw it once when he took off that knitted cap he always wears to put on a visor cap. Why all the questions?”

“Just a hunch,” Kristopher told him and the triumphant sparkle in his eyes pushed Suzanne’s heart into a two-step. “Thanks, Barry.”

She ended the call and squinted at him. “You gonna let me in on this, Sergeant Brower?”

“Look up the word Balaur,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Oh, man, this could be it.”

Suzanne’s fingers hesitated over the keyboard. “Spell that, please.”

“B-a-l-a-u-r,” he replied.

“Got it,” she said and then gasped as the picture of large, multi-headed dragon filled her laptop screen. “Merciful heavens! What is that?”

“That, my dear, Miz Bennett, is the symbol from Romanian mythology.” Kristopher’s soft voice held a note of intensity she’d never heard. “A mythical beast known not only for its destructive powers but for kidnapping maidens and young girls. It’s found in other Eastern European folklore too.”

“Ugly beast,” Suzanne said. “And this is important because–?”

“Don’t you remember me telling you earlier about that child trafficking ring in Romania? That’s their name and symbol. All their members have dragon tattoos, although this is the first I’ve heard of any of them having one on their head. It’s usually on the palm of their hands.”

“Do you think the burn story is true?” Suzanne asked. “Why would he have his in a different place? Does that signify something?”

Her protector shook his head. “I don’t know. Would you let me look up something, please?”

“Sure.” They changed places and Kristopher took out his phone, consulted it, and spent a long time typing on Suzanne’s keyboard. At last a website appeared, and he opened it. “There we go,” he said. “Take a look.”

Suzanne stared at the photos. “That’s Stan!” she cried, pointing at one of the men she knew fromDaisy’s.“But his eyes are green.”

“Tinted contact lenses are cheap, effective disguises,” he said. “But look at this.” He hit another series of keys and the photo reversed, giving a clear view of the back of Stan’s head. A three-headed dragon, wings spread out, covered the entire area, inching toward his forehead. The intricate design and vivid colors were almost beautiful. Until one remembered what it represented.

“How awful,” Suzanne said, shaking her head. “To think I hired that monster to work atDaisy’s.”

“You couldn’t have known that,” Kristopher argued. “And Elaine is probably right. Stan, aka Toby, probably entered the country with false or forged papers. It’s common practice.”

“You think?”

“Yep.” Kristopher hit a button, and another photo popped up. “And that’s Gregori Bogdan.” Kristopher pointed at the picture of a Caucasian man with brown hair, medium build, no smile. A rather ordinary-looking man.

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