Family Ties Mystery Series Box Set

by James Kipling

  Lisa opened the case. “Yep,” she said. “Battery powered.”

  “Interesting thing to keep at work,” Ray said.

  “A girl never knows when she might need some stress relief,” Lisa said.

  Ray snapped pictures with his cell phone. “Bag ‘em and tag ‘em, partner,” he said. “Then, we go talk to her family. File says she was married, right?”

  “Right.”

  Ray pointed to a photo taped to the inside of the locker door. A willowy blonde beamed next to a thick, older man. “Bet that ain’t Daddy.”

  “What gave it away?” Lisa asked. “The hand on the ass? He looks like a perv – but they look like they’re having a good time.”

  Ray shined his penlight into the bottom of the locker. “What’s that? You’ve got the gloves.”

  Lisa reached in and extracted a business card.

  “What’s it say?” Ray asked.

  Lisa tromboned the card back and forth from her eyes until it came into focus.

  “Sandra Davis,” she said.

  7

  The loneliness would not go away.

  Yvonne had tried double shifts…movies (not the action type Nicholas enjoyed – dark, brooding films by Ingmar Bergman and the like)…alcohol…more alcohol.

  Nothing helped.

  The last time she’d spoked to Nicholas, she’d fussed about a meal – a stupid meal. When she’d called him back to apologize, the phone went straight to voicemail.

  She’d finally called the police.

  Half an hour later, two officers had appeared at the door. “Miss, there’s no easy way to tell you this…”

  The doorbell interrupted her reverie and she wiped the tears with the back of her hand. She got to her feet slowly. She didn’t have any appointments – had not had one since Nicholas’s death – didn’t seem right.

  When she opened the door, no one was there. Something on the mat caught her attention – a single rose. She picked it up and smelled it. The aroma instantly transported her back to the funeral and all those goddamn flowers. She dropped the rose and shut the door.

  She had no concept of time anymore. She didn’t care.

  The doorbell rang again.

  “Shit,” she said. She jerked open the door.

  A couple stood in the hall. The man wore an indistinct suit – the woman had on slacks and a cheap blazer. “Yes?” Yvonne said.

  “Miss Phillips?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Detective Ray Jones. This is my partner Detective Lisa Andrews. We are here to talk about Nicholas Clarke.”

  They flashed ID – Yvonne didn’t bother to look. She just left the door open and wandered back inside. She went into the kitchen and returned with three bottles of beer.

  “Thanks,” Ray said. “But, we can’t. On duty, you know.”

  “They’re not for you,” Yvonne said. Her eyes were flat, lifeless.

  Ray cleared his throat, stalling for time. “So, would you mind telling us about the night that Nicholas disappeared?” Ray asked in a very diplomatic tone.

  “I have already gone through this with the police,” Yvonne answered back rudely. “Don’t you guys take notes?”

  Ray looked over at Lisa, before shifting his gaze back on Yvonne.

  “What you have to understand, ma’am, is that when it comes to investigating murder cases, we will have to ask you the same questions over and over,” Ray said. He looked to Lisa for help. She was disproportionately interested in the coffee table. She was not going to bail him out.

  “Yes, I understand all that,” Yvonne said. “But it only shows how incompetent, and not to mention, barbaric, police officers are, by showing up on my door asking the same goddamn questions.”

  Ray winced. “We are only trying to find out if there was maybe something you may have overlooked,” he said. “You know, because of shock and the sudden loss.”

  Yvonne stood, sloshing a little beer when the bottle tipped. Ray looked at Lisa. They both nodded. Wasn’t Yvonne’s first beer of the day – or third.”

  “Get the fuck out,” Yvonne said.

  “Ma’am,” Lisa finally spoke, “Before you throw us out of your lovely home, I think you should know withholding information from us may get you into serious trouble.”

  “Save that for court, dearie,” Yvonne said. Her words were a little slurred. She opened the door and pointed outside. Ray and Lisa both looked at each other and got to their feet. The door slammed behind them.

  “That went well,” Lisa said.

  “Textbook interrogation,” Ray said.

  ***

  The drive back to the Station took a while.

  “So, how’s it going with Jane?’ Ray asked.

  Lisa did not discuss her private life much.

  “She wants us to have a baby and start a family,” Lisa replied. Ray noticed the eye roll.

  “And you have a different opinion?”

  “Obviously.”

  “So, you ever want kids?”

  Lisa grimaced. “I don’t know. Jane’s already up my ass about how late I get home. It’ll only get worse with rug rats.”

  “You explain that?” he asked.

  Lisa nodded. “It went just great. I think she finally talked to me three days later.”

  “Didn’t realize…” Ray stopped. He knew he’d screwed up.

  Lisa thumped him on the head. “You think only straight people fight. Damn, you are stupid!”

  They sat opposite each other in Ray’s office with the case files between them on the table.

  “Let’s review what we have so far,” Lisa said.

  “That’s easy. We got squat,” Ray said.

  Undeterred, Lisa said, “We have two vics.”

  “Nicholas Clarke and Jennifer Lynn.”

  “They both worked at the Opera House. But, different ensembles.”

  “And we have Sandra Davis.”

  Ray gave a thumbs up. “And one very angry, and slightly hammered girlfriend.”

  “We have more than you think,” Lisa said. “We have Ed and the ever-popular Lance.”

  Ray stood. He would have paced, but there wasn’t enough room. “And the tall chick in the locker room.”

  “Chick is so PC,” Lisa said. “Yes, we have Annabelle and her creepy boyfriend.”

  “We need to know where everyone was,” Ray said. “Want to grab some dinner?”

  “What time is it?”

  Ray looked at his watch. “8:20.”

  “Shit! I gotta boogie – Jane’s going to be pissed.”

  She grabbed her purse. When Ray said, “Someone’s not getting any tonight,” she mouthed Fuck you and left.

  Ray left twenty minutes later. On the way to pick up Chinese – again – he called Sally.

  “I’m not coming over, Ray,” she said.

  “Well, hello to you, too,” he said. “I was just calling to check on you.”

  “Bullshit,” she said. “You only call this late for some booty. Go buy yourself a porn mag and a bottle of hand cream.”

  They chatted for a few minutes before he rang off. He pulled into the China Garden parking lot. He leaned across the seat to lock the passenger door – the auto-lock had not worked in years. He spotted something in the back seat.

  When he pulled the ring on the doll’s back, a voice said, “Yvonne belongs to me.”

  8

  “Brothers and sisters, the Lord Christ came to us that we might be dead to sin and alive to everlasting life!” The televangelist’s hair never moved.

  It must be decoupaged, Yvonne thought.

  She wanted to change the channel, but she couldn’t find the remote. Hell, she was so hammered, she couldn’t find her own ass. She looked at the coffee table. The bottle of Svedka was nearly empty – and it was a big bottle. She was numb, but not numb enough. Her heart still ached.

  “Nicholas,” she said. “Nicholas…Nicholas…Ni
cholas.”

  She was wearing a pair of his gym shorts and his favorite tee-shirt, the one with the holes, the one that smelled of him. Tears trickled down her face. She wasn’t sobbing – she did not have the energy to sob anymore. Her eyes just would not quit leaking.

  “The wages of sin is death,” the preacher said. “And it ye do not repent, ye shall – shall, brothers and sisters – ye shall burn in the everlasting fires of Hell.”

  A phone number scrolled across the bottom of the screen. For spiritual help, call 1-800-… Yvonne got the number right on the fourth try.

  “Eternal Peace Ministries,” a voice said. “How much would you like to pledge?”

  “I need help,” Yvonne said, only she said “hep.”

  “Bless you, darlin’,” the voice said. “If you can give me your credit card number, I will connect you to one of our Eternal Peace Prayer Partners.”

  Yvonne swore and threw her phone across the room. She took a swig from the Svenda.

  “I’m a sinner,” she said. “I’m going to hell.”

  Brother Billy Bob or Jimmy Ray…or Helmet Head kept ranting about “the Kingdom” and “the Rapture” and “the Presence” and other stuff.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Yvonne said. But, the good reverend was on a roll. “When we die, our spirits rise to the heavens and join in that celestial choir of angels. We stand with all the saints who from their labors rest in that house not made with hands. Glory to God!”

  “Glory to God,” Yvonne said. “I need to die and see Jesus.”

  She had a syringe in her room – she always had one. She could fill it with air and inject herself. Should cause an aneurism – that ought to do it. Then, she remembered the guy in Room 325. He had an aneurism – he was a veg.

  “Don’t wanna be a veg,” she said.

  The last of the Svenda disappeared down her throat. It didn’t even burn anymore – and this was cheap stuff. She couldn’t afford good vodka.

  “We all lead double lives,” the preacher said. “We look good to our neighbors, but we are filled with sin and degradation.”

  Yvonne studied his face closely. “Is that you, Sir Reggie?” she asked.

  She thought about her secret life – the pleasure she took in clandestine, dangerous, sometimes sick, sex. She thought about the spike heels, the corsets, the bondage, the ball gags, the fetishes…she wanted to puke.

  “Gonna die and go see Jesus,” she said.

  She staggered to the kitchen for another bottle. She cracked the top and took a swig. Her eyes fell on the kitchen knife. She had good kitchen knives – Japanese steel – razor edges.

  The voice from the other room reached a fever pitch. “Get your life right the Gawd before it is too late. Call our help line, make a generous donation, and let out Eternal Peace Spiritual Guides lead you to the light.”

  “I’m gonna find the fuckin’ light,” Yvonne said. “Right now.”

  She looked up. “Coming, baby,” she said. And, she dragged the edge of the knife along the artery in her left arm. Blood spurted. She knew what she was doing.

  The doorbell sounded.

  “Same asshole leaving a rose,” she said.

  She took another pull from the bottle. The room was beginning to spin.

  The doorbell would not stop. Someone was pounding on the door.

  “And the Lord Gawd himself with clothe you with light and give you wings.”

  Yvonne staggered toward the television. “Shut…the…fuck…up!”

  The doorbell.

  Yvonne yelled toward the door. “Just put the damn flower on my coffin!”

  She could see Nicholas, a silly grin on his face and that damn violin in his hand.

  Her speech slurred. “Coming, baby.”

  She heard splintering wood and heavy footsteps.

  Someone called, “Sandra!”

  Then, everything went dark.

  9

  Lisa walked into Ray’s office a little after eight.

  “What do you make of that?’ Ray asked. He pointed to the doll in the chair opposite his.

  “Searching for your inner woman, Ray?”

  “Shut up,” he said. “It was in my car last night.”

  “You already process it?”

  “Uh huh.”

  Lisa pulled the string.

  “Yvonne belongs to me.”

  “Yvonne?” Lisa said. “Yvonne – Yvonne?”

  “That’s my guess. This gets curiouser and curiouser,” he said.

  “Didn’t know you read Lewis Carroll,” Lisa said. “Hell, I didn’t know you could read.”

  “Take a look at this,” Ray said.

  “Let me guess. The amateur who left it in your car didn’t suspect we would have security camera at the Police Station.”

  “You win a cookie.”

  “What a maroon,” Lisa said.

  Ray pushed PLAY on his computer. The video footage clearly showed a short man with a round face and potbelly putting the doll in what Lisa recognized as Ray’s car.

  “Who is he?” she asked.

  “Steve Wesley,” Ray said. “The idiot works at the Morgue.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Let’s saddle up.”

  The Morgue was about ten minutes away by car. On the way, Lisa asked, “She’s a nurse, right?”

  “Yvonne?”

  “Yep.”

  “She works the second shift at County.”

  Marjorie was always pleasant. “You know the way, Detective,” she said.

  Their footsteps echoed against the cinderblock walls.

  Ray looked at Lisa’s face. “You are positively aglow,” he said.

  “I love being around the dead.”

  Ray made a face like he’d swallowed tomato aspic. “Seriously?”

  “It’s quiet. It’s clean. And no one ever gives you any shit.”

  “Good points – never thought about it in those terms.”

  Lisa smiled. “Stick with me, kid – you’ll learn a lot.”

  The Morgue was a crisp 66 degrees.

  “Invigorating,” Ray said.

  “And fun for the guys who work here,” Lisa said. “My girls are at full attention.” She pulled her sweater tighter.

  “Like you care,” Ray said. “There he is.”

  Lisa’s voice was commanding. “Steve Wesley.”

  The forty-ish, slightly balding man hunched over a cadaver stood up like he’d been summoned to the Office on the Junior High intercom.

  He turned and threw his hands in the air in mocking guilt. “Don’t shoot, officers.”

  “It’s detective,” Lisa said. “And, trust me, I’m looking for a reason.”

  The color drained from Wesley’s face. He turned to an associate. “Finish up here, Juan. I won’t be long.”

  Ray leaned close to Lisa. “He must not think five years for breaking into a cop’s car is a long time.”

  Lisa sniggered.

  “Right this way, please,” Steve said. They made their way into a small office where they sat.

  “How can I help you, Detectives…?”

  “Jones and Andrews,” Lisa said. Ray was letting her act as lead. “We’re hear about Nicholas Clarke.”

  Wesley shook his head. “Good guy…good friend,” he said. “How can I help?”

  “You can begin with this,” Ray said. He slammed the doll on the desk so hard a stack of papers slid onto the floor.”

  Wesley’s face reddened. He started to lie – both Ray and Lisa could tell. Then, he said, “I got it from Nicholas. Someone gave it to him a few weeks ago. He gave it to me the night he died.”

  “Where did he get it?”

  “Don’t know. He asked me to run some tests on it.”

  Lisa nodded. “We’d like the reports, please.”

  “Don’t have any.”

  “You ran tests. There have to be reports.”

  Beads
of sweat broke out on Steve’s brow. “The reports were a little…uh…off the books.”

  Neither detective flinched. “You mean you’re running a little side action after hours, right?” Ray asked.

  “No one gets hurt,” Steve said.

  “What did you find?”

  Steve mopped his forehead with a Kleenex. “Trace stuff. Nothing I could pinpoint.”

  Disappointment registered on the detectives’ faces.

  “Except for the card,” Steve said. His voice was hopeful – like a kid who thinks he’s talking his way out of trouble.

  Ray scowled. “What card.”

  “Business card – I found it in the doll.”

  “What did it say?”

  “Just a name and a number.”

  Ray and Lisa waited.

  Steve finally caught on. “Oh, right! The name was…Sandra Davis.”

  Ray and Lisa intentionally did not look at one another.

  Lisa broke the ice. “Who’s that?”

  “I have no idea. Does the name mean anything to you?”

  They danced around the issue for a few minutes, then Ray stood. “We might have more questions,” he said. “If you go anywhere – I mean anywhere – make sure we know where you are.”

  “Yes, sir,” Steve said.

  The detectives walked to the door and left. Steve slumped against a table. Lisa stuck her head through the doorframe.

  “Oh, wise guy,” she said. “Next time we see you, that little side hustle better be shut tighter than a nun’s thighs.”

  10

  They were on the way to Jennifer Lynn’s house.

  “You keep looking at your watch,” Ray said. “Got a date?”

  “I wish,” Lisa said.

  “You two don’t do date night – I thought all the hip couples put in dedicated time with their significant others.”

  “From your mouth to God’s ear,” Lisa said.

  “So, no date – what’s with checking the time?”

  “Jane’s working swing shift this week at the lab. I want to make sure she’s not home when I get there.”

  “Trouble in paradise?”

  “Fuck you, Ray,” Lisa said.