“Really?” I’d forgotten I was mad for the moment. “But they’d been sleeping together?”
“No, that was a ruse, just sexting, nothing physical about it.” Nick looked at Cortnie. “Gabe is a great guy, and you couldn’t do much better.”
“So who killed Lena?”
“I’m getting there.” Nick snapped.
He liked to tell his stories in his own good time.
“In the process of being hired for the decoy operation, Lena found out about the illegal towing and extortion by the vice cops. The decoy program was a great way for them to look good within the department while extorting money from poor folks on the side.”
Cortnie said, “So they’d tow the cars of lower income Hispanics, many of whom were their own relatives, and when they couldn’t pay, the cops would sell off the vehicles and pocket the money?”
“That and a few other scams.”
“So where does Lena come into all of this?” I still didn’t understand how murder played into the extortion scheme.
“She blackmailed the vice cops. Somehow she caught on to what they were doing. She had videos of some pretty damning transactions between Ruiz and Munoz, and really bad stuff on Powers. The money going into that Minneapolis bank account was coming from Powers, only the money had originally been going into an account at the Central Valley Bank, then getting transferred. The night Lena was killed, that money was withdrawn.”
“So, Powers didn’t go out as a decoy that night. Did she kill Lena?” Cortnie looked confused.
“We had the video from the motel right away. And you know Pics, he’s good. But, no, it wasn’t Powers.”
“It was supposed to be Powers though, wasn’t it? Powers didn’t dress as a hooker that night, because she was going to meet up with Lena and get rid of her that night. Only someone beat her to it.” I knew it.
“I don’t think so. Eventually they’d get rid of her. And we were using sexting between Gabe and Lena as a ruse to make them think Gabe and Lena were an item, and that Gabe was dirty, too. Then we had ‘dead Lena’ get a burner phone for the last twenty-four hours because she was scared for her life. The vice cops didn’t know she was dead. Neither did Gabe. There’s a lot more to it, but that’s all you need to know for now.”
“Weren’t you afraid the killer was going to get away?”
“I had her passport. She wasn’t going to get far.”
“Wilma?” I couldn’t believe it.
Cortnie jumped up. “No way.”
“Remember when she acted like she didn’t know that Richard was having sex with Lena? She knew. She’d been making plans to take the money out of that joint account and run off with Richard, all along. Only Richard wasn’t going to go anywhere. He’d never leave his wife. Lena was smart enough to know that, but Wilma wasn’t. She’d embezzled money from the bank and made it look like Lena had done it, then when she found out about the vice cop scam, well, you know the rest. She threatened to kill Lena if she didn’t stop seeing Richard. Lena told her to take him. All of this was in emails and Facebook messages on Lena’s computer. I have that flash drive at the station. That woman was crazy.”
“So when did all of this come to light?” I was still feeling left out in the cold.
“You sleep like the dead, my dear. I didn’t sleep much at all last night.” Nick gave me a lopsided grin. “So hate me if you want, but I was doing my job. And I was only steering you away from trouble. I knew who the murderer was almost immediately, but I had to keep things quiet because I didn’t want to screw up months of undercover work, and we needed to bring down some dirty cops.”
Cortnie murmured, “I hate dirty cops.”
Nick said, “Well, your cop isn’t dirty, at least not in that sense, so good luck.” He winked at her.
I’d love to sit around and celebrate this win, but I have another murder to solve.
“Wilma,” I said.
Cortnie stared wide eyed.
“We found her dead in her apartment this morning.”
“Murder?”
“Made to look like a suicide,” I said.
“How do you know it was a murder?” She asked.
Nick headed to the door, “I don’t, but something about the scene didn’t look right. The crime scene unit should be done, so I want to head to the station and see what they may have found.”
I dared to ask, “May I come along?”
I was ready to plead my case when he said, “Sure.”
* * *
The tension in the police station was palpable, the hum of whispers like white noise. Nick grabbed my hand and we nearly ran to Pic’s office.
Once there, he knocked softly, then opened the door without waiting for an answer. Pic’s office was inside the police lab, but separate.
“Got a sec?” Nick asked.
Pic didn’t look up. “Nope.”
“Find anything unusual on the suicide victim on San Miguel this morning?”
“Wasn’t a suicide.” He still didn’t look up from the paperwork on his desk.
“God dammit Pic, talk to me.”
“Open and shut. Oscar Ruiz killed that woman. His prints were all over that bathroom. And that woman’s blood was found on him when they booked him last night.” He finally looked up. “He’s a cop, you’d think he’d know better. What a royal idiot!”
I stood back, hoping my presence didn’t upset anyone, and listened.
“Blood? So Ruiz had blood on him when he was arrested, and someone had the wherewithal to test it, and it wasn’t his?”
“Actually, it was Garcia. He didn’t even know our vic was dead, but something about the blood bothered him, so we swabbed it. Then I took a sample this morning, and boom, bam, thank you, ma’am. That chick that was killed in the parking lot, this was her mother, and apparently she had Ruiz’s money. What a convoluted mess.” Pic snapped his fingers.
“Did you find any money?”
“Not my part of the job. They’ll tear that place apart today. It’s going to be a long trial.”
“Cut and dried, but it’ll still go to trial?”
“Sure it will. From what I hear, we saved ourselves a trial, too. The dead woman killed her daughter. Life’s a bitch… well, I’ll just not finish that one.” He turned back to his paperwork.
Nick’s cell phone rang.
“I’ve got to get this.”
Nick answered his call, pacing the room as he listened. When he hung up, his skin was as gray as his eyes.
“Let’s go to my office.”
I said, “Just say it.”
“That was the emergency response unit from Monterey. The GPS tracker I asked for? They found a Porsche Spyder matching the description of Charles’s car flipped over on the rocks off the coast of Big Sur.”
###
Electile Dysfunction
Text copyright © 2014 Jamie Lee Scott
All Rights Reserved
ELECTILE DYSFUNCTION
Copyright © 2014 by Jamie Lee Scott
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, LBB Company, 1106 Hwy 69 N, Forest City, IA 50436.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Scott, Jamie Lee, 11-15-14. Electile Dysfunction. LBB Company. eBook Edition.
For Gracie
You made my world brighter for thirteen and a half years.
You’ll be missed more than you’ll ever know.
Acknowledgments
Thanks so much to Teresa Watson for being with me f
rom the very first Gotcha Detective Agency book, reading and editing, and cursing me for my hatred of commas. (I’m getting better, even if she denies it). Stacy Jeziorowski, who started as a beta reader and became an author’s personal assistant extraordinaire. She’s dabbled in a bit of everything with this book, and with my last one, a collaboration called Unlucky 7. Stacy is also a marathon runner, which makes her a goddess in my mind.
To the police, everywhere, who keep us safe, even when they aren’t always appreciated, but especially to Officer Rebecca Shaver and Sergeant Chris Bourg, who answer my crazy questions, and make me laugh. I must thank their boss, Chief Scott Silverii, who introduced me to them, because without all three of them, my life wouldn’t be nearly as cheerful and entertaining.
As a writer, I’ve been lucky to meet some of the best, nicest, most giving people a person could ever hope to know. I can’t list them all here, because I’d forget someone, and I’d feel guilty, but I’m sure their names will come up from time to time if you follow me on Twitter or Facebook.
I also want to thank CJ Lyons, not only because she’s a wonderful person, but because she showed me how wonderful the Mac Air could be for a writer who is on the go. Electile Dyfunction would not have been written in 2014 if not for CJ, because I traveled so much, and I don’t usually bring a laptop. Thanks CJ, for talking me into the Air, and making me a more prolific writer.
There are always the same characters; my employees who listen as I plot murders, poke holes, then pick up the pieces. They laugh as I talk about Mimi, Nick and Charles, as if they will walk in the door any minute. I think they think they are real people too. Ha!
And last, but not least, my husband, who puts up with it all, and lets me be me. Thank you Scot for being you, and still loving me, even though I think you got a lot more than you bargained for, and not in a good way.
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106
Mimi
A black blur flew past my office door so fast I almost didn’t see who it was. I yelled, “You look like you’re dressed for a funeral.”
The blur yelled back, “You always look like you’re dressed for a funeral.”
I wanted to come back with some snide retort, but the response was true. And at that moment, I heard the front door open, and I didn’t know who might be walking in. Thank goodness I kept my mouth shut, because I heard Uta Huber, our receptionist, say, “May I help you?”
A deep male voice with a slight southern drawl responded, “Good morning, ma’am, I have an appointment with Miss Mimi Capurro at eight-thirty.”
I looked at my watch. He was twenty minutes early. If he’d worked for me, I’d have liked this guy. But as a client, I hated when they were this early, especially if I didn’t have a previous client, and I wasn’t ready for them. Not that I wasn’t ready; I just wasn’t ready to deal with people so early. But my door was open, and there he was, ten-gallon hat and all, standing right there where he could see me.
Before she could respond, I said, “Uta, I’m ready.” I stood and came around my desk to meet the man at the door. Uta worked hard, and I didn’t think she needed to get up and show him to my office.
Our building was a Victorian house that used to be the place where my husband ran his produce brokerage business. Or at least that’s what he told me. My husband died in a plane crash, and since Dominic’s death, I’m not really sure who I was married to, or what he really did for a living. Some day, when I got up the nerve, I’d start snooping, but right now, my heart wasn’t in it. I had the entire house redecorated and it was now the humble home of the Gotcha Detective Agency. After finding out about the Capurro family, I wanted the house to feel completely different, to change everything and make it my own, not the house I’d shared with Dominic.
When I got to the door, I was impressed at the size of this southern gentleman. Tall as a beanstalk and just as skinny, I guessed he’d make both Nick and Charles look up to look him in the eyes. His eyes were a dark blue, set in tanned skin that had seen more than its share of sun.
He put down his briefcase, removed his hat, and reached out to shake my hand. “Skinner Mathis, ma’am.”
I hated him on sight. Mostly because the silver in his long, brown sideburns made him look distinguished, and his leathery skin made him look rugged. But really, it was because if he was a woman, he’d have looked rode hard and put up wet (that’s about the only horse/rodeo term I know, but I had a feeling I was about to learn a whole lot more), but as a man, he looked damned sexy. It wasn’t fair.
I shook his calloused hand and welcomed him into my office, then I went around, sat back down in my chair, and did my darndest to keep from fanning myself. I was still too young for hot flashes, but it was getting warm in here real quick.
Before I could make a complete fool of myself, the blur in black waltzed into my office with a tall crystal glass filled with ice and brimming with white chocolate coffee. My new addiction, the canned Starbucks stuff you can get at the convenience stores and pour over ice. Only I get it at Costco in bulk and store it in the garage at the office, and at my house.
Jackie Bacarrin, my best friend and employee, handed me the glass, and I made introductions. I saw the appreciation in her eyes, too, as she offered him a beverage while looking him up and down.
“No, I’m good. I’d like to get down to business, if you don’t mind. I need to get to work.” He was polite, but to the point.
Jackie decided she’d stay and listen in. Floozy.
That might be an exaggeration, because when she came back from her vacation, she had an engagement ring and a dainty gold band on her finger, and well, how should I put this… the bitch ELOPED!
Yes, there you have it: my very best friend in the big, wide world went and got married without me. In all fairness, the only people who knew were her kids, and that’s only because they were with her. Because she’d never have married the guy without their approval. She certainly didn’t need my approval, and if she’d have asked for it, I’d have refused an answer. Whatever, let’s just drop the subject before I get pissed off.
“Mr. Mathis, Uta explained that you want us to look into a possible fraud case.” I pulled up the file on my laptop computer.
Jackie walked over to my desk and looked over my shoulder. Normally, this would drive me nuts, but I didn’t want to be bitchy in front of a client, so I let it pass.
“If we’re going to be working together, I’d prefer you call me Skinner. Do you mind If I call you Mimi?” He looked at Jackie. “And Jackie?”
In stereo, we said, “Not at all, Skinner.”
As he pulled papers from his briefcase, I kept glancing at his clothes. He was straight out of a rodeo arena or a western store. He wore a short sleeved plaid shirt with pearl snap buttons tucked into well-washed and heavily starched blue Wrangler jeans. He wore a trophy buckle of some kind, but I didn’t want to stare at his crotch trying to figure out what it said, so I don’t know how he won it. I’d heard the clop of his cowboy boots when he walked in, but I couldn’t see them from my seat behind the desk.
“Here’s the deal.” He shuffled through some papers he’d pulled from a briefcase. “I was in business with my old team roping partner for a few years. I should have known better, because you know how it is: you see someone screw over other people for years, and somehow you consider yourself friends, and you think, ‘He’d never do that to me, we’re friends.’ Well, I learned the hard way.”
Jack
ie put her hands on the back of my chair. “What kind of business were you in?”
Skinner pulled a business card out of the breast pocket of his shirt and placed it on my desk. It was a plain white card with some sort of cattle brand embossed on it. The name read “Stockyards Contractors” and had Skinner’s name and contact information. “I’m in the livestock business. I handle all sorts, but mostly I’m a stock contractor for rodeos.”
I asked, “This is the same business you were in with…” I was fishing for a name.
“Sort of the same business. And I was in business with Bucky Cox.”
I felt Jackie stiffen behind me. “Bucky ‘I’m your man’ Cox?”
Skinner cringed. “The one and only.”
“Ugh.” Jackie didn’t even try to hide her dislike.
“I see we’re of the same mind regarding Bucky.”
Bucky Cox was the county supervisor, and he was running for another term. His face was everywhere; TV, buses, bus stops, Twitter ads, on Facebook under “people you may know.” We couldn’t get away from him.
Bucky Cox, his good ol’ boy grin, and his ever present cowboy hat. Bucky was Salinas, born and bred, and he was a cowboy through and through. He’d been a five time world champion saddle bronc rider before switching to team roping, and just about everyone in Salinas, home of the California Rodeo, knew who he was. He used his World Champion Rodeo Cowboy status to win the supervisor position, but it wasn’t his first rodeo (excuse the pun). He’d played in politics with the rodeo association, and even with the city council before that. Bucky had his hand in a lot of pies.
Gotcha Detective Agency Mystery Box Set Page 80
