A Dead Nephew

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “It’s not exactly over, but we’ve passed the nightmare along to the cops and courts. Nightmares, I should say, since they’ve also got to sort out the fraud conspiracy and determine who ordered Timothy Ridgeway to kill Sacramento. He now says it was Lenny Morgan, who insisted he made sure Sacramento was dead and that Louie took the blame.”

  “I’m sure Lenny Morgan will disagree,” Betsy commented. “It’s too bad for Timothy that he’s changed his story so many times.”

  “That’s true. He’s not going to get the cushy deal he hoped for, although it might help Timothy’s credibility that Lenny Morgan ran for it. Frank said George picked up Lenny at the Jacqueline Cochran Regional Airport, about to leave in a private jet he’d rented.”

  “Who’s going to pick up the Cleaner Man’s journals?” Betsy asked.

  “I promised Martha I’d do it. Frank said that would be fine if I don’t take anything else from there. The crime lab will send a team to search the home for evidence.”

  “Do you have the energy to get them now?”

  “Why not?” I replied. “It’s not far, and it’ll keep me from having to drive here again tomorrow. I do have work to get done at the office.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Betsy pleaded. “Where are we going?”

  “A place Christian and his family called home for a while.” When we reached the main road, instead of cutting through Joshua Tree National Park, I headed to the location Kim and I had visited earlier in the day. “We’re going to the dry-cleaners where Christian Cursor worked; to the house behind it, to be more precise. Christian moved his wife and child back there recently, even though Martha objected. When she died, Martha’s aunt left them a little money along with the house they were living in, so they already had shelter, but Christian insisted that they go ‘home.’”

  “A house that’s close to where her father was killed probably wasn’t home to Martha anymore,” Betsy observed.

  “True. She lost her husband there too,” I said.

  “It sounds as if Christian did well once he went to work for Martha’s dad.”

  “Yes. Donny, a devout Irish Catholic, loved him and appreciated Christian’s religious commitment. She and Christian were both shy, but they became friends while working together and married. They were all so happy when Ruth was born. Then Donny was killed, and Christian fell apart. After they moved in with her aunt, Martha was sure he’d settled down again.”

  “Maybe he did since Xavier Oliver claimed the Cleaner Man had gone away for a while. I wonder what set him off again.”

  “Martha didn’t say so, but she had a miscarriage. My guess is that’s what did it.”

  “That would be a reason to visit the babies in limbo, wouldn’t it?” Betsy asked.

  “Yes, but he may not have been doing as well as she thought he was,” I suggested wearily. “I told Frank to send someone to the aunt’s property and search for a lab. I wouldn’t be surprised if Christian was already testing a new ‘health’ product on his wife before she lost that baby.”

  “Wouldn’t that be awful?” Betsy asked before we both grew silent. When we pulled up in front of the house, I parked and ran. The door was wide open.

  “Who’d break in here?” I wondered aloud.

  “I don’t see any crime lab or police vehicles yet, so it’s not the police. Christian may have left it open when he rushed out of here carrying the wife that he believed he’d killed.”

  “You must be right,” I said. Inside, the house was run down but tidy. I put on latex gloves and went into the garage. An old satchel full of notebooks was right where Martha said it would be. As I dug through a trunk full of family stuff, I suddenly stopped. A framed picture of a boy on a pony sent a shiver through me. It had to be Randall Young, decked out in a white cowboy outfit. He was beaming as he sat there, probably not more than six years old. “That child appears to be truly happy, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes. It would be years later before he’d feel the burdens of his genius and his mental illness. That explains the cowboy outfit he wore as the Cleaner Man, doesn’t it?” Betsy added.

  “I believe so. I hope Ruth’s future will be brighter than Randall Young’s turned out to be,” I commented as I recalled what she’d said about how happy her life used to be. She was too young for the happiness in her life to be in the past.

  “There are things we and others can do to help her. There’s a genetic component to schizophrenia, and the traumas she’s experienced isn’t good. Still, early intervention can help.”

  “Can you find someone to work with her and her mother? I don’t care what it costs. The media’s going to get hold of this story and have a field day with it.”

  “Sure,” Betsy replied, without hesitating. “Ruth’s a smart, resilient child, but you’re right that she and her mother need support. Who knows what will turn up during their stay in the hospital? I’ll ask a social worker to meet with them. Since they both trust you, it might be good for you to participate.”

  “If they want me there, I’ll be happy to join them,” I replied. I’d learned personally and professionally that there’s often much more work to be done after our troubles appear to be over. Not just in the courts but in every life touched by the darkness left in their wake by disturbed men like Christian Cursor and Lenny Morgan. Sometimes it’s overwhelming how much harm one person can do. I suddenly had an image of Louie’s face when I last saw him. Where had he found the strength to smile?

  “Can your friend in the social work department meet with Louie and me too? He’s got plenty of work to do to get his life back on track—if it was ever on track,” I suggested.

  “Of course! It’s Jessica to the rescue—just like your mentor, Bernadette.” Betsy smiled and put an arm around my shoulder as we left the garage. When we walked back into the kitchen, I heard scratching on the door.

  “There’s a dog,” I said, recalling the lonely guy who’d eyed Kim and me when we were at the shop next door. I’d promised Ruth I’d check on him. Betsy opened the door, and the guy just stood there. “Maybe he wasn’t allowed inside.”

  “Hello, dog,” Betsy said. “Do you know his name?”

  “Sandy,” I replied. “Ruth said her great aunt named him Sandy because the stray puppy was almost buried in the sand when she found him.”

  “Sandy, would you like to go for a ride?” Betsy asked. The dog wagged his tail, still a little wary. When he stepped forward, she swept him off his feet and hugged him. “I’ll see if I can find his food and a leash. It’s my turn to practice the lessons learned from Bernadette. He’s going home with me until Ruth’s ready to take him back.”

  “Peter!” Betsy exclaimed when her phone rang, and she picked up the call. “I’ll have a surprise visitor for you to meet when you get home tonight.” She had found Sandy’s dog chow but was still hunting for a leash. She stopped short after hearing whatever Peter said.

  “Okay, we’re out of here, now. See you in a while.” Betsy turned to me as soon as she ended the call.

  “We’ve got to get out of here. The feds are on the way, and you won’t be able to take anything with you once they arrive. Quick, grab the satchel with the notebooks, and let’s go!”

  “I can’t break my promise to Ruth that I’d watch out for Sandy. Let’s go. Sandy can use Anastasia’s harness that’s already in the SUV. When we get back to Rancho Mirage, I’ll find a leash for him.” We ran for it. I put a handful of chow on the backseat once Betsy had him buckled in. Just in the nick of time too. I’d returned to the main road when, in my rearview mirror, I saw a convoy of vehicles turning onto the street we’d left. “That was close.”

  “You sure were correct that the nightmare’s not over,” Betsy added. “I hate to think about what sort of interrogation Martha will have to go through if they believe she knows something about the formula for the knockout spray her husband created.”

  “They’ll have to get to her through me. I already made it clear that she’s lawyered up.”
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  “I should have known, Attorney Huntington,” Betsy said. “Up high!” she said and high fived me. Then, she held her hand lower and made me do it again. “Down low!”

  “Let’s get to the place we call home before anything else can happen!” I turned, and the ranger waved me on without making me stop as I cut through the park again.

  Epilogue

  It was November, and life still hadn’t returned to “normal,” whatever that is around here. The aftermath of The Cleaner Man Murders, as they’d come to be known, stirred up another round of unwelcome media attention for me. Back in the spotlight, I did my best to shelter Louie, Martha, and Ruth from the furor that erupted in the wake of Christian Cursor’s arrest.

  Things should quiet down since the news media wasn’t going to have a trial to cover. As I’d expected, a psychiatric evaluation had determined that Christian Cursor was unfit to stand trial. He was going to spend more time in the state hospital. Now that it was clear he and Randall Young were one and the same, he wouldn’t ever be released back into the community.

  Authorities were still poring over Christian Cursor’s journals, trying to identify the individuals with whom he’d been involved. Police in various jurisdictions, here and in San Bernardino County, had located the remains of three additional homeless men—only one of whom was on a list Betsy had made of “missing” men. The shelters had also posted warnings about the Cleaner Man’s powder, and two men had asked for help. As Betsy had suggested when she first suspected the Cleaner Man was targeting the homeless, how many men Christian Cursor killed or made sick might never be known.

  I had to relinquish Christian Cursor’s journals and had to wait to get a copy until federal authorities had reviewed the contents. Passages in the copy we eventually received had been blackened out. I presume those were references to Christian Cursor’s development of what he’d called his “Forgetting” spray.

  The Cleaner Man’s story almost eclipsed John Lugo and Lenny Morgan’s bad behavior with their “lizard problem.” In fact, if it hadn’t been interconnected to The Cleaner Man Murders because of Sacramento’s tragic fate, the fraud conspiracy might not have received much attention at all.

  It’s almost as if we take it for granted that businesses are going to rip us off. The idea irks me for two reasons. One is that it evokes a kind of complacency or helplessness that turns us all into victims. The second reason is that it taints the efforts of hardworking people who run businesses like my father, my boss, and my good friend, Peter, who all try to do the best by their clients.

  The stigma surrounding serious mental illness had also reared its ugly head since the arrest of Christian Cursor. Betsy and I have both taken every chance we’ve had to challenge any implication that everyone diagnosed with schizophrenia is at risk of becoming a serial killer. I’d be a much richer woman if I had a dime for every time that I’d said, “persons with severe mental illnesses are far more likely to be victims of crime than to be perpetrators.”

  Since I suffer from my own mental health problems, maybe I’m a little too casual in my references to people as crazy, wacko, psychopaths, deranged, etc. Betsy has pointed that out to me more than once. She agrees it’s hard to find words to describe the malicious, irrational behavior of the people we meet who commit heinous crimes but are regarded as “sane.”

  Crime isn’t just stupid, as George likes to say. It’s irrational on many levels. I’m not sure John Lugo or Leonard Morgan would be diagnosed as mentally ill. Like too many bad guys with money and power, their treachery, had it succeeded, would have harmed many more people than the Cleaner Man could ever have dreamed of reaching.

  Leonard Morgan was being charged for the part he played in murdering Sacramento Lugo and framing Louie Jacobs. So was Timothy Ridgeway. He had a hard time convincing the prosecutor’s team that he’d done all he could do to determine whether Sacramento was dead or alive before stabbing him. As they pointed out, Timothy had plenty of time to do so. Before Billy Castro joined him, he’d found Sacramento, placed a call to Andrew Clearwater that was forwarded to Lenny Morgan. Timothy then spoked to Lenny Morgan and to John Lugo. Both Lenny Morgan and John Lugo told Timothy to make sure it was clear Louie had killed Sacramento. Lenny also urged him to leave no doubt that it could have been an accident. That’s when Timothy came up with the idea to leave the scene, steal a hunting knife from a shop at the casino’s mall, and return to carry out the task assigned to him.

  In exchange for his testimony, a charge of second-degree murder was reduced to manslaughter. Billy Castro and Timothy Ridgeway were also charged for the attempted murders of Louie Jacobs and Xavier Oliver as well as a slew of less serious crimes. As first in line to testify against Lenny Morgan, Timothy got a better deal than Billy Castro.

  They each had plenty to say about the man they claimed was behind murder, blackmail, extortion, and fraud. According to Billy and Timothy, Lenny Morgan manipulated and deceived his partner, John Lugo. Lenny also had an expensive cocaine habit that sometimes contributed to violence toward the women in his life.

  John Lugo’s situation was a sad one. He was hardly recognizable as the brash, impudent man he’d once been. The realization that he’d contributed to his son’s death had taken a toll. He’d resigned from his position with the Tribal Council and had accepted a plea deal, which still meant prison time. Before sentencing, he suffered a serious heart attack. John Lugo was a shadow of his former self. Even though their divorce was final, Tessa was at his side.

  “Why are you moping?” Bernadette asked. “We have a party starting any minute now. This is a good day for Louie.”

  “I know. We got the bad guys. Louie’s free, healthier, and finding his way,” I said. “Still, I feel sick about the case.”

  “You spoke to Father Martin about your feelings, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. He tried to help me understand that it was okay to feel sorrow for dirtbags like John Lugo and Christian Cursor. ‘Empathy makes room for hope and that even at our worst, we’re all redeemable.’ I had to admit that a little more empathy from Louie’s lawyer might have made it harder to wrongfully convict Louie and allow Christian Cursor to go on killing people. ‘Empathy and compassion don’t have to be at odds with justice,’ according to Father Martin.”

  “Father Martin always knows the right thing to say,” Bernadette said as she put an arm around my shoulder. “You need ask Father Martin if he’ll marry you and Frank.”

  “Our annulments are final, so why wouldn’t he? Frank loves him. Father Martin has been helping Frank deal with the conflicts he’s having about his job and his coworkers.” As if I’d conjured him up, Frank opened the glass sliding doors in the kitchen wearing a huge grin on his face. He was obviously excited about something.

  “Jessica, we need to talk before everyone gets here.” Frank slid open the screen door and motioned for me to come inside. I’d barely stepped indoors when my feet were off the floor. Frank put me back on the floor and grabbed my hand. Anastasia trotted behind us as we headed down the hall to my suite.

  “Will you marry me?” Frank asked as soon as he’d closed the door. Unfortunately, he’d closed it before letting Anastasia into the room. When I let her in, she bounded into the room and jumped on the bed.

  “Are you okay, Frank? I already said yes.”

  “I mean now—well, not now—but tomorrow or next week. The sooner, the better. I’ve got a new job, thanks to Dad.”

  “Are you going to join the Palm Springs Police Department?” I asked.

  “Yes—eventually. Have you heard about New Arcadia?”

  “Who hasn’t? It’s been in the news almost every day since they broke ground last fall. Evie’s hoping they’re going to build a theme park in addition to houses, offices, and stores.”

  “It’s a huge deal—a whole new ultra-modern town being built by Max Marley. He’s working hard to have it incorporated as its own township but tied to greater Palm Springs. Anyway, Dad spoke to a guy he’s worked with a
few times in Orange County—Detective Jack Wheeler. He contacted Dad because he’s consulting on their plans for public safety with local police and fire departments. I met with him a week ago, and I just heard I’ll be part of the New Arcadia North Palm Springs police force once it’s up and running. I’ll head up their criminal investigations unit with at least two teams to help me.”

  “That sounds wonderful, although it’s got to be at least a year away. Can you wait that long to make a change?”

  “I haven’t told you the best part—I’m going on the payroll as part of the development team. As soon as I can close out my open cases, I’ll move on. That’ll take me a month or less.”

  “Does that mean you can move in here with me?”

  “Yep! Unless you prefer that your husband lives with his Mom and Dad.”

  “No way. You’re going to be mine, all mine!” I threw my arms around him and held on tight. “I’m never letting you go again. What have the kids said?”

  “No one knows yet, but you. When we became engaged, the kids asked how it would work after we got married. I told them we weren’t in any rush, but we’d do our best not to turn their lives upside down. Mary immediately came up with a suggestion. She and her partner want to move into the house in Perris and take over the mortgage payments. That way, the kids can finish school there, and it’ll always be ‘home’ for them. We’ll have to switch our custody arrangement so that they stay with their mom during the week. On Friday, she’ll bring them out here to stay with us and visit their grandparents, and then I’ll take them home Sunday night. During the summer and holiday breaks, instead of visiting their mom, they’ll stay with us. What do you think?”

  “That’s perfect! It’ll give us a chance to become a real family, and they won’t hate me because they have to leave all their old friends or go to a new school.”

  “They’d never hate you no matter what. It does seem to be the least disruptive way to manage the changes in all our lives.”

  “Let’s see what they think. If it’s a go, they can choose which rooms they want, tell us how they want them to look, and we’ll redecorate. We’ll make sure it’s comfortable enough for their friends to stay over.” I was so excited, I jumped up and down, and Anastasia bounded from one end of the bed to the other. She spun around, picked up one of her toys from the bed, and tossed it into the air. “Can we tell everyone else?”