Jericho Point

by Meg Gardiner

  ‘‘No.’’

  ‘‘You work for Vonnie Marks.’’

  ‘‘On and off.’’

  ‘‘Check this out.’’ He slid his hand up and down his stomach. ‘‘I’m down twenty pounds since October.’’ He slapped a hand against the belly. ‘‘Listen to that. Solid.’’

  Sinsa walked in. ‘‘Twenty more to go, Slink.’’

  ‘‘Spandex is forgiving.’’ He scowled. ‘‘Crap, Sin, put a sweater on. I’ve seen smaller teats on a dairy farm.’’

  He should talk. He had the biggest tits in the room. No way could I have gotten a nipple ring that size through mine.

  He squinted at P.J. ‘‘You look strung out.’’

  Sinsa hopped up to sit on the counter. ‘‘He came from the animal shelter. Putting puppies down.’’

  ‘‘I don’t do that,’’ P.J. said.

  She mimed a dog being held by the scruff of the neck, with a syringe aimed at it. ‘‘Here, Spot. Head toward the light.’’

  He blushed a deeper shade of red. ‘‘That’s not funny.’’

  ‘‘I’m teasing.’’ She hopped off the counter. ‘‘Don’t be a sourpuss.’’

  She jammed her hands in the back pockets of her fatigues, so that her nipples stretched the undershirt like explosive bolts. Her silver jewelry sang in the light. She passed P.J., managing to brush his arm with her breast.

  His heel stopped bouncing. He leaned against the counter and crossed his legs.

  Ricky swigged from the water bottle. ‘‘We laid down vocals for the new track. Come up and listen after I shower.’’

  P.J. squeezed his knees together. ‘‘Great.’’

  Ricky cocked his head. ‘‘That’s the garage door. Go help Mom carry the groceries.’’

  Sinsa pouted. ‘‘It’s all stuff she buys for your Mick Jagger diet.’’

  Ricky put a hand on her back and walked her out of the kitchen. ‘‘And change this shit music. Pick a rapper who samples my tunes, not Steven Tyler’s.’’

  P.J. waited, trying to calm down enough to follow. I glanced toward the garage, wanting to leave.

  ‘‘You need to understand how serious the situation is,’’ I said. ‘‘You may have witnessed a murder last night, and the authorities know it. You need to talk to the sheriffs, asap.’’

  ‘‘But I don’t remember anything.’’

  ‘‘Listen to me. Your ex-girlfriend was strangled.’’

  ‘‘She wasn’t my ex—’’

  ‘‘Shut up. She’s dead, and you were at the scene. The cops will suspect you.’’

  His face went blank. ‘‘You mean . . .’’

  ‘‘They’ll look at you and see motive and opportunity. And possibly means. You said you left your electric guitar at the party.’’

  ‘‘It’s probably gone now.’’

  ‘‘Brittany Gaines was garroted. Jesse thinks it may have been with a guitar string.’’

  ‘‘Shit.’’ He pressed his palm against an eye, and stopped. His head jerked up. ‘‘Wait, Jesse thinks it’s a string from my Strat?’’

  ‘‘P.J., last night you gave me a story that was a bunch of bullshit. You need to remember the truth. And you need to tell me what Brittany was doing with my ID.’’

  The color had leached from his face again. ‘‘Shit. Jesse thinks it was me.’’

  Abruptly the stereo shut down. Boots knocked along the hallway. Grocery bags rustled.

  I heard Karen’s sharp voice. ‘‘There’s barf outside on the driveway.’’ She walked in, arms full, and saw me. ‘‘And guess what, it’s in here too. Talk about balls.’’

  ‘‘I’m going,’’ I said.

  ‘‘Did you bring me my money?’’

  Sinsa brought more bags. ‘‘She walked straight in. I found her going through your desk.’’

  I whirled on her. ‘‘Knock it off.’’

  ‘‘Lighten up.’’ She rolled her eyes. ‘‘Where’s your sense of humor?’’

  P.J. was looking ill. Karen nodded at him.

  ‘‘Go hose down the driveway.’’ She set the groceries on the counter. ‘‘Sin, put on a bra.’’

  He stalked out of the kitchen, looking bleak. Sinsa ran after him. I made to follow, and Karen stopped me. I heard the front door slam.

  ‘‘You. Set foot on our property again, I’ll treat it as a robbery,’’ she said. ‘‘I don’t mean I’ll have you arrested. I mean we’ll fill your ass full of buckshot.’’ Her nostrils flared. ‘‘Am I clear?’’

  ‘‘As ice.’’

  ‘‘Good. Get out.’’

  It was a long walk to the door, and I felt the skin tighten on my cheeks. Outside, I looked around for P.J.

  The black X5 went roaring by. He was in the passenger seat. They raced down the wet driveway before I could shout.

  9

  By the time I got home I was pissed off, hungry, and chafed. My track bottoms were full of sand. The day had been horrible.

  It was about to get worse.

  I phoned the morgue and gave Aguilar the name Brittany Gaines. Then, sitting down at my desk, I went online and checked my credit report. It confirmed my fears.

  Allied Pacific Bank. Credit card. Amount past due: $3,758.

  Delta One Visa. Credit card. Amount past due: $2,241.

  Americredit Financial Services. Auto lease. Ninety days past due. Status: Involuntary Repossession.

  I counted ten fraudulent entries, racking up twenty thousand dollars’ worth of bad debts in my name. I was going to be thoroughly, painfully reamed. This was bleeding-ulcer territory. And not all the bad debts were listed by the credit agency—such as the one that the Pancho Villa mustaches wanted to collect.

  Had a bad debt gotten Brittany Gaines killed?

  I phoned the credit agencies and put a fraud alert on my account. Then I phoned my bank. And each company that had issued a fraudulent card in my name.

  One of the fake cards had been issued by Allied Pacific Bank, the bank where the stolen Datura checks had been cashed. That made me think somebody had opened an account there in the name of K. E. Delaney. But I couldn’t check that out until Monday. I printed everything. Karen Jimson would need to see this.

  I flopped back in my desk chair, nerves jangling. I knew what I had to do next: file a crime report. The police department had forms online. While it printed, I went to the kitchen for a glass of water.

  Filing a crime report meant exposing P.J. to a harsh wind. But I had no doubt that he had taken the checks from the Jimsons, and helped Brittany forge my identity.

  What was wrong with him? Stealing from the Jimsons? He loved working for Ricky. He didn’t have to do anything. He watched TV. He had Sinsa to wind him up like a top. Why would he sabotage his ideal job by stealing checks from their business account?

  Some E. And maybe a few lines. I set my water glass down so hard it cracked.

  Outside came the sound of light feet running. ‘‘Aunt Evvie. We’re here.’’

  My anxieties fell away. I let out a whoop. ‘‘Luke.’’

  He was sprinting along the flagstone path, so nimble he might have been weightless. His black hair bounced up and down. His eyes were alight, his face split by a smile. I ran out and he leaped into my arms.

  I spun him around. He smelled like fresh air. He felt as light as a melody, but I said, ‘‘Wow, you’re so heavy.’’

  ‘‘I’m not little anymore.’’

  No, he wasn’t. My nephew was seven years old and the toughest, purest soul I knew. I kissed him and he kissed me back. At that moment, I could have died happy.

  At the front of the garden, the gate scraped the walk. My brother’s name was on my lips. But he wasn’t the man standing there.

  ‘‘Marc,’’ I said.

  In the wintry light, Commander Marcus Dupree looked like a crag of basalt. Black jeans and turtleneck, bitter-chocolate skin, aviator shades. He tipped his head and strolled toward us.

  ‘‘Evan. Delighted to see you.’’ His voice was velvet
: Barry White minus two hundred pounds. ‘‘The drive certainly ended better than it started.’’

  His smile was melancholy. I knew then how desolate my brother had felt until he found out it was all a mistake. For Marc to drive two hundred miles with him . . .

  ‘‘You’re a pal, Dupree,’’ I said.

  Behind him Brian appeared, carrying a duffel bag. He slung it to the ground and swooped me into his arms.

  ‘‘Nine lives, kid.’’ He kissed the top of my head. ‘‘You may still have ’em, but you knocked a few off of my count today.’’

  He couldn’t afford to squander any more. I leaned back to get a good look at him. ‘‘Didn’t help. You’re still the ugly child.’’

  In truth, he was looking good. Angular as always, black hair and eyes shining, implacable cool in place, though I knew it hid a well of concern.

  We headed for the door and he said, ‘‘Explain this balls-up today. Jesse didn’t give me much info.’’

  ‘‘He couldn’t talk. We were in the cold room at the morgue.’’

  I said it without thinking. Luke turned round eyes on me. Brian put a hand on the back of my neck and nudged me onward, telling me unmistakably to shut up. He didn’t want to talk about death in front of Luke. But we couldn’t avoid it. That was why they had come.

  ‘‘Credit card fraud. She had my ID on her,’’ I said.

  Luke hopped up and down, tugging at my shirt. ‘‘Where’s Jesse?’’

  I pointed inside. ‘‘Give him a call.’’

  Brian’s hand tightened on my neck. Wonderful. Jesse wasn’t even here yet, and Brian was acting annoyed about him. Add a couple of actual Blackburn wisecracks and they’d be celebrating the annual Rub Each Other Wrong Festival.

  Family. Kill me now.

  ‘‘Let me get this straight.’’ Brian sat on a kitchen stool, peeling the label from a bottle of Dos Equis. ‘‘In the past twenty-four hours your ID gets stolen, Slink Jimson gets ripped off, two shylocks play Beach Blanket Bingo with you, and the thief washes up, stiff. Santa Barbara has more action than Bangkok.’’

  ‘‘It’s been going on for months. I only found out about it in the last twenty-four hours.’’

  ‘‘The way a blocked sewer backs up until it blows. The question is, what kicked off the explosion?’’

  Outside the French doors, Luke paced up and down the path. He looked our way and said, ‘‘How much longer?’’

  I shrugged and smiled at him. ‘‘It’s only been fifteen minutes.’’

  He continued pacing. Across the living room, Marc finished a phone conversation, saying, ‘‘Love you, too.’’

  Though I pretended not to listen, I was struck by the warmth in his voice. I knew him as the cool hand on my brother’s shoulder: half sensei, half guardian angel. He had been, ever since Brian separated from his wife but couldn’t stop loving her, even through the crazed days that ended in her death. But usually I saw Marc in the cockpit, opening the throttles on an F/A- 18. Slinging a Hornet across the desert sky, screaming past the airfield with Brian on his wing, he was one mean son of a bitch.

  He sauntered to the counter. ‘‘The girls are fine. Ball game and the ballet recital were both wins.’’ He raised his beer. ‘‘Salud.’’

  He’d been divorced about a year. He and Brian, friends from Naval Academy days, were now bound by their singledom as well. At sea on dry land.

  ‘‘And there’s no problem with canceling the reservation in Palm Springs,’’ he said. ‘‘I got two rooms at the Fiesta Coast Motel here instead.’’

  ‘‘Sorry to throw a wrench into your vacation,’’ I said.

  ‘‘No problem. Santa Barbara has golf courses. We’ll spend the week here.’’ He clinked beer bottles with Brian.

  Outside, I heard Jesse. ‘‘Hey, little dude.’’

  Luke leaped and came down sprinting for the gate. He ran out of sight beyond a trellis of jasmine, saying, ‘‘Yes.’’

  Jesse laughed. The sound made my weekend. A moment later they came along the path. Luke was kneeling on Jesse’s lap, hands on his shoulders.

  ‘‘And I can almost do an ollie. There’s a skate park by the lake. The teenagers don’t like second graders skateboarding there, but I did the quarter pipe once. It rocked.’’

  ‘‘That must be how you knocked out your front teeth, huh?’’ Jesse said.

  ‘‘No, I wiggled them loose. Silly.’’ He pushed against Jesse’s chest.

  Brian hopped off the stool. ‘‘Careful there.’’

  From experience, I could see that Luke’s weight was balanced on Jesse’s knees. They weren’t going to fall over. Also from experience, I knew not to intervene. But Brian was halfway across the room, hands out.

  ‘‘Better hop down,’’ he said.

  Jesse came through the door. ‘‘We’re fine.’’ He extended his hand. ‘‘Brian.’’

  They shook. I introduced Marc, who smiled and sought for anyplace to rest his gaze besides wheels. Jesse came into the living room, keeping up his stream of chatter with Luke. What’s up at school? Science. Chicken pox. Hot lunch. One reason he got such a kick out of Luke, and from kids generally, was that they quickly treated him as a regular person. They might stare and ask blatant questions, but then they added his circumstances to their view of the world. Whereas adults sang from the Hymnal of Inane Remarks, at the liturgy of Avoiding the Obvious. Let us now cloak our discomfort. And twist our tongues, Amen. However, Jesse dealt with that in his own way.

  ‘‘Got any more beer?’’ he said. ‘‘I need at least three before I can skateboard.’’

  But then, guns blazing was his standard personality setting. Marc smiled so tightly that a corkscrew couldn’t have pried through his lips. I brought Jesse a Dos Equis.

  Brian turned a chair around and straddled it. ‘‘How’s my pony?’’

  ‘‘Full of fight.’’ Jesse tilted the bottle to his lips.

  ‘‘You letting her out? You know how she likes to run.’’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘‘And she looks great in black. But she’s staying in the barn tonight.’’ They didn’t need to brag about how fast the Mustang could go, or soon they’d take it out and find an empty stretch of freeway. I put a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. ‘‘Things okay with your folks?’’

  ‘‘Mom’s upset, and so I’m in the doghouse. Find P.J.?’’

  I glanced briefly at Brian. ‘‘He doesn’t remember anything. He blacked out.’’

  Jesse eased Luke off his lap. ‘‘Don’t tell me you believe that.’’

  ‘‘When I told him, he broke down. It was pathetic.’’

  ‘‘He can be extremely convincing. Don’t let him play you.’’

  ‘‘It wasn’t an act. He’s that bad, Jesse.’’

  ‘‘Great.’’ He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘‘That’s just great.’’

  Brian leaned on the back of the chair. ‘‘What’s the deal with your boss? She can’t honestly believe this crap about Ev stealing checks from a client.’’

  ‘‘Officially? She’s reserving judgment,’’ Jesse said.

  ‘‘Dammit.’’ I felt cut to the quick.

  ‘‘Unofficially, she thinks it’s a gambit. Karen’s hoping the firm will simply cover the loss.’’

  ‘‘Not at my expense,’’ I said.

  Brian nodded at Jesse. ‘‘And what are you doing about it?’’

  Jesse gave him an unhurried look. ‘‘I’m working on it.’’

  Luke tensed around the mouth. I pulled him to me and kissed his hair. He fidgeted.

  And pointed at the door. ‘‘Who’s that?’’

  The knock brought all our heads around. A man and woman stood outside in the dwindling light.

  ‘‘Jehovah’s Witnesses,’’ Brian said.

  I shook my head. They looked too cynical. ‘‘It’s the police.’’

  The woman held up a badge. ‘‘Sheriffs.’’

  She had a boxer’s stance, as though she was used to holding her ground. ‘‘
We have some questions about Brittany Gaines.’’

  I sensed Brian and Marc falling in behind me, acting as my wingmen. That felt good. But patriotic gal though I am, who chokes up at the thought of navy pilots launching off the carrier deck, I knew that Brian and Marc couldn’t do a damn thing to keep the police off my back.

  But Jesse said the magic words. ‘‘Talk to me. I’m Ms. Delaney’s lawyer.’’

  The woman flipped open a notebook. ‘‘Your name?’’

  Jesse handed her his card.

  ‘‘Detective Lilia Rodriguez.’’ She handed the card to the man. ‘‘Gary Zelinski.’’

  They were young. Rodriguez had a Peter Pan haircut and a kid’s restlessness. And big, wary eyes. She looked as though she ran full tilt, watchful for all the bad things that racked the world.

  ‘‘Any relation to Judge Rodriguez?’’ I said.

  ‘‘I’m her daughter.’’

  Zelinski did a slow strut, taking in my Navajo rugs and Yosemite prints and the martial hostility radiating from the pilots. He had perfect cop features. Bland, like a sponge. Just right for soaking up information.

  He eyed Brian and Marc. ‘‘Who are these gentlemen?’’

  ‘‘My pallbearers,’’ I said.

  Jesse shot me a shut-up look.

  Luke walked to Brian’s side and leaned against him. Brian glanced at Marc and said, ‘‘We’ll take a walk.’’ Finding their jackets, the three of them headed out the door.

  Jesse pulled out a chair for me at the dining table. He wanted to get us all on equal footing, with the cops at eye level with him.

  Rodriguez sat down. ‘‘I talked to Jenny Aguilar, over at the morgue. She says neither of you could identify Miss Gaines’s remains.’’

  ‘‘That’s right,’’ he said.

  She tapped her pen against the notebook and looked at me. ‘‘But last night you got search and rescue out looking for her.’’

  ‘‘Evan did the right thing last night,’’ Jesse said.

  ‘‘Your name’s in our paperwork too, Mr. Blackburn.’’ Rodriguez wet her thumb and flipped through the notebook. ‘‘The deputy took it down from a man at the house. Were you at the party last night?’’

  ‘‘No.’’

  ‘‘Because there’s some confusion about the identity—’’