by M. Z. Kelly
I glared at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Mo answered for her. She looked at Otto. “I think we could all use a drink, if you got something in our shithole of a kitchen.”
Otto scurried off, saying, “I’ll see what I can find, madam.”
We took seats, and Mo made it clear that she knew all about my day. “We heard you’re back working that dead lovers case, chasing your tail.”
I ran a hand through Bernie’s fur as he settled at my feet. “That pretty much sums it up.”
Natalie was seated across from her. “Me and Mo heard something about that Spence woman, if you wanna hear it.”
I brushed a hand through my messy hair, thinking I needed to make an appointment with Robin, but remembering he was out of town. “I’m listening.”
“We heard that Gina Spence was a yordel.”
“Huh?”
“A chica caliente.”
“A hot girl,” Mo interpreted, giving me an eye roll. “She had lots of action, or, I should say guys that wanted in on the action.”
Our victim had been an extremely attractive woman, so what she said wasn’t necessarily a surprise, even though she’d been married. “Have you heard about anyone in particular?”
“Just a rumor that she mighta had some high roller on the side.”
Natalie broke into a tune, singing, “I wanna be a billionaire so freakin’ bad.”
Mo regarded her. “I doubt that’s gonna happen, baby sis, unless you get a big fish on the line.”
“I’m workin’ on it.” She looked at me. “Not sure if the bloke your victim hooked up with was a billionaire, but, word has it, he might be somebody with juice.”
Mo interpreted again. “Power and influence.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” I said.
“What’s the latest on Lindsay?” Mo asked.
My spirits sank, as my gaze moved off, and I thought about her. “Nothing, as far as I know. The only good news is Joe was able to get some protection for Robin.” I looked back at them. “Have you heard anything about Daniel?”
I got headshakes, as Otto was bringing drinks over from the kitchen. As he served up what Natalie called Dirty Hogs, Natalie mentioned our meeting with Pythia. “That gypsy woman was bloody brilliant. I met me a guy named Goose today.”
Mo sipped her Hog. “Didn’t she say something ‘bout gooses and ganders last night?”
Natalie smiled. “Yeah, and she proved her mettle. I got me a feelin’ the goose is gonna get the juice.”
“So what’s this guy do?” I asked.
“He’s a script writer. He’s hopin’ Spielberg wants his next script.”
“Maybe he’s got a friend for me,” Mo said, fussing with the night’s choice of a pink wig. “I’m tired of the single life and need to find me that soulmate Pythia mentioned.”
“What’s the latest with you and Joe?” Natalie asked me.
“We were going to have dinner, but he’s busy with...with everything that’s going on.”
She must have seen my emotions surfacing. “We’ll find your sis. It’s just a matter of time.”
I tried to put Lindsay out of my mind and asked them about their upcoming roller derby event.
“We been practicing at Wallbangers,” Mo said, rubbing her shoulder. “But them girls are tough.”
“We’re definitely gonna need our bloody cut woman,” Natalie said, “so don’t forget you’re on duty for next Saturday night.”
“Don’t forget we also scheduled you for that JPS run,” Mo said. “And it’s for charity, so don’t try and back out.”
I sighed, as the doorbell rang. “I can’t wait.”
Otto answered the door and showed Tex into the living room. After saying hello, Tex opened the box he was carrying and set his robotic skull on the table.
“I’ve made a few adjustments to Bones’ software, and he’s better than ever,” Tex said to me. “I heard things haven’t gone so well with that Caine fellow.”
“That’s for sure.” I looked at his creation, as its eyes glowed. “But I’m not sure Bones will be of much help.”
“I have extensively researched the situation you are discussing,” Bones said in his unnerving, urbane voice. “The situation is urgent.”
What he said spiked my anxiety. I took a sip of my Hog, then said, “Go on.”
“I am aware that the subject known as Phaedrus, or Nathan Caine, has taken your sister.”
I looked at Tex. “How does he know about that? It hasn’t been released to the press.”
“Bones operates on asymptotic algorithms. In layman’s terms, it involves a reduction in complexity by finding common elements in a complex problem. It’s more generally known as divide-and-conquer deductive reasoning.”
“What’d he say?” Natalie asked me.
“I’m not sure,” I told her. I looked at Tex’s creation. “Let’s hear the rest of it.”
“Your sister, Lindsay, is playing a part in a grand scheme. She is integral to what is to follow.”
“Is he using my sister as leverage against me?” I asked, thinking about what Olivia had said.
“The odds of that probability are less than forty percent, with a .63 statistical deviation.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Mo said, obviously feeling the effects of her Hog.
Tex picked up on her frustration and said to Bones. “Please simplify and summarize.”
Bones’ red eyes seemed to glow brighter as he said something that shot my anxiety off the charts. “Nathan Caine is a serial killer unlike any other. His actions are unpredictable. Only one outcome can be postulated, based on his prior actions.”
“And what is the likely outcome?” Tex asked.
Bones turned his eyes from Tex to me. “I have been programmed to offer a sympathetic response, so please accept my condolences in advance. I’m afraid your sister will die.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
I was so upset by what Tex’s creation had said that I went to bed early and called Joe. After I got him on the line, I laid out what Bones had said, telling him that he’d predicted Lindsay would die.
“Yeah, well, we’re all gonna die,” Joe said. “Some of us sooner than later. And, if I was taking bets, the last guy I would bet on was some robot named Bones.” He laughed. “Leave it to your friends and...who did you say has the robot?”
“Natalie’s ex. He’s brilliant, but eccentric as hell.”
“How did he get the details about Lindsay being taken? That information has been withheld from the press.”
“According to Tex, the software in Bones has access to almost all the databases in existence and it uses some kind of algorithm.”
“Just be sure this Tex guy keeps his mouth shut. We’re working on a lead on your sister, and I don’t want anything being spilled to the press.”
“What kind of lead?”
“Don’t get your hopes up, but we’ve put some feelers out with a guy who might know what Caine’s up to.”
“Who’s that?”
“A DEA agent that took an early retirement. I’ll let you know if it pans out.”
He went on for a few minutes, trying to reassure me that Lindsay would be found, before the conversation turned personal.
“Have you given any more thought about spending a few days at my place near Phoenix? I’m pretty good company, not to mention I have a few other talents.”
I chuckled but hesitated before answering. The truth was I hadn’t thought about visiting him, given everything that had happened, but I didn’t want to disappoint him. “It sounds lovely. As soon as we get things settled, let’s firm things up.”
“I think that’s going to be sooner, rather than later. How about dinner tomorrow night?”
“I’d like that. Let me get with you tomorrow after I see how my day goes.”
After ending the call, I read for a while before putting Bernie to bed, turning out my light, and trying to sleep. I lay a
wake for a long time, thinking about my half-sister. It had been less than two years ago when I’d learned of Lindsay’s existence. My birth mother, Judie Crawford, had married Ryan Cooper, the same man that Harlan Ryland had hired to murder my adoptive father. Lindsay had been born and raised in Brazil, probably because Cooper was working for the Rylands there.
Ryan Cooper was an abusive monster who had molested Lindsay when she was a girl. He’d subsequently turned his violence on our mother after Lindsay was grown, putting her in a convalescent hospital, where she later died.
I’d made it my personal mission to find Cooper and make him pay for what he’d done. When he’d realized I was on his trail, he began stalking and trying to kill me. Lindsay had realized what was happening and intervened, shooting him and saving my life.
Tears filled my eyes when I thought about what she’d done. The sister who I hardly knew had risked her life to save mine, but had killed her own father, even though he was an abusive monster. I knew that had deeply impacted her, and she’d spent months in counseling, trying to come to terms with what had happened.
As I closed my eyes, and sleep finally came to me, I made a solemn vow that I would find Lindsay. I would save the sister who had saved me. I would make it my life’s mission, no matter what it took.
TWENTY-NINE
At work the next morning, Lieutenant Byrd gathered everyone in his office, along with our crime analysts, Jenny Durst and Molly Wingate. Jenny and Molly were exceptional at gathering information and putting together elements of crimes that had sometimes been missed.
After Bernie trotted off for a morning nap, and I worked on my third cup of coffee after my restless night, Byrd began the morning’s briefing.
“What’s the latest on locating Garth Spence?” the lieutenant asked Leo and Al.
Al answered. “Mr. Handsome has been lying low at the Reef Hotel in Malibu. He claims he was upset over his wife’s death and needed to get away. I’m not buying it for a minute.”
“What’d he say about the withdrawals from his bank account?” Olivia asked.
Leo answered. “He claims he had some personal debts that he owed to a friend. He promised to get us the name and contact information for the friend in the next day or so.”
“A friend with benefits, no doubt,” Al said. “I’ll bet he’s had something going on the side for a long time. Whatever name he provides won’t be worth the paper it’s written on.”
“What about the neighbors?” the lieutenant said. “Did you come up with anything worthwhile when you canvassed their street?”
“Just that both Gina and Garth were gone a lot. Probably because both of them were involved with other people.”
“But we have nothing on Garth that shows that,” Leo added.
“You still think the husband’s good for both crimes?” the lieutenant asked Al.
“I’d bet my pension on it.” Al had some second thoughts. “Check me on that. Let’s just say I’d bet the farm, if I had one.”
“Doesn’t sound like a vote of confidence to me,” Olivia said with a smile, maybe just to needle him.
Al scowled. “It’s just a matter of time until we nail the bastard.”
“What else?” Byrd said, trying to move on.
“Maybe we should have Jenny and Molly summarize what we have,” Leo suggested. “I’d kind of like to go over all the pieces.”
Al rolled his eyes and objected. The lieutenant overruled him, but with a caveat. “Let’s focus on what we know, leave out anything extraneous.”
Molly, who was a single mother in her thirties, referenced her notes as she began. “We have two victims, an older man and a younger woman, both killed with nearly identical MOs. Almost a week ago, Gina Spence, age thirty-two, a school teacher at Monroe Middle School, was shot in the parking garage at the West Hollywood Gateway Mall. The COD was a single shot in the back. John McVey, age forty-six, was shot in his driveway three days later. The round that killed him matches the one taken from Spence’s body. There’s nothing in the databases that’s a match to a weapon. It’s noteworthy that McVey was an associate editor for the Herald-Press. According to his colleagues, he’d been obsessed with finding Gina’s killer because he’d been in a relationship with her for the past several months.”
“Enter Garth Spence,” Jenny said. Our younger crime analyst was in her late twenties, with blonde hair and blue eyes, someone whose physical attributes were not lost on the younger male officers. “Garth denies knowing his wife was involved with McVey but had withdrawn ten thousand dollars form his bank accounts in the week before she died.” Jenny looked at Al. “Ostensibly to pay off some prior debts.”
“And, don’t forget, Garth looks like he could be George Clooney’s younger brother. There’s no way he was home crying the blues while his wife was out screwing the reporter.”
Molly ignored his comments and went on. “There are several other issues that your investigation has uncovered. We know that John McVey wrote an exposé on Sorin Chemicals last year, reporting the company’s products allegedly cause birth defects. Jenny and I are still researching the company to try to determine if there might have been any form of retaliation.”
“There’s also the issue of McVey’s daughter, Danica Andrews, claiming she was molested by her father,” I said. “They had been estranged for a number of years. She admitted that she hated her father, but denied wanting to harm him.”
“There’s also his ex-wife, Stephanie, who, the daughter says, was cheated on for years.” Olivia said, and looked at me. “However, nothing in our interview raised any red flags.”
“Agreed,” I said. “I think she’d moved on.”
“Anything more?” Byrd asked.
Jenny answered. “Just that Gina Spence had auditioned for a small part with Mogul Studios and claimed the casting director...” She checked her paperwork. “…a guy named Jack Dennison, sexually harassed her.”
“What’s Dennison have to say?”
“He’s been scouting filming locations in Montana,” Olivia said. “He’s supposed to call us when he’s in town.”
The lieutenant raised his brows, looking around the room. When no one spoke up, he said, “Let’s follow up with Dennison, the chemical company, and anything or anyone else that...”
My phone rang, interrupting him. “Sorry,” I said and stood. “It’s Joe Dawson.”
I excused myself and was leaving the room as I heard the lieutenant tell the others they would be doing double-duty because they were being assigned the shooting case on Hollywood Boulevard that he’d mentioned yesterday.
“What’s up?” I asked Joe when I was in the hallway outside the lieutenant’s office.
“Saddle up. We just got a lead on what Caine’s next move might be.”
“Where are we going?”
“Mexico.”
THIRTY
“I want the shower working and a new hot water heater installed,” Jack Logan fumed. “I also want the kitchen finished.”
Joe and I were in Puerto Penasco, Mexico, also known as Rocky Point, at a rundown house overlooking the Gulf of California, owned by Jack. We’d left Los Angeles late in the afternoon after I’d made arrangements with my friends to take care of Bernie. All I knew about Logan was that Joe said he was an old friend, a retired DEA agent, who was an expert on Nathan Caine. When we arrived, we’d found Logan on his patio in a heated conversation with his contractor.
“This will take some time, Señor Logan,” the contractor, a wiry little guy named Carlito, said. “I am afraid there will also be an added cost.”
Logan, who was around fifty, with graying brown hair and blue eyes, was angry. His face turned the color of the horizon, which was glowing crimson, thanks to the setting sun. He grabbed the little man by his shirt. “I’m not putting another dime down this rat hole. Everything that’s wrong here is because of faulty or unfinished construction. You will make good on our original contract, or...” Logan’s gaze moved over to his bulldog
, who was asleep in a corner of the patio. The dog’s enormous bloated belly rose and fell as it slept. “...or you will answer to Fred.” He pointed to the bulldog.
Carlito made no attempt to suppress his laughter. “Pardon me, Señor, but your perro does not look like he is much of a fighter.”
Logan smiled, put two fingers to his lips, and gave a short, sharp whistle. In an instant, Fred was on his feet, making a beeline for the contractor.
Carlito was so shocked by the dog’s sudden attack that he stumbled backward and fell. Fred let out a deep growl, clamped his jaws on the little man’s neck and waited.
“Please, Señor Logan, let me go!” Carlito pleaded.
We watched as Logan pulled a chair over, turned it backward, and took a seat to consider his contractor’s predicament.
“I don’t think I ever formally introduced you to Fred,” Logan said. “Fact is, my dog used to work for the DEA. They trained him to kill on command.” He pointed to the dog’s collar. “See those notches?” He chuckled. “’Course you can’t, ’cause you’re about to die. Each notch stands for a kill. One word from me, Carlito, and Fred clamps down, severing your carotid artery. Last fellow that tangled with him bled to death in four minutes. Why don’t we see how long...?”
“Please, no!” Carlito said. “I will fix your casa, just like you want. I will finish the work at no charge.”
Logan called his dog off. Carlito scrambled to his feet and dusted himself off. “I will be back first thing in the morning to begin the work.”
Logan took a step closer to him. “You know what I call a man who doesn’t keep his word?” The contractor shook his head. “Dead.”
After Carlito was gone, Joe looked at the bulldog and then said to his friend, “I didn’t know the DEA used bulldogs.”
Logan smiled and took some beers from the small fridge on his patio. “The truth is, I bought Fred for forty bucks from a guy who dressed him in a sombrero and sunglasses. He offered tourists a chance to have their picture taken with a Mexican bulldog. During the negotiations for the dog, the guy told me that he and Fred worked as bouncers in a bar at one time. He trained Fred to assume the attack position by having him lick chicken broth off his cousin’s neck.”
