Twisted Reason (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery)

by Fanning, Diane

  Lucinda laughed out loud; she couldn’t help it. After surviving Captain Holland’s wrath, the idea of a threat from anyone else seemed ludicrous. Rachael stopped struggling and stared at Lucinda as if the detective had lost her mind. Lucinda slapped on the other cuff. She grabbed Rachael’s purse and gave a light poke to one of the woman’s shoulders and said, “Let’s go, girly.”

  “How dare you!” her prisoner sputtered.

  “Oh shut up. You invoked your right to remain silent – use it.”

  Rachael continued to spout threats and insults all the way through the tunnel and up to the booking desk. Lucinda kept walking and laughing all the way.

  At the desk, the booking deputy asked, “What did you do? Arrest a comedian?”

  “Not hardly,” Lucinda said, sliding the arrest warrant across the desk, “but she cracks me up just the same.”

  “Deputy,” Rachael said, “I want to report this woman. She has arrested me under false pretenses and has not accorded me the respect a woman of my position deserves.”

  The deputy leaned forward nodding, with a look of empathetic understanding on his face. “Really, ma’am. I am so sorry. We always try to be polite to prostitutes.”

  Rachael’s mouth opened wide but no words came out, just short, hard pants of outrage..

  “Lieutenant, is that her purse you’re carrying?”

  “Yes, it is. I would like the keys to her house, though. Rachael, could I give the keys to Eli so that he can take care of the dogs?”

  “How dare you?” Rachael shrieked.

  Lucinda turned to the deputy. “I guess we’ll have to break a window or bust down the door. Can’t have those little dogs starving to death.”

  “There’s a law against that, Lieutenant,” the deputy said with a grin. “In fact, I can call animal control right now and get the poor things taken to a shelter.”

  “Take the keys. Take the damn keys. Give them to Eli. Tell him if anything happens to a hair on their heads, he’s a dead man.”

  “Oh, Rachael,” Lucinda said in a soft voice, “I’m not an attorney but I must advise you not to say things like that. Threats against your husband’s life won’t sound good to the judge, particularly after what happened to your mother-in-law. In fact, when I tell him, he just might deny your bail and you’ll have to make a whole new set of friends.”

  “I want an attorney,” she sniffled. “I want an attorney now.”

  “I’m sure the deputy will let you call a lawyer as soon as you’re booked. Won’t you deputy?”

  “Sure will.”

  “But first,” Lucinda continued, “he’s going to need the belt from your dress and your jewelry.”

  “No!”

  “Yes, ma’am. They’ve got to take your belt to keep you from harming yourself and they have to secure your jewelry to keep it from being stolen. Then they’ll take your photograph and fingerprint you. After that, you’ll be able to call your attorney, okay?”

  “No, no, it’s not okay,” Rachael cried.

  A female deputy arrived at the desk. “We can take it from here, Lieutenant.”

  As Lucinda walked away, she heard Rachael’s pleas. “Detective, detective, don’t leave me here. Detective, please!”

  Lucinda knew she should feel some pity for a pampered sixty-something woman being locked up for the first time, but all she could think of was Adele, abandoned and thrown into strange surroundings where she drowned to death far from home.

  Forty-Six

  Back at the Justice Center, Lucinda went down to the morgue to see if any progress had been made on the identification of the remains found in the Blankenship backyard. She stopped first at Doc Sam’s office. “Hi, Doc.”

  “Lieutenant. Good timing. Saved me some trouble.” He handed papers across his desk. “This is the report from the forensic anthropologist. I haven’t gotten to the death certificate yet but the cause of death was a gunshot wound to the head. And the skeleton was Sadie Blankenship – dental records confirmed that.”

  “What about the male body?”

  “Alvin Hodges, just as you suspected. And he was killed the same way.”

  “And the third body?”

  “Now that you mention it, Pierce, I’d like to make a request.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It sure would be a lot easier on me if you find these damned bodies one at a time.”

  Lucinda smirked. “I’ll remember that in the future, Doc.”

  “See that you do. Anyway, the third body. She wasn’t shot. She was strangled. The rope was still around her neck. And, unfortunately, we don’t know who she is. Came up empty in the fingerprint database. Sent samples down to the lab for DNA testing but I don’t expect much from that. And her pockets were empty.”

  “Damn.”

  “Ought to make a law – can’t kill ’em and bury ’em without ID.”

  Lucinda left his office laughing. She called Robin Colter. “Thanks, Colter. I really appreciated your help today. Can I buy you a latte?”

  “You most certainly can. Meet you by security?”

  The two women expressed their mutual gratitude and walked out of the building. As they started across the street, Robin asked, “What do you think my chances are?”

  “I’d say—” Lucinda abruptly cut off as she saw a racing car coming in their direction. She grabbed at Robin. Simultaneously, Robin grabbed at her – both trying to push the other out of the way. They almost cleared the car, but the side mirror cut across Lucinda’s upper arm. Both women hit the ground, pushed themselves up and stared at the fleeing pale blue, ancient, vintage Mercedes.

  A patrol car parked at the curb took off in instant pursuit. Lucinda called Dispatch. She described the incident, the vehicle and requested more cars. Lucinda heard Robin on her own phone asking for an ambulance and assumed it was an over-abundance of caution.

  The women watched as one, two, three, four marked vehicles flew out of the garage moving at high speed, the sound of sirens fading as they moved further away. Officers carrying barricades ran into the street, blocking it from traffic. An approaching siren split the air, Lucinda looked toward the sound wondering what it was.

  An emergency vehicle screeched to a halt and a uniformed paramedic jumped out with a bag and rushed toward Lucinda. The driver hopped out and went to the back of the vehicle.

  “Lieutenant,” the paramedic said as he jogged towards her, “let me take a look at that arm.”

  Puzzled, Lucinda looked over at her left arm, saw the blood running down it and puddling onto the street. Suddenly, the pain registered. “Damn,” she said.

  The driver ran up pushing a gurney.

  “No. No way. Nope. Do it here,” Lucinda said.

  “Okay, Lieutenant, just hop up on the stretcher sideways,” the paramedic said. “I’ll bandage you up in the street.”

  As he cleaned up her injury, Lucinda observed the intensity of movement around the Justice Center. Beefy Captain Holland burst through the front doors, moving faster than she thought he should for a man of his size and age. He flew down the stairs, his feet barely touching the front steps.

  “Pierce. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, Captain. It’s just a little cut,” Lucinda answered.

  He looked at the pool of blood on the pavement and turned to the paramedic. “Just a little cut?”

  “Not exactly,” he said. “But I’ve seen a lot worse. Probably should get a couple of stitches but the lieutenant doesn’t want to go to the hospital.”

  “Aw, c’mon. Do I really need stitches?” Lucinda objected.

  “You’re more likely to have a wider, permanent scar without them.”

  “Oh please, look at my face. Does it look like a scar on my arm is going to bother me?”

  “Whatever you say, Lieutenant,” the paramedic responded.

  “You’re certain the stitches aren’t a medical necessity?” the captain asked.

  “Yes, sir,” the paramedic said.

&nbs
p; “Jeez, Pierce,” Holland griped, “you go out on a wild-ass mission. Two people are shot, one person is dead. You were trapped behind a bench taking gun fire, shot at while you hid in the water under a pier. And now you get hit crossing the street in front of the cop shop?”

  “Used up all my good luck, I’d guess,” Lucinda said with a shrug.

  “Please don’t move your arm, Lieutenant,” the paramedic asked.

  “Sorry. Listen, Captain, this wasn’t an accident. That car was coming straight at us with the pedal to the floor.”

  “Is the whole Blankenship family accounted for?” he asked.

  “Yes sir. In jail, in hospital or dead.”

  “What about the husband of the woman you just arrested?”

  “Not likely.”

  “Then, who?” Holland asked.

  “Why do you assume I was the target, sir? Maybe someone was after Colter.”

  “Colter? What do you think, Sergeant?” Holland asked.

  “I don’t know. She could be right. Or it could have been random anger – someone just wanting to run down a cop.”

  “If it were random, wouldn’t the driver have gone for someone in uniform?” Lucinda wondered aloud.

  “Either of you dumped any boyfriends lately?”

  The women looked at each other, rolled their eyes, and said, “No,” in unison.

  “Was anybody else working with the Blankenships, Pierce?”

  “Not that I know of, but . . . The third body!” Lucinda said.

  “Dead people can’t drive,” Holland said.

  “Yeah, but if someone else knows about that body . . .”

  “You think?”

  “It’s possible. She wasn’t shot, she was strangled. That tells me Gary Blankenship might not be good for that one. Could you call Jumbo’s captain and see if they can find any missing women who might have a direct or indirect connection to the Blankenships?”

  “He’s not going to be thrilled to hear from me. But it’ll probably help if I tell him you were a victim of a hit and run.”

  “Thanks, Captain.”

  A patrolman came running up. “Lieutenant, they got him. They want to know if a man named Sandy Grisham means anything to you or Sergeant Colter.”

  The women looked at each other and shook their heads.

  “I’ll give that name to Missing Persons,” Captain Holland said.

  “I want to question that guy when they get him here,” Lucinda said.

  “You sure about that, Pierce?” Holland asked. “I can get someone else.”

  “You better believe I want to face off with that guy. Try and stop me.”

  “Take Colter into the interview with you. If she gets the job, watching you at work will be good experience.” The captain jogged back into the building, leaving both women smiling.

  In the hallway outside of the interview room, Lucinda and Robin looked over the printout of Sandy Grisham’s criminal record. Although the list was long, the offenses were minor; Sandy spent time in jail but never in prison.

  Inside, a scrawny man in a blue denim shirt and black jeans sat in a chair, handcuffed to a U-bolt on the table. His mop of light brown hair didn’t look as if it had been touched by a comb or brush for a week or more. He smiled at the sight of the two women, revealing a missing upper tooth. “Woo wee! Two women cops, God must love me lots.”

  “We are the two people you attempted to kill today, Mr. Grisham. I truly doubt that makes God happy,” Lucinda said as she sat down and leaned towards him with her arms crossed on the table.

  “Hey, I lost control of the car,” he protested.

  “Bullshit,” Lucinda said. “I was there, remember. You veered straight towards us.”

  “C’mon, c’mon, that’s what happens, you know? You say to yourself, ‘Oh look, someone’s in the road. Don’t want to hit ’em.’ And damned if you don’t steer right toward ’em without realizin’ it.”

  “Mr. Grisham, you are facing some serious charges here. This isn’t like one of your old beefs where they toss you in county lock-up for thirty days then send you home with a slap on your wrist.”

  “You know, I didn’t do all them things they said I did. In fact—” Grisham said, shaking his head.

  Lucinda cut him off. “I don’t care about those petty crimes, Mr. Grisham. All that concerns me now are the present charges: attempted murder, assault of an officer of the law, attempted assault of an officer, hit and run, resisting arrest, speeding, running red lights. That’s just for starters, Mr. Grisham. I imagine the district attorney will find creative ways to slap a few other charges on you over the next few days. Why did you try to run us over?”

  “I missed you. I didn’t run over either one of y’all.”

  “That’s because we moved, not because of anything you did, Mr. Grisham.”

  “How can you charge me with hit and run? I didn’t even hit you.”

  Lucinda stood. She removed the jacket she’d retrieved from her office before coming to the interview. Turning her left side to Grisham, she said, “Explain that, then.” A bandage wrapped all the way around her arm. On both sides of it, the bruised area was growing darker. She slid back into her jacket and sat down. “Well, Mr. Grisham?”

  “I did that?”

  “Yes, sir. Didn’t you notice the damage to your side mirror?”

  “Didn’t notice much of anything, to be honest, I just was trying to get home.”

  “Just trying to get home? Do you normally drive seventy miles an hour through a residential neighborhood, Mr. Grisham?”

  “No. Not normally. I won’t say I never done it before . . .”

  “I should hope not. Because right in front of me it says you were going seventy-five miles an hour a couple of years ago when you drove past a suburban elementary school.”

  “Yeah, somebody was pissed at me. I was just tryin’ to get away.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me, Grisham. I’m beginning to get a little pissed at you myself.”

  “C’mon, c’mon, I’m sorry I hurt your arm,” Sandy whined.

  “Why, Grisham? Why did you point that car at us and try to run us down?”

  “It weren’t personal, honest.”

  “Just tell me why.”

  “I can’t. I just can’t. I would if it was just up to me. But it’s not. So I just can’t.”

  Lucinda wanted to jerk that weasel up out of his chair and bang his head against the wall. Instead, she stared at him. He squirmed beneath her gaze. Thirty seconds of silence was all Sandy could tolerate. “C’mon, c’mon, you know how it is, dontcha?”

  A rap at the door caused a spark of anger to ignite inside Lucinda. She turned her head sharply towards it. Captain Holland’s head stuck in and he motioned her out into the hall. Her anger dissipated in the hopes he had some information she could use.

  “His daughter-in-law, Darlene Karnes Grisham, has been missing for a couple of months. Most of her friends and neighbors thought she’d gotten fed up with supporting her abusive husband and just walked out. But maybe not,” Holland said.

  “Is it her body in the morgue?” Lucinda asked.

  “We think it is. Her driver’s license photo looks like a match.”

  “How about if I take our boy down to look at the body?”

  “Might do the trick. She’s pretty ripe. She’s out in the isolation unit.”

  “Tell a tech I’ll be coming down for an ID,” Lucinda said.

  As she returned to the room, Sandy said, “This cop here needs some work. She didn’t do the good cop thing too well while you were gone.”

  Lucinda ignored him. “Sergeant Colter, unlock the prisoner from the table and cuff his hands behind his back. We’re going on a little field trip.”

  Robin raised her eyebrows in an unspoken question and did as requested. The threesome went out of the police department and down the elevator to the basement. When they went through the stainless steel doors into the autopsy room, Sandy balked. “I don’t want to go i
n here. This place gives me the creeps. It’s worse than a cemetery.”

  Robin tugged on the chain between the cufflinks. “Keep moving, Grisham.”

  “We’re just passing through,” Lucinda added.

  They walked through the back door and across a concrete platform leading to a small, separate building butted against the wall of the bigger structure. A tech in a white jacket unlocked it as they approached. He pulled open the heavy insulated door. It made a popping sound as the seal released.

  Sandy stopped at the doorway. “Man, it really stinks in there.”

  Robin manhandled him inside. “If I have to put up with it, you can, too, Grisham.”

  “Won’t be here long, Grisham,” Lucinda assured him. “We just need you to identify the body.”

  Sandy squirmed as Robin dragged him closer to the sheet-draped stainless steel table in the middle of the room. Lucinda pulled down the top of the sheet, exposing the face. “Look familiar, Grisham?”

  Sandy turned his head away and closed his eyes. Lucinda grabbed his chin, twisting it towards the woman’s body. She pushed down on the top of his head bringing him closer to her. He held his breath and squeezed his eyes tighter in response.

  “Open your damn eyes,” Lucinda shouted. “You can’t hold your breath forever and you’re not leaving here until you look at this body.”

  Sandy’s face turned red. His breath exploded out. When he inhaled, he made a disgusted sound and struggled. “Get me out of here. Get me out of here.”

  “Open your eyes, Grisham,” Lucinda demanded.

  Sandy relented. He looked down at the dirt-stained face and sloughing skin. His shoulders jutted upward and he doubled over. Robin jerked him to the side of the room where he heaved up the contents of his stomach on to the floor.

  “Who is she, Grisham?” Lucinda shouted over his retching. “Who is she?”

  “Get me out of here. Get me out of here and I’ll tell you. Just, for God’s sake, get me out of here.”

  Lucinda dampened a paper towel and handed it to Robin who wiped Sandy’s mouth. They led him back up to the interview room and cuffed him to the table. He sat, panting, his face ashen, beads of perspiration dotting his forehead.