Murder A La Carte

by Nancy Skopin

  The tub of anger approaching me was only a few yards away and pointing a stubby finger at Scott. She was about my height but at least two hundred pounds. Her hair was blond with dark roots, her make-up was excessive, and her jeans were too tight. That probably accounted for the red face.

  “What the fuck is my nephew doing in your car?” she yelled.

  I took out my cell phone and dialed 911, and then politely said, “I gave him a ride home from school.”

  She had reached me now and stood so close I could smell her deodorant failing.

  “Get out of the car, Scottie, now!” she screamed.

  I heard the car door open and turned to my young client. “Would you stay in the car for a minute please, Scott? I’d like to have a word with your aunt.”

  “You can go straight to hell, lady. What are you, some kind of kiddie molester? You like ’em young?” And she shoved me.

  I had expected this and I was braced, but she put her weight into it and I stumbled back, banging into the car. I heard Buddy growl deep in his throat and hoped he’d stay put. I did not need a lawsuit involving my dog. As it was, I could have her arrested for assault. If my dog happened to bite her, then I’d be the one in trouble.

  The highway patrol 911 operator came on the line and I said, “There’s an assault taking place. Scott, what’s the address here?”

  I was trying to stay calm, but I could feel the adrenaline doing its job. I wanted to fight back.

  When she grabbed for my cell phone, I quickly tossed it to Scott. She pushed me out of her way, trying to get at Scott through the open window. Buddy jumped into the front seat and uttered the most ferocious bark I have ever heard in my life. He stopped short of biting her, but he showed his teeth and she quickly backed away from the car.

  Scott spoke into the phone, clearly stating the address for the 911 dispatcher.

  His aunt turned back to me. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” she shouted, and gave me another shove.

  Buddy leaned out the window, roared out another bark, and snapped at her. I quickly stepped between them.

  “My name,” I said, “is Nicoli Hunter. I’m a private investigator, and if you touch me again I’m going to press charges.”

  She froze. People who abuse children, for that matter people who routinely break the law, tend to become alert in the presence of any kind of cop, even a private cop. She didn’t know what I was investigating. Maybe she was breaking more laws than I knew about. Maybe I should make it my business to find out. I had every intention of pressing assault charges, but she didn’t need to know that until the cops arrived. In situations like this I like nothing better than to see an officer of the law.

  I had a small canister of defense spray on my key chain. I reached into the car and took my keys out of the ignition, removed the canister from its case, shook it to activate it, and pointed the nozzle at the bitch, my finger poised to spray.

  Two boys had come out of a house across the street and were standing in the front yard watching. These were the kids I’d seen following Scott out of the school building. They looked like their mother. Both had dark hair and round bodies. I felt sorry for them, but they were not my concern at the moment.

  “Are the police on the way?” I asked Scott.

  When he didn’t answer I turned my head and quickly glanced into the car. He was still talking. The 911 dispatcher had engaged him in conversation and he was telling her everything that was happening. Excellent! The whole conversation would be recorded and there would be no way his aunt could dispute the assault charges. Now all I had to do was avoid getting my ass kicked and keep my dog in line until the cops arrived.

  Scott’s aunt recovered the power of speech and, hands on hips, repeated, “What the fuck are you doing with my nephew?”

  “I don’t think that’s any of your business,” I said, gripping my defense spray and preparing to restrain Buddy if she pushed me again.

  Since childhood I have struggled with my inability to back away from confrontations. This is sometimes a problem, like when a woman who outweighs me by sixty-five pounds takes a swing at me.

  “I’m making it my business,” she said, and poked me in the chest.

  “This is pepper spray,” I said, hoping the 911 dispatcher would catch it. “If you touch me again I’m going to spray it in your face.”

  She stepped back, but I could tell she wasn’t finished. “You have no fucking right!” she screamed at me.

  No right? “No right to do what?” I asked.

  She sputtered and her face looked like it was ready to explode, but she didn’t answer. This woman reminded me of a schoolyard bully. She didn’t know why she was angry, but the anger was in control.

  At long last I heard a siren. It was a beautiful sound. The black and white rolled around the corner and I waved frantically, trying to get their attention. They sped up the street and stopped behind my car and I realized that I didn’t know what I was going to say to them. I didn’t have Scott’s permission to tell anyone that I was working for him, not to mention any of the things he’d told me about his aunt.

  I quickly ducked into the car, leaning around Buddy. “Scott, I need your permission to tell the police that your aunt has been hitting you.”

  I held my breath and waited for him to respond. Instead he handed me the cell phone and got out of the car. He marched around the back of the car, avoiding his aunt, and approached the police officers, one male and one female, who were now out of the cruiser and talking to Godzilla. She was pointing a finger at me and I heard the word kidnapper.

  Scott put his hand on the arm of the lady cop to get her attention, and quietly said, “That’s a lie.”

  She turned to look at him and his aunt lunged, cuffing him on the ear before any of us could stop her. Like a flash Buddy flew through the open car window and landed, paws first, on her shoulder. She fell to the ground with the dog on top of her, his teeth bared in her face. I put up my hand to stop the police from approaching, gently pulled him off the woman, and herded him back into the car.

  “Good dog,” I murmured.

  When Buddy was secured, I turned to Scott. “Are you all right?” I asked.

  He was rubbing his ear, which was crimson, but he was smiling brightly at Buddy. “I’m okay,” he said to me. “Nikki works for me,” he said to the cops.

  That raised a couple of eyebrows.

  The lady cop helped Scott’s aunt to her feet and locked her in the back of the patrol car. Then we were able to talk without the threat of another violent outburst. Scott told them about hiring me to investigate his mom’s murder. I admired the way they listened, nodding and taking notes as he spoke. Showing him the respect he deserved.

  After the police were satisfied that I had a legitimate reason to be chauffeuring Scott around, they asked if I wanted to press charges. I did, and Scott voluntarily told them about the beatings he had suffered since moving in with his aunt.

  When we were finished giving our statements, I suggested to the officers that Scott stay with me until other arrangements could be made. This was apparently unacceptable because I wasn’t a family member. They said Scott would be placed with San Mateo County Child Protective Services. I didn’t feel reassured by this. I wanted to know he was safe and well fed, and that no one was going to hurt him again.

  When the CPS unit arrived they collected Scott’s cousins, and agreed to let me have a minute alone with Scott before they took him away.

  We stood on the passenger side of my car, petting Buddy through the open window while we talked. I asked if Scott knew his father’s first name. He had said his father was dead, but there might be other family members on his father’s side. Unfortunately, he couldn’t remember. I gave him my smartphone and asked him to hide it in his pocket in case Child Protective Service
s didn’t approve of children having cell phones. I made sure he knew how to turn it on and off, and how to make a call.

  “You can call me at the office or at home,” I said, pressing one of my cards with my home number printed on the back into his hand.

  “Okay,” he said. “Thanks, Nikki.”

  Then he hugged me and I almost lost it. Nine years old, abused by at least two adults, and still willing to trust. He leaned into the car and hugged Buddy before leaving.

  When Buddy and I were alone I realized my heart was racing. I longed for a cigarette. I just sat there in the car, petting my dog and breathing deeply. When I felt calm enough to drive, I hightailed it back to the office and called Bill on his cell. I left him a voicemail message telling him everything that had happened. This took a while.

  I typed up a detailed report of the incident, printed two copies, and then called the Millbrae stationhouse. I needed to go in and file an official report in order to press assault charges. If I was lucky, they might tell me what was happening with Scott.

  I had noted the female cop’s name, and I asked for her when the operator at the PD answered.

  “Officer Vasquez is unavailable,” she said. “Would you like her voicemail?”

  It’s a mechanized world.

  “Yes, please.”

  I left Maria Vasquez a message saying I was on my way in to file the report, and that I would appreciate a moment of her time while I was there.

  Buddy and I were on our way to the parking lot when he suddenly started spinning in circles on the lawn. After a moment I caught on. He had heard Bill’s car in the distance. I turned and spotted the red Mustang approaching on the frontage road. I had to drag Buddy to my car so I could unlock the doors. He wasn’t happy about the prospect of getting in the car when Bill was only moments away.

  Bill pulled into the parking space next to mine and hopped out. He left the car door open and moved quickly to my side, resisting Buddy’s attempt to leap into his arms.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, holding me by the shoulders and looking me over.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I got your message,” he said.

  I’d left the voicemail about twenty minutes earlier, saying I was going to file assault charges against Scott’s aunt. He must have jumped to the conclusion that I had been injured.

  “I’m okay, but it would be great if you could take Buddy for a while.”

  Hearing his name, Buddy renewed his efforts. He jumped up and managed to levitate long enough to lick Bill’s face before landing back on all fours.

  Bill smiled down at him. “I have to go back to work, but I don’t think anyone will mind having him in the office.”

  “Thanks. I don’t know how long this might take, and he hates waiting in the car.”

  “You want me to pick something up for dinner?”

  “Sausage and mushroom pizza, with extra cheese.”

  He pulled me close and kissed me, and I felt my body respond to the kiss. Pizza wouldn’t be the only thing on the menu tonight.

  Chapter 10

  Nina Jezek had chosen her next target. She never thought of them as victims. They were rabid animals that needed to be put down.

  The next to die would be Joshua Crafford. She had found him in the registry. He’d been out of jail for two years now and had probably molested dozens of innocent children in that time. When Crafford was seventeen he’d been caught in the act of sodomizing an eight-year old boy. The child had been riding his bicycle on Skyline Boulevard and Crafford had pulled him off the bike and dragged him into the bushes. Luckily a middle-aged couple had been walking by and heard the boy crying while Crafford raped him. The man had beaten the shit out of Crafford while his wife called the cops on her cell phone.

  Nina knew the kid would never feel good about himself again. He was damaged now, just like she was. It was too late for her to save him, but she could make sure Crafford had no future victims.

  Because Joshua Crafford had been seventeen when he was arrested, he was tried as a juvenile. He was sentenced to seven years, instead of three or four, because he had also been convicted of child abduction.

  Nina had followed him a couple of times. She knew where he lived and that he worked out at the Powerhouse Gym in Redwood City every morning. Probably wanted to stay fit so he could easily subdue little boys. Nina had purchased a one week visitor’s pass. She would be at the gym when he arrived tomorrow. She planned to follow him into the locker room and kill him in the shower. Her hair was short and if she went without make-up and wore a watch cap and oversized sweats, she might pass for a man.

  Nina visualized how it would happen and the adrenaline began to flow.

  Chapter 11

  I located the Millbrae Police Department easily, thanks to directions from Bill. I have a GPS app on my smartphone, but I’d given that to Scott. The PD was housed in a long, low building surrounded by lawn in the City Hall complex on Magnolia.

  I entered the lobby, approached a reception desk, and asked for Maria Vasquez. Twenty minutes later she came out to the lobby. She greeted me stiffly, calling me Ms. Hunter, shook my hand firmly, and escorted me back to her desk. We completed a standard assault and battery report.

  When we were finished she said, “Scott told us what you’re doing for him.”

  I raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

  “You have kids?” she asked.

  “No. Just the dog.”

  “He told us what happened to his mom. Your investigation means a lot to him.”

  I wondered where this was going.

  “So how much are you charging him?”

  There it was. “He gave me some change,” I said, perhaps a little brusquely. “Are we finished here?” I stood up and slung my purse strap over my shoulder.

  She held up her hand. “Wait a minute,” she said. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I just hate to see kids taken advantage of. I’m sorry.”

  Her apology did little to appease me, but at least she had made the effort.

  “I feel the same way,” I said. “So what happens to Scott now?”

  “He’s with Children and Family Services. They’ll place him in a temporary foster home. After they complete the investigation into the aunt’s behavior, he’ll probably become available for adoption. Do you know if he has any family besides the aunt?”

  “I’m looking into it,” I said.

  I had planned to do some digging when I had the time. Now I’d have to make it a priority. I felt the same way about Scott being in a foster home as I’d felt about Buddy being in a cage at the Humane Society before I adopted him. Not good.

  It was after 6:00 by the time I got back to the marina. I unlocked the office and called Bill on his cell while I booted up the computer.

  “Anderson.”

  “Hunter.”

  “Hey, babe. Are you back from Millbrae?”

  “I am. Where are you?”

  “I’m still at the office. It’s hard to get anything done with everyone gathered around petting Buddy.”

  “What do you think? Is he police dog material?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “I need some information from you. Okay to talk on the cell?”

  “I’ll come to your office. I’m just about done here anyway.”

  When we hung up I listened to my voicemail. There were no messages from Scott. I called my home number and keyed in the voicemail code. No messages there either. He probably hadn’t been alone long enough to call, or he’d called and hadn’t left a message.

  Bill and Buddy arrived fifteen minutes later. As they came into the office Buddy tugged the leash out of Bill’s hand and galloped over to me. He climbed halfway onto my lap and licked my face enthusiastically. I wiped off the
slobber and smiled up at Bill. He was holding a binder.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “I thought you might want more information about the Freedman killing.”

  He was apparently loosening up when it came to sharing confidential information.

  “You were right. I need to do a search for family members. Scott’s going into temporary foster care, and I want to make sure he doesn’t go back to his aunt. Do you have his mom’s social security number?”

  Bill opened the binder and read it to me. I typed an e-mail request to Criminal Investigative Services, the company I use for background checks, asking for a family tree on Gloria and any spouse they could find a record of. I was hoping Scott’s deceased dad might have family nearby, maybe a brother or a sister who would be suitable.

  I sent the e-mail and turned back to Bill. Silently, he handed over the binder, watching as I read the contents. There was nothing significant that he hadn’t already told me.

  “Where’s my pizza?” I asked, passing the binder back to him.

  “I called Pizza and Pipes from the car. Should be here in half an hour.”

  “Just enough time.”

  Everything tastes better after sex. We ate pizza at the galley counter and I tossed bits of sausage to Buddy. I told Bill the whole story about what had happened with Scott’s aunt, and how Buddy had defended me vocally and Scott physically, without actually biting anyone. He patted the dog’s head and rewarded him with a small bite of carrot cake.

  On Thursday morning I got up early and went to the gym. After working out I hurried back to the boat to retrieve Buddy before Bill left for work.