Peppermint Soul (Liza McNairy Mysteries Book 1)

by Dan Glover

"We think Paula Picany might be in danger, Hank."

  "Liza! Are you two finally back in town? I've missed you, girl."

  "Yeah... we arrived three days ago. Listen, though... Danners is worried about her. He wanted me to let you know Paula's life is in danger. He woke this morning with a premonition. He thinks someone has it out for her... that they orchestrated everything to make it seem as if she's the killer."

  "Well... she's in jail, Liza. If someone wanted to knock her off, wouldn’t they pick a better place?"

  "Not if that's where the hit's to take place."

  "Has Danners been having his dreams again, Liza?"

  "Come on, Hank... don't do that. He's only trying to help."

  "You know I don't go in for that mumbo jumbo bullshit."

  "At least put Paula in protective segregation... do it for me, Hank."

  "I would if I could, girlfriend... but I'm not the one in charge of such doings. I'd have to go to homicide about it. They'll think I've gone off the rails."

  "Listen, Hank... we know about you and Paula. If you won't do it for me and Danners, do it for her. She's in real trouble."

  It made him look bad... how the two of them found those twins. How in the hell did they track them to Oklahoma? Allen Picany called him with the news. At first Hank thought the man was drunk. And of course he was. But apparently he was also right. They did find the twins. None of it made any sense. But he had to admit, they did find them. And if Danners Forthright accomplished that feat, then maybe he ought to be listening now.

  "Okay, Liza... I'll see what I can do. No promises, mind you. Maybe I can let it slip that I received something from one of my snitches."

  "Whatever way you have to do it, do it, Hank. And fast... Danners says her murder is going to go down within the next day or so."

  "Listen, Liza... if I do this, will you clue me in as to how you and Danners found those girls?"

  "Absolutely... we can meet for drinks... call me."

  What did she mean by we? Was she setting up a date? Probably not... most likely her girlfriend Danners would be along as chaperone. And they'd meet at a gay bar. He could see it now. Leather and chains. Whips optional. Maybe that was the answer... Liza liked women. Hell, he'd never known her to speak of any boyfriend, or even a relationship with a guy no matter how innocuous it might be. Unless of course it was with Danners.

  Was she in love with that faggot? Stranger things had happened. He saw the way they were together, Danners and Liza, bopping in a tree. F U C K I N G. It was as if they fed off each other's psychic energy. Hank had been married long enough to recognize when two people were made for each other... and those two fit the bill.

  He'd better get hold of Bill Doyle. Do it before he changed his mind. He'd put it in such a way that the man would have to listen... Doyle'd have to arrange to get Paula into protective segregation as soon as possible. Something about the word on the street... that might be enough. Most veteran cops realized that their brethren were loath to give up the identity of their snitches so Doyle wouldn’t push it too far, or so he hoped.

  Dammit, he hated being put on the spot like that. Still... if Danners Forthright was right and he did nothing, he'd only blame himself for Paula's death. But why? Why would anyone want Paula Picany dead? Did the woman know something? It was possible. Allen'd been drinking way too much lately. He might have said something he shouldn’t to someone who cared about such things. But then again Paula was into kinky stuff. Perhaps she ran up against some shady characters who'd rather she didn’t talk too much about them. Lots of folk like that out there... he knew... he dealt with it every fucking day.

  He pulled up Bill Doyle's number and sat looking at it for several seconds before putting the call through.

  Chapter 79—Drowning

  (In Chocolate)

  His head hurt and he couldn’t move his arms. His eyelids seemed to be superglued shut but with immense effort he managed to open them. At first everything seemed fuzzy, like he was under water. His mouth tasted as if he'd been on one of those week-long benders but for the life of him Reilly couldn’t recall what had happened or where he was. As his vision cleared he seemed to be inside of a prison cell... no... that wasn’t right. A hospital room... yes, that's where he was... the IV hooked to his arm was a dead giveaway. But why?

  He wanted to call out—to alert someone how he was awake—but the effort of just opening his eyes exhausted his remaining resources. He never realized the strength it took. A shadow moved slowly morphing into something solid... a person, perhaps? The vision seemed distorted somehow... even grotesque. Had he a voice he might well have cried out... but for whom, and for what? Help?

  An unintelligible montage of sounds cascaded over him like thick syrup filling his ears. He felt as if he was drowning in the recollection of that which lay just beyond fathoming. And then something inside him snapped like a broomstick being dropped onto a hard surface and he could see again... he could hear.

  "Oh... I see we're awake. Good... do we know where we are, Mr. Cooper?"

  Of course we don't know where we are. What a fucking idiot. The bitch was coddling him like he was a child... he hated that... loathed women in general for their propensity toward empathy and compassion. Just tell me where the fuck I am! But all he could do was lay and stare at her makeup mangled face and try and remember what she said.

  "We had a breathing tube down our throat so we might not be able to talk right away. Don't worry though, Mr. Cooper. We're doing great. We'll be on our feet in no time."

  If we had a breathing tube down our throat, then why the fuck are we talking so much? Could someone please get this woman out of here? Isn't there anyone else around who can tell me what's going on?

  He remembered now... he'd been having coffee with Sally Lupo and eating the fudge brownies she brought out on a plate. He noticed how she wasn’t eating any of them but put it off to the diet she'd been on... the woman kept talking about how much weight she lost and damned if she didn’t look pretty good for an old girl. Was that lust he saw shining in the back of her eyes?

  There was an odd aftertaste which the coffee didn’t quite wash away but he discovered if he kept eating the brownies it didn’t bother him as much. Even when his mouth began to feel funny he wondered if it was the mixture of coffee and sweets that was doing it. He had no idea what was really happening... not until the end.

  She'd poisoned him. Yep, he fucked up again. Shouldn't have tried extorting money from a cop's wife. They knew all the tricks of the trade. On the other hand the brownies hadn’t been meant for him... Sally had baked them before he even showed up. Were they meant for Paula Picany? She even remarked on how the woman was always letting her down every time they made plans to do something together. Or was that Liza? His mind was so muddled he could scarcely think.

  He needed to see Danners again. Even if he couldn’t talk, Danners would know what he had to say. But this stupid fucking nurse wouldn’t shut up for five seconds so that he could make a sign... mouth a word, something... anything to make her understand the gravity of the situation. Maybe if he just closed his eyes again for a second his mind would clear and this woman would disappear.

  Chapter 80—Estranged Angels

  (And Moonlighting Whores)

  She never knew there was so much blood inside of a person. It didn’t really hurt, the getting stabbed... or shanked, isn’t that the way they said it in prison movies? Just more of an uncomfortable feeling, like she'd eaten too much and felt like she had to go to the bathroom but couldn’t.

  She thought Greta was a friend. But now she realized the woman had simply been setting her up all along. All the talks they had... the games of checkers, and even taking their meals together. Christ, Greta even stuck up for her when one of the prostitutes named Elsa began making demands that she give over her dessert. Now Elsa hovered over her, talking to her, telling her to hold on, that help was coming.

  "Listen to me, girl... look at me... don't close your eyes or you'll
never open them again. Stay with me... squeeze my hand if you hear me... don't try and talk. Save your energy."

  She was dying by slow degrees. Her feet had gone cold at first and then she felt the numbness creeping up her legs. Jesus, the blood kept pumping out of her even though Elsa held a wadded up shirt over the gaping wound in her stomach. She could match the pulsing of the blood with the beat of her heart.

  "I'm sorry..."

  "Hush, now, girlfriend... what do you got to be sorry for anyway?"

  "Closer..."

  She needed to tell someone, before it was too late... before she met whatever God or demon that awaited her, if indeed there was an afterlife. Paula never believed, at least not in any fervent go to church every Sunday kind of way. Now, it almost seemed sacrosanct to feel death gripping her body, pulling her down. Had she been wrong all those years?

  She could only whisper into Elsa's ear. But it had to be told... otherwise, who would know? No one. When she was gone, the secret she held would vanish too. No one else was around and help seemed a long way off and Elsa seemed like... well, like an estranged angel sent down by God.

  She had to warn him. The things she'd read in that horrible journal had worn on her until only the Xanax took the edge off. Once she stopped the drugs, the memories came creeping back like tiny spiders hiding in the firewood she used to carry into the house when she was just a girl.

  She wanted to ask why... what she had done to deserve such punishment. She didn’t know about the spiders. How could she? All the misery of hell had crashed down upon her that day. Only it wasn’t about the spiders at all... no... it had more to do with... what? No... who... the twins... she had let them down. She was their mother yet she'd abandoned them when they needed her most. Oh... she had been coerced into doing it, but that was no excuse.

  She felt the cold creeping over her stomach, running down her arms, and settling into that spot in the middle of her chest where her heart still beat though the sound of it pulsing in her ears seemed more ragged than she would have liked... as if it was pumping dirt instead of liquid. Of course all her blood had leaked out by now so there wasn’t anything left to pump.

  She had time enough for just a few more words... to whisper them into Elsa's ear. That old whore... would the confidence Paula felt in her be misplaced? Probably. From the look of incredulity in Elsa's eyes, she imagined the woman wouldn’t even believe her, much less relay the information to the man who needed it. She should have told him right off. She knew it then yet she balked at the opportunity thinking there'd be time. How wrong she'd been... about everything...

  Chapter 81—Cash Cards

  (And Road Trips)

  "Dammit, Liza... why didn’t they listen?"

  The news wasn’t exactly a shock but neither did he expect it, not after putting himself out there for Hank Lupo's ridicule. He knew how the man felt about him. Even though Danners was getting distinct homosexual vibes from him, Hank used every slur known to the gay community when talking with him.

  "You can't blame yourself, Danners... you did what you could. And they did listen. They were putting through the paperwork to move Paula into protective segregation when the attack took place."

  "That's bullshit and you know it, Liza. They allowed that woman to die. I suppose they thought she was guilty so why not spare themselves the expense of a trial."

  "Things don’t work like that, Danners. You know it and I know it."

  "Girlfriend... why are you taking their side in this? You forget who you're talking to. I've been a guest of the Gestapo otherwise known as the Los Angeles Sheriff's Department. I know how they work. They've got their own agenda and it has nothing to do with serving the people of the county. They let that woman die, Liza."

  She had a far away look in her eyes that said all too clearly how she'd shot up just moments ago, probably between the time he'd gone for bagels and cream cheese and the time he returned. He knew she'd sent him away on purpose. But the girl needed her privacy. He understood that. Hank Lupo must have called right after he left.

  Paula Picany was stabbed to death in one of the main cell blocks of the North County Correctional Facility. The inmate responsible, Greta Jones, was a middle aged prostitute doing life for murder. She claimed that Paula had disrespected her by calling her a black whore.

  "What can I say, Danners... you're right and I'm wrong. Shit happens, sweetheart. If Paula didn’t die today it'd probably be tomorrow. Someone had it out for her and I have a feeling protective segregation wouldn’t have stopped it."

  "She knew more than she let on, Liza. I'm sorry. I shouldn’t be coming down on you. You did your best."

  "So what now? Do we throw in the towel on this case? We found the twins but no one seems to care any longer."

  "We can't quit now, Liza. Those girls deserve better than that. We need to find out who was responsible for carving them up."

  "My money's on Oscar Olay, Danners, and he's dead."

  "Olay was a bit player in all this. Yeah, he might have done the surgery, but other people put him up to it. And they're still around. The Picany twins aren't the only victims. If we start looking, I have a feeling we'll uncover dozens of others... maybe hundreds."

  "So where do we start, Danners?"

  "Your friend Hank Lupo has sleaze written all over him, Liza. He's got his fingers in things he shouldn’t and I ain't talking pies. How much do you really know about that man?"

  "Hank isn’t like that, Danners... he's a good cop... maybe over the top at times, and yes, he likes women a little too much, but he's not dirty."

  Why did she always feel the need to come to Hank Lupo's defense? The man had some sort of hold over her, maybe from the days they worked together. Had he saved her life? Was that it? Did Liza think she owed him something?

  "Look... I don’t mean to talk him down, Liza. You asked me where to start. If you don’t like my opinion, then you decide what we do next."

  "Well, the cash card Allen Picany gave us is still working. Until it comes up declined, I say we take another ride, Danners. Are you up for it, old man?"

  Chapter 82—Widower

  (And Lost Wages)

  So Paula was dead. Allen thought he should feel more remorse than he did. They'd been married their entire adult lives... shouldn’t husband and wife be inseparable after so long? Apparently not... maybe some people... but not them.

  Paula had been screwing Hank Lupo for years, or so the letter said. He didn’t know who sent it or why, and the certified check for two million dollars had to be fake. Why would anyone send him that much money? Unless it was to assuage some sort of deep-seated guilt over something they'd done.

  Booking a flight to Oklahoma City was easy enough. For some reason Allen thought they'd be watching him now that Paula was gone, waiting for him to make his move, as if he had something to hide. Once the cremation was complete, he'd call the travel agency, make arrangements, and fly out to see the twins.

  But what about that check? He supposed he could go to the bank with it. They'd be able to tell him if it was legit. After all, it wasn’t as if he forged the damned thing. Christ... two million dollars would set him up quite nicely. He'd be able to take care of the girls too... make sure they were provided for. Was that what the money was all about? Did someone know something about the twins' kidnapping? Was this some sort of guilt money? Maybe he ought to call the authorities and report it.

  No... he'd heard too many horror stories about people who did just that only to have their money confiscated. He couldn’t risk losing it, not now... not when he had an opportunity to set things right again. He'd go to the bank and deposit the money into his account, if of course the check was real, which it wasn’t.

  Only the girl behind the counter seemed convinced it was real. She acted as if people came into the bank every day with certified checks for two million dollars and deposited them. And perhaps they did. It was Los Angeles, after all... people here made a lot of money.

  Driving back to
the house he realized he hadn’t had a drink all morning. If not for the tremors he felt pretty good to be sober, and even better to be a millionaire again. He could put the house on the market... move out east, maybe even stay in Oklahoma where the twins were at. It might be good not to pull them away from the life they'd made there. He could buy a place out east for a lot less money than he could here in California. If he watched it, the two million dollars would last not only the rest of his life but set up the girls too.

  Chapter 83—Gone

  (Girl)

  He didn’t realize the money was gone, not right away. He'd called Sally inviting her to meet him at the Commodore but she never showed up. After waiting nearly two hours anticipating a good time but unable to get hold of her on her cell, he'd gotten one of those feelings that sometimes came over him that was a lot like someone jumping up and down on top of his grave, or so he imagined. About that time, his phone rang, only it wasn’t Sally.

  "Detective Lupo... this is Doyle in homicide. I've got some bad news about your girl in lockup... she was stabbed before they were able to move her into segregation."

  "Jesus Christ... when did that happen? Is she alive?"

  "They found the Picany woman around five o'clock. She was pronounced dead on arrival. I'm sorry, detective. We moved as quickly as we could."

  "Goddamn it, Doyle... how long does it take to move a prisoner into protective custody?"

  "Listen, Lupo... there's one other thing. A prostitute locked up with the Picany woman wants to talk to you. Her name is Elsa Gruber."

  "Me? Why the hell would a prostitute want to talk to me?"

  "She said the Picany woman told her something just before she died. Something for your ears only."

  "I'll be damned. Okay, Doyle... I'll be down soon."

  So Paula was dead. Well, maybe it was better that way. The woman would doubtlessly be going away for the rest of her life anyway, from the sound of it. All the evidence pointed her way. Still, what a shitty way to die.